e3941297e17226345b367b4f61e62e3e98e44947f806b5be70

    What are YOU writing?

    >What are you working on right now?

    We’d love to know here at WritetoDone!

    A novel? A blog post? Your best article ever? A poem? A film script?

    Maybe you’ve just finished something you’re really proud of? Or you just can’t tell whether it should get a Pulitzer or be thrown into the trash?

    Here’s your chance to share and discuss with each other what you’re writing about.

    Whet our appetite with the opening paragraph of your future bestseller or give us a link to your best article.

    Tell us: what are you writing at the moment?

    Who knows, your piece might even attract the notice of a major publishing house!

    Here are some guidelines:
     

    Writers:

    Tell us what aspect you’re working on. Or give us the link to an article or give us a snippet of fiction. I’d love to know what your challenges and joys are!
     

    Commenters:

    * When commenting, first list everything you really like about a piece.
    * Only then offer careful suggestions.
    * Treat each other with respect, friendliness, caring, and honesty.
    * Remember that we are all still learning.

    Now it’s over to you. Take a deep breath. Then jump into the comment section and bring out your treasures!

    About the author:

    Mary Jaksch is Editor-in-Chief at Write to Done. Grab her FREE report, How to Write Like an A-List Blogger. Mary has helped thousands of students successfully create profitable blogs at A-List Blogging, and is the blogger behind Goodlife ZEN.

    Copyright: coffeemate / 123RF Stock Photo

    About the author

      Mary Jaksch

      Mary Jaksch is best known for her exceptional training for writers at WritetoDone.com. Grab her latest all new course Blogwriter's Bootcamp 2.0 or a copy of her free report, How to Create an Irresistible Lead Magnet in Less Than 5 Hours. In her “spare” time, Mary’s also the brains behind AlistBlogging.net. and GoodlifeZEN.com, a Zen Master, a mother, and a 5th Degree Black Belt.

    • I just published my first novel, The Cost of Baggage. It came out just last week. It is about romantic relationship baggage of a thirty-something female coping with the stress of everyday life. If she doesn’t confront her past dysfunctions and acknowledge her role in them, she stands to lose everything that she’s single-handedly worked so hard for.

      _______________________________________________________________________________

      The commute to the doctor’s office was short. To take her mind off the pending news, she flipped to Kirk Franklin’s Praise on Sirius XM. The gospel music helped, but it didn’t seem to calm her nerves. She said a small prayer, “Dear Lord, whatever I find out, I hope that it’s in your will. Guide, direct and keep me. I love you, Lord. Please be with me. Amen.”

    • Maximilian Fernaldy says:

      Hi. I was here about a half year ago. I’ve been writing on the Wattpad book community, but most of the books i wrote was deleted. I’m not confident at that book, remembering that i’m not so creative, i don’t have much ideas (even after i downloaded tons of writing guides), and i know that books must be thick, maybe 100 pages will do it. But what i wrote was just 12 pages. I’m trying to write, but creative doesn’t support me. Can anyone please solve this? I love writing. Writing is feeling loneliness, and it’s like sharing minds to our readers. Well that’s all. Happy Writing!

    • David L Pearson says:

      Chapter 1

      The noise was terrifying. Its rise and fall echoed around Marszalkowska Street as people scurried in all directions, trying to escape the wailing monster. Our tram screeched to a halt. The driver yelled at everybody to get out then jumped down and disappeared into the crowd.
      ‘What’s happening?’ I asked.
      Mama gathered me up in front of her as we shuffled to the door.
      ‘Izaac, take care of your sister,’ she shouted above the noise. ‘Stay close behind me.’
      ‘Quick over here!’ somebody called from across the road.
      We scrambled down into a trench joining several other people under a roof of corrugated iron sheets.

    • I am currently working as a paralegal in my own legal services providing firm. I after facing some experiences, thought that I should serve the community through some free online paralegal services.
      In this regard i have written some articles about the legal documents and also about official letters. I wrote some suggestions, tips and tricks about writings while someone is going to write and prepare a legal document, CV, Resume, Job Application, cover letter and proposals.

      I have also put the free and downloadable formats and templates of legal forms, official forms, and CV/Resume/Cover Letter and much more on my site http://writingformats.blogspot.com/

    • James H. Senecal says:

      I am writing a fantasy novel of a navy seal transported to another world with a form of government that is a female version of Sparta where the birthrate of females / males is 3/1 and the life expectancy is 65/200

      It is the time of the wild magic, and none of the council of mothers is calm. With wild magic comes change; change for good or for evil is never known until the wild magic subsides. The council mothers came to the head mage of the nation, imploring her to look into the future of the wild magic which is due this cycle. The cost is not cheap; two percent of the nation’s income for the next cycle, to be given in return for knowledge, knowledge of what the wild magic had in store. The council mothers were not happy with the cost but would be even less happy if the wild magic would portend for ill. The agreement was made and the bargain sealed with a blood oath. Cardalia, mother mage of the order of Qeeti, would gather all the necessary material to cast the magic needed for her to gather the knowledge the council mothers desired. In three turns the magic would be cast and the council mothers would be enlightened; in five turns the wild magic would begin. Cardalia was enjoying the squirming of the council of mothers. Not many people held sway over such a powerful group; and Cardalia was not about to let go until she absolutely needed to. No, this is a sweet period, and one to be savored. The council mothers would try to hasten Cardalia any way they could and she would explain, “You cannot rush magic! It must occur in due time with proper preparations or the results will be disastrous.” Who were they; thinking magic could be rushed. Children, wanting everything their way and when they wanted it and Teeza hang the consequences. No, this would occur on Cardalia’s time frame and not before.

    • I like that a awesome blog and say thanks for that amazing blog.

    • taru says:

      Hii…just new to this site…and cultivating the habit of writing…so m a novice…just written a poem..and wanted to post here..pls do comment if u like it.. 🙂

      Dream – Transforming Life–

      Yesterday one dream came at night,,,
      which became a fuel to ignite,,
      excited the mind which was
      held in the chains quite..

      In the dream,,,i was on my journey to sky above….
      between the clouds to meet someone
      i could take hold of….

      my eyes were searching for someone dear,,,
      who could hold my tears and always be near…

      as i was pondering for a vivid image,,,,
      i heard someone calling my name,,,,
      so i went close to it all d same…

      She was an image so vibrant and clear,,,
      & she asked me about the miseries which brought me in despair….

      I told her that life is so hard to live,,,
      she gave me 1 pearl which was a work of great endeavor,,,,
      and sweared to be with me forever….

      she took me amidst the clouds there,,,,
      and i could feel her touch so pure and flair…

      she told me that i was the most splendid creation here,,,
      admired and showed the real me which i was unaware…..

      she flashed my whole life from beginning till now and
      presented the moments that i should cherish and label,,,

      i realized that every instant of my life was worth and adorable ,,,
      and suddenly i opened my eyes and came into existence,,,
      and first thing i did was greeted this life which was all mine.,,,,as
      this was the message bestowed upon me from DIVINE…….

    • I posted earlier this morning but I believe it was erased. Not sure…so if this is a double post my apologies.

      I am currently working on an eBook series based off of a PC game called DayZ. It is in journal form as if it is actually happening to the main character.

      I have written for myself for many years: poems, shorts, lyrics…now I am jumping into mainstream and trying my hand there. I am trying very hard to get past the fears that are creeping up on me.

    • I’m planning a content for my blog right now. My aim for this year is to post at least
      2-3 new articles a week, to make my blog more alive, to make it the place where students
      do communicate a lot and share their experience. I have lots of ideas for new articles, but they still seem to me not so essential for students. My main task is to find such an exciting topic/tool/tip
      to raise students’ ineterest. So, challenge not only for writing, but for creating of a value proposition either 🙂

    • I’m writing about a Crown Prosecutor in NSW, Australia, (like an Assistant District Attorney) who gets mixed up in a drug investigation that spells the end for a number of police, lawyers and bikies …

      One

      Darius “The Bear” Rutledge pulled over to the side of the road and brought his 1949 Harley Davidson WLA motorcycle to a halt. He flicked down the side stand, and let the the two-hundred and fifty kilogram machine lean on the thirty centimetres of hardened steel that separated it from the gravel. He swung his right leg over the bike and turned his six foot five, one hundred and thirty kilogram frame towards the unmarked police car parked behind him. He watched as a pair of red and blue lights flickered behind the car’s grill, another set announcing the vehicle’s provenance from the passenger side sun-visor. He removed his helmet and slipped the patterned bandana from his face, balancing the helmet over one of the bike’s mirrors, and stuffing the bandana into the front pocket of his jeans. Rutledge took his wallet from his back pocket and removed his drivers license. He knew that his licence would be the first thing the cop would ask for, and for a change Rutledge was going to be fully compliant. He watched the two male cops as they sat in their vehicle. He didn’t think he recognised either of them. One was talking into a radio. Probably calling for backup, Rutledge thought. He needed to be cool. He wanted to reach for his phone. He wanted to tell them where he was, what was happening. But he knew that such a movement, in the circumstances, was not a wise one.

      Senior Constable Robert Sandow stepped out of the driver’s seat and retrieved the suit jacket from back of the car. He and Senior Constable David Fernandez, who was still on the radio, were part of the NSW Police OMCG Task Group, established to combat the growing criminal activities of outlaw motorcycle gangs in their state, and across the nation. Rutledge had randomly crossed their path, the patch and rockers on his leather jacket announcing his full membership of one of the largest outlaw motorcycle gangs in Australia. Sandow was not about to pass up an opportunity to confront him, particularly as he seemed to be unaccompanied.

      As Sandow put on his jacket, he walked towards his mark. He adjusted the Smith and Wesson handgun in its holster. Partly for comfort, and partly to let Rutledge know he was armed. Fernandez, now also out of the vehicle, stood behind the passenger door. Although his hands would be hidden from the bikie’s view, Sandow knew his partner would be ready to bring his own weapon into plain sight if necessary.

      Sandow held up his warrant card and badge.

      “Morning sir,” he said, although he already knew that the man he was approaching was Darius Stephen Rutledge, born 21 March 1979, registered owner of a 1949 Harley Davidson motorcycle, fully registered but not otherwise insured. He also knew that Rutledge was the Vice President of the OMCG stated in the rockers on his jacket. “My name is Detective Senior Constable Sandow, NSW Police. You have been stopped for a random breath test. Can I see your driver’s license please?” It wasn’t really a question, more like a demand. Rutledge had heard it all before. He knew that police could stop anyone who was driving a motor vehicle, anywhere, anytime for the purpose of giving them a breath test. No reasonable cause was necessary, just pull over and take the test.

      Rutledge held out his license, but said nothing. Sandow took the plastic card and examined it. He looked at the biker’s face, and, satisfied that the license was genuine, and valid, raised the alcohol testing device towards Rutledge’s face, giving him an abridged version of the standard direction. Rutledge began counting. Sandow expected that the test would be negative, and he was right.

      “Just wait there a moment, I’ll be right back.” Sandow took three steps backwards until he was out of reach of Rutledge’s tree like limbs, and then turned to face his partner. As they made eye contact, Fernandez nodded. Keeping his eyes firmly on Rutledge, Fernandez moved away from the police car and walked towards Sandow. As the two officers came together, they stopped and each turned to face Rutledge, who was now staring into space across the road, probably resigned to his fate.

      Fernandez spoke quickly. “Priors for drug possession, assault, and intimidation. An AVO against his partner two years ago, but no violence since. Most recent was three months ago when he was stopped by Romeo. Found with two grams of cannabis.” Romeo was Senior Constable Roberto Francisco Romero, another member of the OMCG Task Force. “I’ve called for backup. They’ll be here in a few minutes.” Fernandez looked at Rutledge. “I’ll do this one,” he said.

      “This one” was a reference to a search. Fernandez would use what he already knew about Rutledge as background, but would otherwise treat him as he would any other member of the public. He introduced himself and asked Rutledge a series of structured questions designed to elicit particular responses. Where have you come from? Where are you going? Is this your bike? Are you carrying anything illegal? Simple questions. Questions that did not require a great deal of thought, unless the person had to think up a response other than the truth. Fernandez would carefully analyse the answers, as well as Rutledge’s demeanour. Did he look nervous? Anxious? Was he sweating? It was still early morning, about nine-thirty, and the day hadn’t warmed up yet. As it happened, Rutledge chose not to respond to any of Fernandez’s questions, simply staring downwards at the smaller police office who stood before him.

      Sandow had produced a video camera and was holding it out in front of him, recording everything his partner was doing. Fernandez, a veteran of fifteen years in the job, was already thinking ahead. He didn’t think any judge would really believe that the Vice President of an OMCG would be intimidated by two plain clothed police officers, so he decided not to go with the “nervous and sweating” ground, instead using Rutledge’s own decision to remain silent to his advantage. He told Rutledge that his failure to answer the simple questions he had been asked gave rise to a reasonable suspicion that Rutledge might be involved in criminal activity. Fernandez didn’t bother asking for consent. He wanted Rutledge to be in no doubt who was in charge.

      “I intend to conduct a search of you, and your bike. Do you understand?”

      Rutledge didn’t answer.

      As two fully marked police vehicles arrived, one a caged vehicle for transporting suspects, Rutledge emptied his pockets into the small plastic tray Fernandez had placed onto the bonnet of the unmarked police car. e pulled his pocket linings to the outside, so it was clear that his pockets were in fact empty. When that task was complete, Fernandez continued, “Take off your colours and put them on the bonnet. Then take off your boots and sit down in front of our car.“ Fernandez knew his direction to Rutledge to remove his colours would really piss him off, but Fernandez wanted to see his reaction.

      A medium sized pocket knife, some cash, a mobile phone and a wallet sat sat in the tray. Fernandez eyed the phone, resisting the urge to pick it up and browse the contacts list. Instead, he took a pair of blue surgical style gloves from his suit pocket, snapped them onto his hands, and picked up the wallet. Apart from the driver’s licence, there were various bank and credit cards, a Medicare card and a membership card for a local RSL. Some receipts, and a yellow post it note completed the inventory. Fernandez knew he could probably arrest Rutledge for possession of the knife, but it was a bit lame, he thought. He was keen to find something more substantial. Something that would let them make an arrest and seize the bike. Finding nothing, the detective turned and walked towards the Harley.

      Rutledge suddenly found his voice. “You found fuck all because there’s fuck all to be found. I’ve got things to do. Are you done? Can I go now?” He tried to regain his feet, but one of the uniformed officers who had already moved to flank Rutledge as he sat on the ground, placed his hand firmly on the bigger man’s left shoulder. “Just stay where you are mate,” he said. “I don’t want to have to cuff you, but I will.”

      Sandow and Fernandez looked at each other and allowed a smile. With those words Rutledge had betrayed his position. He had just told the cops there was something on his bike he didn’t want to be found.

      Harley Davidson first started producing WLA motorcycles in 1940, for use by the United States military, although some thirty thousand bikes were also sold to the Soviet Union, then an ally. Production ceased at the end of the World War II, but was later revived between 1949 and 1952, for the Korean War. The bike Rutledge was riding had been painstakingly restored before he had bought it, and had some customisation. A set of leather saddlebags had been added, and the khaki green paint had given way to a hand painted custom mural, dominated by eagles and various United States flags. Fernandez had always thought it odd that Australian OMCGs appeared to have such a strong allegiance to the flag of another nation. He dismissed the thought. He didn’t really understand anything about people like Rutledge.

      He took a torch from his jacket, and shone it into the darkened areas of the Harley’s frame. The exhaust had cooled enough for him to touch it, so Fernandez felt for false chrome panels that could be used to conceal small packages of drugs. Crouching down, he looked up under the leather seat, which sat on an unsprung steel post. The rear of the seat itself was raised, and a small leather bag filled the void between the back of the seat and the rear mudguard. The bag was empty except for an E-Tag token. He shone the light under both mudguards and into the v-twin engine. Nothing. He turned his attention to the saddlebags, releasing the three straps that secured the cover of the nearside bag. He shone his torch into the darkness. With his gloved hands, he removed some oily rags, a plastic container half full of oil, and three or four open ended spanners, wrapped in a dirty rag. Satisfied there was nothing else within the leather container, Fernandez let the cover fall, and turned his attention to the right side saddlebag. It was completely empty. He stepped back from the bike and looked at it again, moving his gaze from from front to rear.

      Later, when Sandow asked him why, Fernandez couldn’t give him a reason. “Just a feeling”, he had said. But what Fernandez did next catapulted what had been an otherwise unremarkable traffic stop into one of Australia’s most notorious criminal investigations. One that involved OMCGs, and corrupt police, lawyers, judges and politicians.

    • K Finlayson says:

      Normally I gravitate toward memoir; I don’t have a particularly novel imagination (TV ruined me) but love the feeling of a perfectly worded sentence, so recounted real-life events is what I love doing the most. The other day it occurred to me that poetry is something I’d never tried out before so here’s a villanelle that I finalised last night. It was very exciting to try something new, especially something so rigidly structured (I actually used an excel spreadsheet to help with form and meter!). I’m not 100% happy with it but I think it’s more down to that structure required for a villanelle – it makes it feel a little contrived, not like free-form poetry. The topic is rather dark and centered on the paranoid lunacy and depression sometimes associated with the loss of a loved one through divorce.

      In the Dark Night:

      Lost to obsession, lost to the dark night,
      This all consumption seduces, haunting.
      Thoughts beset, against them I cannot fight.

      Failing, this heart blows a futile strike.
      Familiar reigns, this mind succeeds; taunting.
      Lost to obsession, lost to the dark night.

      Liquid cure, my momentary twilight;
      Soothe and subdue. Life had been so daunting.
      Thoughts beset, against them I cannot fight.

      In the dark night – faint glimmer, a lamplight!
      Disease of the moon returns. “Avaunt!” scream.
      Lost to obsession, lost to the dark night

      For who can this heart ever reignite?
      And slay dead his insatiable wanting?
      Thoughts beset, against them I cannot fight.

      “Dark night, I cannot bear this respite!”
      Afar off, I see her joy so flaunting.
      Lost to obsession, lost to the dark night
      Thoughts beset, against them I cannot fight.

    • zamir khan says:

      I am compiling facts on seven different compositions of Oxygen and the appropriate use of different kinds of Water that is available in several different colors fragrances and tastes, though the idea is far fetched, but it makes sense to me, and i am a living proof of what I practice and preach. I just know it can change the way world is today, dealing with all sorts of ailments and diseases, all this misery can be removed if this knowledge is accepted and adopted by the people.

    • Vivian Teh says:

      I am currently writing an ongoing book called Tenacious. Its about an adopted princess accused as a Demon and wanted by her Kingdom. Here is a part of the story, I hope you like it:)
      My name is Raven, and I’m turning sixteen tommorrow.
      As much as I used to adore my name last time like I adored the intelligent winged creatures, I despised it now, just like how I depised everything, my father’s weakness, my mother’s death, and everything that happened after that that led to my oncoming public execution held right on my birthday. How sweet of my father to give his cursed princess such a wonderful gift.
      I shivered, not from the cold my thin clothes failed to keep out. The execution would probably not hurt me. Every inch of my skin knew the bite of a whip and had already got used to it.
      What hurts, however, is the thought that my father actually did this to me. Everytime the whip lashed out against me, I could barely feel it anymore, but it tore my soul to bits and pieces, and left it on the floor to rot.
      However cheesy this is, it was like what they said, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
      The betrayal taught me a few things- how cruel humans could be, how the only one that could be trusted in the end is myself, and that once a definition had been set for someone, it would box that person up, and sooner or later, turning them into what they were seen as. The box was hard to break, and it would only worsen as more and more people believed the definition even without real proof. And especially for a label like ‘Demon’, it was nearly impossible.
      I tried to change it, prove it to my accusers they were very wrong. But I was not given a second chance to prove myself at all. No, they immediately saw me as a threat and condemned me, sealing up my fate.
      All for a silly mistake.
      Sitting here waiting for my oncoming death, I sighed. What was the use of being tougher when it’s not changing my fate?
      In their eyes, I am a Demon. A devil from hell. A dangerous thing that should be immediately eliminated from the world of living. This is merely an act of self-protection to them, and I deserved this as a murderer. No one would come to save me, and I am left with myself, sitting on the dirt floor, waiting for the execution to end my miserable life.
      I felt something snap deep within me.
      Maybe they are right. I am a murderer. I am guilty of my mother’s death. I am a demon.
      And so there they have it. I had had enough of this. I’m the Demon? I killed? That means I have to power to kill a few more, right? So they are going to pay, pay for the Demon they turned me into.
      I heard a lonely, evil laughter erupt from all around me. It echoed down the empty hallway, sending shivers down my spine. And then, when the guards stormed over, I knew. It was me who was laughing. The Demon. The one who would turn the city into a blood bath tonight.

    • Kimsea Sok says:

      Well, I am a blogger from Cambodia. I have been blogging almost 4 years but I am not yet to feel like successful with business and blogging. Thus, I always love to write about online business’ keynotes and how to blog better.

      Also, I love to write and share about my blogging mistakes and how I could improve my writing skill. I am a none native writing, thus English is a bit seriously mistakes.

    • selin says:

      Thank you for the post/opportunity for others to share their work.

    • Thanks Mary for providing the opportunity to share with you and your readers some of my writing. I am working on a thriller set in Sydney, Australia about a young woman, Nicola. Nicola has been brought up to live as a man by her domineering mother. When her mother dies, Nicola decides to reclaim her life as a woman. But she doesn’t know how. Instead she turns to kidnapping young women and killing them. The story opens with Ruby Braymour who has been kidnapped by Nicola….

      Drip.
      Drip.
      Drip.
      The sound was constant. Rhythmic and hypnotic.
      Ruby Braymour cocked her head, listening, straining to work out where the noise was coming from. Inside or out? Some illogical part of her mind thought that if she could find the source she could somehow find a way out. It was the only sound she could hear, that penetrated the cold, grey concrete room. Ruby shook her head in frustration and sighed. It was too hard, too much. And what did it matter anyway? She was still a prisoner.

      She’d lost track of time, not sure how long they’d been captive. Was it still Sunday? Yes. Must be. Just last night she and her best friend, Melissa, had accepted a lift after the party from a woman. She’d seemed nice, not drunk or anything, said she was going back to Newport. And it was late, too late to get a taxi. What was her name again? Had she even told them?

      Ruby pressed her fingertips to her temples, struggling to remember. Nicola! Yes. That’s right. They hadn’t seen her around before. Not part of the regular crowd. But she’d been talking to Robbie and Guy, like they knew each other. The party wasn’t great and it was getting late, the offer was too good to pass up. Melissa sat in the front and Ruby took the back seat. Only a fifteen minute drive and Nicola knew where they wanted to go. Gladstone Street, past the Newport Arms Hotel.

      Then things had all gone horribly wrong. When they’d got to the Arms, instead of driving on, the woman had turned left and driven down to the wharf and pulled over. She was laughing, said she had a surprise for them. A small black oblong box appeared in her hand. About as big a mobile phone. Two metal prongs gleamed in the faint light from the street lights outside. Ruby remembered screaming as the woman had thrust it into Melissa’s shoulder. Her friend’s body convulsed before going limp. Ruby was still screaming when the woman reached over the back seat and pointed it at her.

      Terrified, Ruby had scrambled to undo the seat belt but it wouldn’t budge. Reaching over, Nicola grabbed Ruby’s right arm in a vice-like hold, strong fingers digging into her flesh. Ruby bit down hard, teeth connecting with bone and sinew. The woman howled, snatching back her hand. Trembling fingers finally found the belt release and Ruby slid across the seat flinging the car door open. Gasping for air, she threw herself out onto the road, only to feel her right ankle snared by an iron grip. Scrabbling to find some purchase, Ruby clawed at the bitumen, an edge, a crack, anything that she could cling onto and drag herself out of the car.

      ‘Help! Someone please help!’ A strong breeze had whipped her words away, out across the water. There was no-one about, the pub crowd too far away. Sobbing, Ruby turned and beat at the hand clamped around her ankle, banging her foot hard against the side of the car door. But she couldn’t shake it off and felt herself being dragged back into the car, head knocking on the road and bouncing against the edge of the foot-well. A fist had slammed into her stomach knocking the wind out of her before a jolt of electricity shot through her body.

      Ruby had woken to find herself lying on a rotting mattress, stinking of mildew and damp, her left wrist manacled to the steel frame of a bed. The horror of what had happened had hit both girls like a sledge hammer. Hysterical, they’d screamed and shouted through the night until their throats were raw, wrists scraped and bleeding from trying to get the handcuffs off. Gradually the sounds of their desperate calls for help had diminished, along with any hope of being heard and freed, until they’d fallen into an exhausted sleep.

      It was the sound of dripping water that had finally woken Ruby. Melissa lay next to her, face streaked with mascara, bare legs scratched and bruised, curled in a tight ball. The rise and fall of her friend’s chest was the only indication she was still alive.

      At any other time Ruby would have cursed the noise, an annoyance that could drive someone mad. But not now. Not today. Today it was her friend, a part of her, like another heartbeat.
      Because whilst she still heard it she was alive and there was hope of escape.

    • Gwyndolyn says:

      Hi! I am currently working on establishing my new blog, The Stressed-Out Writer. I am also lining up a few projects for ebooks related to the content on the blog. I also hope to complete my fantasy novel sometime this year, The Ash of the Dragon Flame.

    • martin fennell says:

      I love watching asian dramas, so I’m working very slowly in a piece of Korean drama fan fiction
      TEARS was supposed to be the working title. But I can;’t think of a better one.
      Here is the first chapter. Well, there are a few small changes, but not many.
      “ch 1 (a)

      Jae-In rubbed her hands vigorously through her hair, turning it from looking

      unkempt to what could only be described as a right mess. She was feeling

      pissed off.It had been raining for the last two hours and she had not been

      able to leave her one bedroom apartment to go to “Weave and Bob” the newest

      and trendiest hairdressers in town. She had saved up all year for this

      special haircut, but now it looked

      as if she wasn’t going to be able to make it. She worked at a kimchi

      restaurant cleaning toilets, and any other dirty job her boss could think

      of. Although he always made it seem like a request. It included such things

      as lying to his wife, by telling her he was in a meeting, when in fact, he

      was out at some fancy restaurant or wherever with his latest ditsy conquest. But today he had given her an hour off work on the understanding that she

      would work

      until late tomorrow for just the regular amount.

      “But sir, I have two weeks holiday due to me.” Jae-In had protested.

      He looked at her with a stare that would have made a shark nervous.

      She bowed low, knowing it was best not to

      pursue the matter “Thank you Manager lee”

      At the hairdressers,both staff and customers

      had either giggled,gave her looks

      that said “how dare someone from the peasant

      classes come into such a

      respectable place” one lady of a certain age

      had actually made a shooing gesture. and also

      actually said “shoo”

      “Am I a cat?” Jae-In thought to herself. She

      bowed a number of times and

      hunching her shoulders slightly walked to the

      reception desk. There was a young

      woman behind it reading some glossy magazine.

      Jae-In couldn’t see her face clearly at first,

      until she looked up. She was about the same

      age. She smiled brightly at Jae-In.Her eyes

      seeming to dance sparkles of

      light behind a pair of spectacles that were so

      cool looking that Jae-In almost wished she

      needed glasses. Her face was soft, almost too

      soft, as if it was was made of silk.

      It made Jae-In think of lemons and soap. There

      was something about it that

      reminded her of someone. but she could’t think

      who.Then the girl said “Jae-In”,

      in a kind of surprised whisper and when the

      other didn’t respond with words, but looked

      at her in puzzlement, she said the name again,

      and this time with a catch in her

      voice, and when she said it a third time, she

      almost shouted it, and tears were

      streaming down her face. “it’s me Hyun-Ju ”

      Jae-In gasped.It had been at least five years

      since she had seen the girl who

      had been her best friend in school, Then she

      had been a lot bigger in size, and her hair

      was usually a bright orange colour.

      Sometimes it was two colours.occasionly more.

      It had been a meeting of

      opposites, Jae-In, studious, reserved. Well at

      least, that’s what Hyun-Ju

      thought. Until she saw her stand up to the

      school bully, and knew that this girl

      was not quite the stereotypical nerd, she

      first appeared to be.

      To Jae-In, Hyun-Ju was a bit of a loudmouth.

      She always seemed to be getting hit

      by the teacher for causing a ruckus. Then one

      day, she saw her sitting on a

      school bench during lunch break, holding

      something in her hand.

      Jae-In walked by her, trying to steal a glance

      at what she was holding.

      “it’s a guinea pig” Hyun-Ju said “Do you

      want to hold him?”

      “Jae-In stopped, bowed a greeting, and said “I

      wasn’t looking”

      “Hyun-Ju laughed and said “Yes, you were. If

      we’re going to be friends. We have to promise

      each other one thing. Well, maybe more than

      one thing. But right now just one.”

      Jae-In was about to protest. But there was

      something in the other girl’s voice that

      reached into her heart. So she just said “what?”

      “That we never lie to each other”

      And that was all, and Jae-In sat on the bench

      beside Hyun-Ju ; both of them stroking the

      guinea pig. neither of them spoke, because

      they didn’t have to.

    • Cynthia says:

      I’m usually working on several things at once. Currently I’m working on a writing assignment for a Future Learn class on creating characters. It’s a short story about a young girl brought up in a very strict religious household who meets a boy who makes her start to question her life with her father’s church. I’m also working on a few other short stories for my blog and writing contests. One has to do with immortality and a locked door. Another is about a poker player who it about to get really, really lucky, and the last one is about a lonely woman who sees a mysterious mural come to life across the street from her apartment. In addition, I’m working the kinks out of a blog article for Dueling Librarians on Nabokov and why people love to hate him.

      Take a browse around the blog and website. My friend and I co-own Dueling Librarians and do book reviews, blog about authors, publishing, writing tips, and short fiction writing challenges.

    • I’m polishing up the completed manuscript of “The Accidental Courier” written thanks to my therapeutic muse while my wife is gravely ill. Inspired by a news story in the Wall Street Journal about smuggled rare earths used for making cell phones, etc, I created this 50k novel about an American middle-aged tourist who is recruited by an Israeli whistle blower who wants to expose an American company that uses illegally mined rare earths. It’s a road trip through Europe, a romance, and a mystery.

    • Barbara says:

      This is one of my last “pieces”.
      I just want to point out that English is not my native language so there can be some unforgivable mistakes.

      Point of view.

      She:

      15.05.2010

      “And they lived happily ever after.”
      And who has invented that? He’s like machine when he’s with me. Everything he says seems to be recorded on some CD, like some computer program. He even hugs me like a machine, I’m curious if he’s like that also with others. I don’t believe that. It’s odd how he’s being a sweet man as soon as he surpass his office’s doorstep. But not without the reason I felt in love with him, but than he was funny, warm and loving.
      Telephone. It must be him.
      – Yes?
      – Good evening Judie. I’ll be late at home, please don’t wait for me with supper.
      – Sure.
      That’s good I wasn’t cooking yet. I’ll make some salat and off to bed.
      —————–
      – Good morning Judie.
      – Now you came back?
      – Yes, I had some overdue work. I will wait for you downstairs. I’ll make some coffee.

      Please! Robot!

      – Listen Judie. I think that my boss wants me to go to London for two weeks. There are some problems with workers there and he wants me to take care of it.
      – Sure.
      – I’ll pack my stuff. You’ll be ok?
      – Yes, sure.

      Good. If for me he can go even for two months.

      22.05.2010

      It has passed one week since he went away. I’ve seen all possible romantic movies, I was eating in bed, I haven’t put make up not even ones and I’m waking up in the afternoon. I feel great! He’s having good time for sure over there with some secretary. I wish him all the best.
      I think that now has come the moment to separate. We do not have children, nobody will suffer. I will be able to go to work, live like I want, without a robot in bed. I’ve decided.

      26.08.2010

      It’s over. He gave me divorce as if nothing had happened. This is how he cared, it’s better like that. I haven’t left nothing of mine in the house. Apartment close to my parents is only waiting for me to take the keys. Finally!

      11.10.2010

      I have work that I like and I think I’m good in it, because there are coming always more clients that want something made by me. I’m happy that people like my ideas.
      I’m wondering what is doing my ex robot-husband. At least now I don’t have to listen to this song of his favourite singer every single morning.
      Now I can do what I want and when I want.

      He:

      15.05.2010

      I hate coming here. I have to be someone else at work. Smiling, calm. I would have thousands of other ideas to how spend my time if I would not have to work so much, lately they give me even overtime.
      I need to call Judie. My lovely Judie.

      -Yes?
      – Good evening Judie.

      Lately I’m not coming for supper more often. Maybe it’s because of that she became so cold towards me.
      I think I’ll not finish all of this until morning.
      I would give so much to be now in my bed with Judie.

      I’m so tired. Judie is still sleeping. I’ll prepare some coffee and I’ll wake her up. How I’ll tell her that I have to go to London for two weeks? I am already almost never at home with her.

      She said only:”Sure”. I think she’s disappointed.

      22.05.2010

      I would give everything to be with her right now. It’s only a week and I feel like two years passed by. I miss her.

      26.08.2010

      And it’s over. She wanted a divorce. I didn’t try to stop her. I know she was unhappy. Maybe it’ll be better like that.

      11.10.2010

      I’ve heard that she has good job. She makes clothes for small children, she always was good in that. Now she’s happy, I’m sure. There’s only one thing that she has left in here, CD with our song. This song was at the radio when I saw her for the first time. Since then I listen to that song every morning.

    • Barbara says:

      This is one of my last “pieces”.
      I just want to point out that English is not my native language so there can be some unforgivable mistakes.

      Point of view

      Point of view.

      She:

      15.05.2010

      “And they lived happily ever after.”
      And who has invented that? He’s like machine when he’s with me. Everything he says seems to be recorded on some CD, like some computer program. He even hugs me like a machine, I’m curious if he’s like that also with others. I don’t believe that. It’s odd how he’s being a sweet man as soon as he surpass his office’s doorstep. But not without the reason I felt in love with him, but than he was funny, warm and loving.
      Telephone. It must be him.
      – Yes?
      – Good evening Judie. I’ll be late at home, please don’t wait for me with supper.
      – Sure.
      That’s good I wasn’t cooking yet. I’ll make some salat and off to bed.
      —————–
      – Good morning Judie.
      – Now you came back?
      – Yes, I had some overdue work. I will wait for you downstairs. I’ll make some coffee.

      Please! Robot!

      – Listen Judie. I think that my boss wants me to go to London for two weeks. There are some problems with workers there and he wants me to take care of it.
      – Sure.
      – I’ll pack my stuff. You’ll be ok?
      – Yes, sure.

      Good. If for me he can go even for two months.

      22.05.2010

      It has passed one week since he went away. I’ve seen all possible romantic movies, I was eating in bed, I haven’t put make up not even ones and I’m waking up in the afternoon. I feel great! He’s having good time for sure over there with some secretary. I wish him all the best.
      I think that now has come the moment to separate. We do not have children, nobody will suffer. I will be able to go to work, live like I want, without a robot in bed. I’ve decided.

      26.08.2010

      It’s over. He gave me divorce as if nothing had happened. This is how he cared, it’s better like that. I haven’t left nothing of mine in the house. Apartment close to my parents is only waiting for me to take the keys. Finally!

      11.10.2010

      I have work that I like and I think I’m good in it, because there are coming always more clients that want something made by me. I’m happy that people like my ideas.
      I’m wondering what is doing my ex robot-husband. At least now I don’t have to listen to this song of his favourite singer every single morning.
      Now I can do what I want and when I want.

      He:

      15.05.2010

      I hate coming here. I have to be someone else at work. Smiling, calm. I would have thousands of other ideas to how spend my time if I would not have to work so much, lately they give me even overtime.
      I need to call Judie. My lovely Judie.

      -Yes?
      – Good evening Judie.

      Lately I’m not coming for supper more often. Maybe it’s because of that she became so cold towards me.
      I think I’ll not finish all of this until morning.
      I would give so much to be now in my bed with Judie.

      I’m so tired. Judie is still sleeping. I’ll prepare some coffee and I’ll wake her up. How I’ll tell her that I have to go to London for two weeks? I am already almost never at home with her.

      She said only:”Sure”. I think she’s disappointed.

      22.05.2010

      I would give everything to be with her right now. It’s only a week and I feel like two years passed by. I miss her.

      26.08.2010

      And it’s over. She wanted a divorce. I didn’t try to stop her. I know she was unhappy. Maybe it’ll be better like that.

      11.10.2010

      I’ve heard that she has good job. She makes clothes for small children, she always was good in that. Now she’s happy, I’m sure. There’s only one thing that she has left in here, CD with our song. This song was at the radio when I saw her for the first time. Since then I listen to that song every morning.

    • Beany394 says:

      Here goes… I’m trying to finish my Nano novel, “The Grandma Revolution”
      Here is the beginning:
      “Ooh! Hello little fella. Gave you a fright, did I? Sorry, I’d best help you out of there.”
      ***
      Ms Wimple’s day began with muesli and coffee, and a ritual stroll to the letterbox. She never really expected mail, but still looked for old time’s sake. She hoped for a letter from her daughter. It was her birthday after all, and it would be a nice surprise, considering it would be the first time in five years. Lifting the polished brass catch, she put her wrinkly hand inside…

      “Ooh! Hello little fella. Gave you a fright, did I? Sorry, I’d best help you out of there.” For a blue-tongue lizard had poked its head out from the opening. “Hey, don’t be scared. Now… I wonder how you got in there…” She glanced towards her hedge. Which was giggling. Yes, she sighed – the cheeky monkeys were at it again.

      Ms Wimple carefully picked the unfortunate prank lizard out of letter box incarceration. She crept towards her hedge, where the little rascals were watching. She was not in the least perturbed, oh no. She released the lizard, and soon the giggles morphed into screams.

    • Melanie says:

      Hi everyone – I’m an amateur writer and only seventeen, and I’m currently writing a story called “Find Trueheart Immediately”. I’ll put the first paragraph in this comment. The website below is a link to a writing website called “Movellas” that I belong to – I’ve posted the complete first chapter on there, although I’m in the process of rewriting some of it. Anyway, whether anyone reads only part of the first chapter or all of it, I’d really appreciate some constructive criticism or advice!
      Link to full first chapter – http://www.movellas.com/story/201407180248010418-find-trueheart-immediately
      First paragraph – The waiter wrote the message on the back of the bill. The words are messy, blue ink scrawled in a hasty rush, but I can still read them. At first glance I thought he had given me his number or some unusual thing like that. According to my best friend Zoey, it is common to get random guys’ numbers. But then again, she’s exceptionally beautiful. I’m not – I can’t afford to be noticed, not with my job. I’m the best/I’m good/I’m talented, but obviously this time someone saw us. We must have been followed to the restaurant, or else I wouldn’t have been sent this warning.

    • Maythe says:

      I’m currently working on a short detective story set in a fantasy world. I’m intending to publish it on my blog by New Year. This is intended to be something of a dry-run for the world, although I’m realising as I go that there’s so much more worldbuilding and character building to do before I set anything full-length here. I’m at the ‘my first draft is rubbish, woe is me’ stage which is probably why I’m commenting on websites, rather than working on it!

      There are a few examples of my other writing over on my blog. Whether this story will ever make it up over there? Who knows?

    • Hanne Arts says:

      I’m currently working on not the writing, but the marketing of my debut novel, “Just Perfect.” As an eighteen-year-old girl in the last year of High School (IB), this requires lots and lots of my time. But it’s worth it.

      It is definitely worth it, as it is a book that finds its roots in the difficult times I have gone through, meant to inspire and help others through the sharing of my personal struggles – experienced by so many others as well. I believe it would be incredible to share my work with the largest audience possible.

      If anyone is interested in seeing a little teaser, you are more than welcome to check it out here: http://hanne-arts.blogspot.sk/2014/12/just-perfect-teaser.html

      Below is a quick book description:

      When sixteen-year-old Christina Jacobs comes to school one day and discovers that life will never be the same again, she soon finds herself sinking away into self-doubt, haunted by her troubled thoughts and experiences and striving for acceptance and equality.

      Fate was never easy on her, having given her an appearance far from desirable and a family situation far from the norm, but when she is forced to face it all on her own, forced to battle her inner demons, she knows she needs to give all she’s got to fight her way back to the surface and get her life back on track.

      So, that’s what I’m working on. If you’re interested in checking out “Just Perfect” (or getting yourself a copy – thank you with all of my heart if indeed you do) you can find it here:
      https://www.createspace.com/4888416 (hardcopy)
      http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QHCWQC0 (Kindle version)
      http://goodreads.com/book/show/23651235-just-perfect (Goodreads)

      I hope I have sufficiently awoken some interest 🙂
      Hanne

    • Bill Cook says:

      Here’s the first two paragraphs of a short story I’m writing. It’s almost finished.
      Bill
      Significantly, the enjoyment of my breakfast was disrupted when my significant other began pacing around me at the kitchen table, wildly swinging an iron skillet and demanding that I vacate our significantly luxurious apartment, resulting in my having a significant case of indigestion.

    • Ida Smith says:

      Thank you Mary for this opportunity to share our work.
      I’m finishing up the first part of a four part short story for my e-zine: “Jagged Journeys”. http://idasmithbooks.com

      ANTICIPATED
      by Ida Smith

      PROLOGUE

      Anticipation—nothing is ever exactly as we expect. That is how it was with his arrival.
      With every passing day we anticipated his coming. It would be soon. We all knew it. It had to be. How could he allow this injustice to continue?
      The promise of his coming lingered for years. But now–now was his time. It was in our thoughts, spoken of behind closed doors, woven amidst whispers as our oppressors marched by. As they taxed our meager wages. As they issued their decrees. As that usurper set himself up as our king.
      Though we had anticipated his arrival all our lives, we were completely unprepared when he came. It didn’t matter that there were over three hundred prophesies—most of which we’d memorized. Somehow, between the distance of those prophesies and the desperation of our situation–we twisted their meaning. A fact we wouldn’t understand for decades. A reality some never accepted.
      My name is Uzziel. I saw him the night of his arrival—and when they raised him up as our king—anticipation altered beyond recognition. This is my story.

      Part One – The Gift

      I cinched my cloak tighter around my cold body, angry that Shai and I had to sleep on the roof. As if it wasn’t enough that strangers slept on our mats in the house, all around us the noise of so many people in our tiny village made sleep difficult–at least for me.
      Above me, the Maker’s cloak darkened the sky–only the light of his presence sparkled through the weave to shine upon us. This beauty was my only solace amidst the ruckus we’d experienced for the past several weeks–thanks to Caesar Augustus and his people-counting officials. Let them count us–as if the stars could be counted. The Romans might control the ground we trod, but for all their power and might they couldn’t control the skies.

    • Anya Simons says:

      Hi. I’m a young writer of poetry, fiction novels, and flash fiction. I’m working on a series about the magic of time, “The Time Warriors.” I’ve written lots of poetry and am writing several flash fictions. Writing is my joy. I can’t imagine doing anything else, and I hope this shows in my writing.
      The Time Warriors, Book 1: The Warrior Stone
      The man grabbed his knife. He lifted it over his head and brought it down. Tarrant’s hands came up to block the strike, and he grabbed the man’s arm. Then he stepped into the arm and under it, and Raiden winced at the scream that followed the horrible crack.
      The man fell back, his arm limp. “How dare you!” he snarled “Do you know who I am? Do you know who I work for?”
      “Haven’t the slightest,” Tarrant said.
      “Well, I know who you are.”
      “Most do.”
      “Shut up!”
      Tarrant closed his mouth.
      “Thank you.”
      “You’re welcome,” he said, and then his hand moved and silver fire flared in his palm. He hurled it at the man, and he did not burn but his body was covered in wounds, slicing his skin like a hundred knives. The silver energy died as the man screamed, blood streaming from the hundreds of lesions.
      Tarrant’s hand moved again, silver coming to life. He threw it at the man and it caught him like a tidal wave, tossing him through the shattered window.
      Through the gleaming fragments, Raiden saw the man stand and run, leaving blood and glass behind him.

    • Trying to get moving again on the sequel to my first book, Open Gate, continuing the saga of a group of college youth who have found a gateway to another world.

      “Jim Hicks crawled down the tunnel, feeling the earth pressing in against him. Gear poked and prodded him, and his fingers were bleeding from small scratches on the backs of his knuckles where he tried to hold his weapon and crawl at the same time. From behind he heard the rattle, clanks and grunts as his teammates slid down the constricting tube in his wake. Ahead of him, he occasionally heard a brief exclamation of pain and the sounds of movement.

      He opened his mouth to call the prisoners to heel.

      And suddenly he was facing a bright orange wall a foot from his face.”

    • Roy Barton says:

      Hello Mary,

      Thanks for your invitation to share what we’re writing.

      I’ve very recently started blogging – certainly new territory for me! I’m hoping to make one post per week, aimed at people working on major projects. Here’s a link to my most recent post:

      http://roybartonblog.com/2014/12/12/complexity-of-major-projects-note-3/

      With best wishes,

      Roy Barton

    • Beth Havey says:

      I’m rewriting my second novel and querying my first. Whenever I can, I squeeze in an article or a blog post. Wishing everyone good writing and peace in 2015.

    • Hi all, wow, there are some fabulous things everyone is working on. I am taking a detour from my usual contemporary romance genre of writing and trying out something a bit closer to home, figuring out the next step in life. The topic I’m fixed on now is what is the next act for a fifty-plus woman who has put her energy into raising a family….Here’s an excerpt told from alternating viewpoints.

      “I’m leaving your father,” my mother says, standing on my front porch holding a basket of home-baked cranberry muffins as if she’s shown up for a book club meeting.
      She grinds out the last two words as if she’s chewing a mouthful of glass, and I’m somehow complicit in my father’s shortcomings. My mother is particularly skilled at multi-tasking and this deflecting tactic is but one weapon in her guilt arsenal. No child ever wants to hear their mother say those words, even an adult child. Especially at 6:22 AM on the cusp of a long holiday weekend—before two cups of coffee.
      My mother is wearing a white, cotton pencil skirt, silk tunic, and Hermes scarf. Whatever the occasion, she can always be counted on to be appropriately accessorized. I breathe in her signature fragrance—Chanel No. 5. It had always smelled like Playdoh to my unsophisticated senses when I was a child; it still smells that way to me. Glancing at the matching set of Louis Vuitton suitcases my sister and I had bought for her fiftieth birthday flanking her, I almost laugh with relief. My mother has never carried her own bags, ever, which leads me to believe they’re empty. Also, she lives in the next town. She is taking a dramatic stand.
      “I’m leaving your father,” she repeats in irritation since her words have not elicited any sort of visible reaction from me.

    • Terence Verma says:

      Mary, I’m a mite confused about what to blog about? I mention that because I have read that one should just write about what flows naturally. Does it mean that writing for a niche – to monetize the blog – is not really needed? I’m working on copywriting.

    • ML says:

      I am a Song-Writer, Writer of Poetry, Artist and Author who has just finished my first novel of a series. I am most proud-of finally completing a tale of a girl that was inspired from a moment in my-own childhood, when a man appeared before me! My novel is a believable, fiction, coming of age, young adult story about a girl name; Seas. A farmers daughter, that no-other kids would play with and even a-time when-she was bullied. A family torn by droughts on their farm-land, led to lost of crops, alcoholism, lost of home due to no-work from droughts and even a home destroyed by fire. A little-girl who was always playing alone in her back-yard, was one-day, visited by the MAGUS Ezra who-appeared with a white-butterfly resting-on his shoulder. He touched her on the head that day and she was unknowingly, given magical powers at the age of five… She gave-him a white flower she had taken from her mothers flower-garden, that she was asked to stay out-of; before he appeared… He gave her the white butterfly and as she was amazed at the butterfly, she turned back-around and he-had disappeared…? The MAGUS never returned until she was nine, after she became ill and was hospitalized. She and all-the children in the hospital, were immediately healed! He came down from the night skies like-a shooting star, as the night-lights and stars-twinkles; bounced off-of their studded-saddles and jewel-strappings and the horsemen’s jewels and swords…! He was accompanied by four-other horsemen and-they all rode, on horses with wings… As they hovered over each child, one-by-one, they were immediately healed. She grew-up being left-out by other children, to one-day, being accepted into a Royal Palace, of beauty and riches beyond her wildest-dreams. She was sent for by the MAGUS Ezra when she turned seventeen, and was carried on a giant butterfly accompanied-by two others, to detour danger as they travel across times. Where she meets a Prince, fall in love and a-first kiss… She would have-to go and study under the High Priestess to develop her powers, unknowing, that the Prince too, was chosen and given powers. She-is taken on journeys where she comes face-to-face in battles of magic, swords, battling giant creatures and man of all-kind; in a place far-far away…
      I truly believe, that, “On Horses That Once Had Wings and Butterflies and Things” will get a Pulitzer.

      I also believe, it will-be enjoyed by children, young adults and adults alike and chosen by teachers and librarians across the globe. Built on magic, myths and a real-life metaphor.

      Thank you,
      ML
      [email protected]
      Looking for, Traditional Publishers.

    • Elle Lee Love says:

      I’m writing a young adult novel, Forever Remember, about a teenager girl who is haunted by the tragic death of her father in a car accident. She believes the only way she can erase the nightmares about the past is by getting her secret crush to fall in love with her.

      Janice Harding called my first 250 words “Nice and creepy.” I think that was a compliment. Check out her critique. http://blog.janicehardy.com/2014/11/real-life-diagnostics-does-this-ya.html

    • John Turner says:

      I am working on a book about how I lost 100 pounds. It’s a work of faith because I am not there yet. It will be a humorous look at what it’s like to be morbidly obese. It will also include simple things for people to do to get on the right track.

    • Mike says:

      Hello Mary,

      Thank you for the post/opportunity for others to share their work. You are an inspiration to readers who aspire to write. As I have mentioned in the past, I am writing on a friend’s blog site. Specifically, I am exploring communicating science to a general audience from a scientist’s (chemist — me) perspective. Science is often undervalued due to the inherent (or perceived) complexity of the subject. That should not dissuade the non-scientist or scientist (outside a discipline) from exploring the underlying parameters and thought that precede tackling an research problem.

      One example is the current emergence of the Ebola Virus and the danger that is posed by the spread of the epidemic throughout the world. Rather than shying away from a deadly epidemic, a person could look more generally into the problem (size, personal protective equipment, lethality, etc.) and gain a better understanding of the issues at hand with such an epidemic. Exploring science should be fun rather than scaring or daunting. Additionally, by tackling epidemics such as the Ebola Virus, there are other benefits in the form of tangential technologies that can cure other deadly or dangerous virus outbreaks. That is the subject for another post.

      Thank you inquiring into the content that writers are exploring. Have a great day.

      Sincerely,

      Mike

    • Okay, I can’t resist. “Thin Spots” is a humorous (I hope) paranormal fantasy about a young man whose soul gets trapped in Hell by mistake and his subsequent adventures. I’m halfway through the rewrite. Here’s the first bit; I hope it’s not too much.
      Chapter 1. A Raging Eviction
      Colin wrapped his arms around Aidan’s scrawny waist and pulled him backward. The boy kept a death grip on his battered bean bag chair while the landlord’s flunky dragged it inexorably towards the door.
      “Come on, Aidan, let go,” said Colin. “Your crappy chair will be waiting for you outside. And this is killing my back.”
      “I don’t wanna go!”
      “Okay, then. Be an idiot.”
      Colin released his brother. The flunky stumbled backwards, but kept his grip on the beanbag. Aidan fell forward and lay on the floor, beating the carpet with his fists.
      “Smart move. I’d hate to have to call the Sheriff to have you boys arrested.” Mr. Lewis, the landlord, leaned against the wall, watching the proceedings and smoking a thin brown cigar with a plastic tip.
      Colin pushed his glasses firmly up onto his nose and stomped over to Lewis. “You know there’s an eviction process, right? You’ve got to file stuff in court and send me a letter. Can you write? Or can one of your dancing bears?”
      Lewis blew a stream of smoke into his face. “You’re real smart. What goes in that letter?”
      “You know… legal stuff! Writs and filings and whatever.”
      “What’s in ‘em?”
      “If I was a lawyer, I wouldn’t be getting thrown out of my apartment, would I? The point is, you’re breaking the law!”
      “Naw. The point is, you don’t know what you’re talking about. But supposing I am breaking the law, what are you gonna do about it? Hire a lawyer? Sue me yourself? That takes money, son, and you don’t have any.”
      Colin poked his finger into Lewis’s chest. “Yeah? Well, I’m going to get a lawyer to take my case pro bono. We’ll sue you into the Cretaceous Era.”
      “Yeah, right. There’s lots of them.” Lewis tapped his cigar ash onto Colin’s shoe and pushed past him to the center of the apartment. “Looks like that’s about it, y’all. Let’s escort Mr. Pro Bono and the kid out to the curb.”

    • Sydney Lea says:

      I’m working on putting together my first book, a collection of poems. I’m a student, beginning writer with little to no experience in sharing my work. I am trying to figure out what the best way to go about self-publishing would be. I’m open to any and all suggestions.

      I’m overwhelmed with excitement about this, and only adopted the idea from my english professor this semester who commented on one of my poems:
      “If you don’t continue writing poetry throughout your life I will hunt you down and end you”,

      and that gave me some validation to follow this path.

    • Sohila says:

      right now I’m trying to work, uni is taking so much time, on a novel called Interminable http://www.wattpad.com/story/3730484-interminable
      I actually kinda like this story, unlike other stuff that i’ve written before, like I feel it might turn out good but sometimes i don’t know. I need your feedback! thanks 😀

    • I just finished our 3rd children’s book, Teddy the Unready Tyrannosaurus Rex. My son who’s 12 did the illustrations — they are so fun, if I do say so myself!

      (Mary, I posted about this a few months ago when it was in progress….you had asked to know when it was done — it finally is!)

      Intro:
      “But I don’t want to start dinosaur training school, dad,” said Teddy, a very small Tyrannosaurus Rex, even for his young age. “I’m not ready.”
      “Nonsense,” said his father. “When I was your age, I took on anything that moved. Nothing was too big! Why, I remember one time–”
      “But I’m the smallest in the class,” broke in Teddy, knowing his father’s stories could go on for ages.
      His father shook his head and brought his jaws together, snapping his tree-trunk
      toothpick in half. “You’ve got to learn dinosaur self defense against Gorgosauruses in case I’m not around. You start tomorrow,” his father said.
      Teddy swung his tail around and thumped out of his cave. “Podokesaurus!” he said. (That’s like saying ‘Rats!’ A Podokesaurus was close to being a rat back then.)….

      The story continues as Teddy faces his fears — a bully named Big Rex and 2 Giant Gorgosauruses.

      http://cheer-ebooks.com/teddy-the-unready-t-rex.html

      Now, I’m working on my next blog article that’s an interview with the author of Kid Capitalist. It’s my first interview blog….and I’m also learning Scrivener while I’m at it.

      Michelle

    • I just finished our 3rd children’s book, Teddy the Unready Tyrannosaurus Rex. My son who’s 12 years old did the illustrations — he did such a great job drawing our fun dinosaurs (if I do say so myself)!

      The story is about:
      Teddy is a small tyrannosaurus rex with some not so small problems that get bigger. First he doesn’t want to go to school, then he gets teased by Big Rex who’s being a bit of a bully. When Teddy meets the scary Gorgosauruses, he has to face his biggest problem of all. Find out how Teddy’s big heart and courage bring him up to more than full size!

      (Mary, I had sent the opening of this story a few months ago when it was in progress and you had asked me to let you know when it was done — finally it is!)

      Some sample pages with my son’s illustrations:
      http://www.cheer-ebooks.com/teddy-the-unready-t-rex.html

      Now I’m working on my next blog article, an interview with author Tobe Brockner on his latest book “Kid Capitalist.”

      Michelle

    • I have just finished a children’s book called Spick and Span which is about two squirrels who resolve a litter problem. I am now working on two books: Penny Lane – Paranormal Investigator – The Mr Punch Murders, which is the second in my Penny Lane series, and also Hasta Mañana, which is a true story about my partner who was murdered, and the corruption and fraud within the Mexican legal system.

    • Liz says:

      Hi Mary,

      What a great idea! Thanks for this fantastic opportunity. I am a book artist who writes. I am working on a series of books which will be produced a little differently to normal. It is my intention to take them to The Frankfurt Book Fair next year. Here is a snippet from one of the books in the first series.

      “Why are you here?”
      “You asked us Alex, remember? The night you came home in the worst state you’d ever been in, as you collapsed onto the sofa you said: I need help to get out of my own life.”

      Alex blushed as she thought back to that night. It was her third alcoholic coma that week. It had only been Tuesday.

      Silence. A cough. A man entered the room.

      Ordinarily, Alex would have been shocked at the thought of a stranger entering her apartment unannounced. Even one as good looking as this, and God knows she’d brought enough of them home with her over the last few months. At least she’d met them in a bar first. Given the strange appearance with the sheep though, odd was the new ordinary it seemed.

    • Celeste says:

      Hey everyone!
      I am working on several things a novel geared towards women, a children’s story about monsters (as I mentioned in the reply above) and a series of personal short stories. I recently finished this one http://learnher.wordpress.com
      I wanted it to be funny and fast paced. Any feedback will be much appreciated!

    • It was January 2010 and seven days into a new decade. A feeling was nagging: do it! I had written in diaries, never missing a night, starting when I was eleven and in the fifth grade.

      As a 67-year-old, I went to Blogger and set up a website, giving it the URL http://parkcollege1961-1965.blogspot.com. I called my blog MPHS, WCHS and Park College 1960-1965. My husband’s and my daughter, then 30, gave some help from her cell phone to our house phone. I transcribed my first seven diary entries.

      My blog is currently called A 1961-65 Park College Diary. On December 31, 2014 I will transcribe my 1,835th entry.

      Mary Jaksch, you do so much for others through your Write to Done website. Thank you for this opportunity to publish that which we as writers are working on. As you wrote, “Who knows, your piece might even attract the notice of a major publishing house!”

      I’ll be honest. I’d like that.

    • The Mystery Factor ebook = my first publication in fiction – I have written items and articles over the years and many poems and not a few published under names Ben Brodie or Mervyn Lickfold.. I love writing and semi retired now though busier than ever – relevantly attended 8 week Creative Writing Course – by the great Gavin Knight (Hood Rat) and Tobias Jones (The Dark Heart of Italy and others) which set me up to try a feelgood mystery romance set on a Greek island. Recently completed “The Cock Never Crows” – comic romp through a town so very like Glastonbury with a murder for good measure. If I get it right will attach some extracts – feedback is always good

    • I usually write songs and prose, but have recently been working on some poetry. Here’s one from the small collection:

      Life is…
      Sometimes messy and mundane;
      Moments that border on the sublime
      Followed in swift succession by
      Monotony; the tedious treadmill of time
      Ticking, ticking, ticking away.
      Life moves from climax to anti-climax,
      Like Christmas, and then the day after,
      When the joy of anticipation
      Fades into the realization
      That all that remains
      Is to pick up the pieces
      And pack them away.
      Life is impossible to define
      By such moments.
      To focus on the
      Solitary happenstance,
      Whether ecstatic or inane,
      Is like examining a tapestry
      Through a magnifying glass.
      Single threads woven together
      Compose, but cannot predict
      What the whole will be.
      Better to step back and see
      The completed work,
      And finally understand
      That life is beautiful.

      • Donald Manyimo says:

        That’s a really good poem

      • Your poem is beautiful and powerful. I was struck by the wonderful cadence and the grammar and punctuation. Rhonda, you have obviously been working on this poem for some time. I think it is perfect. Some comments on blogs are written so fast and not corrected before posting. Your poem was edited well or you have a genius for writing the first time. Which is the way you write poetry? My opinion is that we should be aware that those who read writing blogs are writers with a sensibility towards language and the skills of writing so the mistakes should be fixed before posting. We are all being read with purpose and an eye for the best of the best in our line of work, whether we are published or new writers. Do you feel that way also?
        We can all learn from accomplished writers such as you.

    • Jim P Spencer says:

      Editing/rewriting my 2nd book titled “Family LIes>’ Here is how it starts.

      “I’m sorry.” Blood spattered the sheet as the man coughed. Pain contorted his face as he strained to speak. “Forgive me.” He gasped; then spoke, “A promised secret.”
      A call buzzer resonated in the small hospital as Merahi wiped the blood from her father’s chin with a damp towel. Her other hand trembled, and a few tears fell, mixing with the fresh blood on the sheet as she squeezed his hand. “Dad, rest. Don’t try to talk.”
      More tears rolled from Merahi’s eyes. She wiped them away, smearing her make-up into miniature mud pies.
      The old man’s head jerked off the pillow as his body shuddered with another, stronger cough. “No time.” He grimaced, and then gagged. Blood foamed from the crinkled corners of his mouth. His clenched eyes resembled incisions. His throat constricted as he forced a swallow. “Forgive me.”

    • Cecly Ann says:

      My WIP is in keeping with my focus, Caribbean themed historical fiction. I’m also working at building my readership especially among US audiences.

    • Jennifer says:

      Right now I’m working on two things. A short story about sisters, one of whom is a shape shifter. The other, more expansive thing, I’m working on is world building. I’m starting with a map. It’s nowhere near finished, but its latest iteration is here: http://tinyurl.com/m6bjco8

      The names in red are the names of the peoples, not the names of the countries. To get the names of the countries, take off the “Wa” convention.

      I’m having a great time doing this. Once the geography, climate, and agriculture is figured out, I’ll be creating the peoples and their cultures, and then into the story. I already have my first novel in this world mostly worked out, but I ran into problems which sent me back to create the whole world so I didn’t have to keep making up a mish mash of things on the spot. Plus, I feel it makes sense to put in the time since I plan to spend the rest of my life writing in this world. Not just this continent, but there are a whole earth-sized fantasy world of continents to explore.

    • Evi Wusk says:

      My book draft is entitled, Digital Humanist: Spirituality in a Techie World. Its aim is to add the strong-yet-light touch of Grace to the technology conversation–which is mired in fear. The writing is my way of grappling with the deep questions and the tension of being a former youth worker (where the normal was, “Put your devices away!”) and now working as a professor of educational technology where many proclaim the “ultimate saving powers” (yes, hear that sarcasm) of technology. This book shows a third way where we embrace joyful connections, while remembering with sober judgement what technology just plain can’t do–no matter how hard it tries.

    • I’m writing last minute Chistmas publicity for my anthology of children’s stories, ‘The Seer’s Stone’

    • Devonne says:

      Uh, hi. I’m a young, new writer (I’m still in school, actually), but I’m still trying to write between homework and classes. I’m currently working on a series of short horror/weird fiction stories called A Hundred and One Monsters Who Love You (Least, that’s what I’m calling the project). I really enjoy doing this despite being a coward, but one of the hardest things about writing this thinking of all those monsters because most of the ones you hear about act out of spite rather than affection. Any advice would be greatly appreciated (and please dear God tell me that I did not misinterpret what I was supposed to do in the comments section).

      • Celeste says:

        Hey. I love this idea! I just wrote a little story about monsters for my 6 year old who loves to draw monsters.
        I’ve been working on my “villian” for my book (not about monsters) and one thing I’ve read and noticed is that when you dig into the background of the bad guy they often aren’t just spiteful but instead scared, scarred, hurt, or seeking revenge. After so much hurt they have an angry or spiteful appearance for protection.
        Why dont you try drawing or describing your monster and thinking about how his appearance might make him feel? Is he ashamed by it? Does it make him awkward or like an outcast? Now think about those around him. Have people reacted to him in fear or disgust for so long that now he’s become that monster they loathe or fear? Look for the why behind their actions.
        Take Shrek or Sulley. These are monsters that scare other characters in their story but we as viewers love them because we know them. Under all that roar, they are just like us. And I bet your monsters are, too.
        Hopefully, by taking this approach you can find the warm fuzzies in all your monsters.

      • I love that title Devonne! Maybe some of the monsters appear spiteful but actually they’re working to protect their person/people from the REALLY mean monsters out there?

    • Travis says:

      I’m working on a piece about the lifestyle of the rich and famous with a sexual plot.

      May 4, 2015 8:39 p.m.
      Boston, Massachusetts

      The waitress handed millionaire Donna Lucille her breakfast order and coffee.
      “Thanks,” Donna Lucille said to the waitress in her blue and white embroidered uniform of the deli shop. Donna reached into her purse to pay for the order. Donna glanced at her wristwatch as she waited for her change. The waiter returned with Donna’s change, nodded, smiled, and tended to other customers. Donna gave a quick smile, grasped the order in its white paper bag and started out of the deli shop, car keys in hand.


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