Book Writers!!!

[naisu]

wow i'm still writing my first draft of a book i made last year haha, have you guys wrote any books yet?

[randompersonH2O]

XD that's nothing to be ashamed of, Luna. I've started like 4 books, but I haven't finished any of them yet.

[Spotted.Newt]

I have started so many books... I get an idea and start a book, and then I get another idea, and I start writing another book, and then I get another idea, and the cycle is never ending. XD Maybe I'll actually finish the one I'm working on currently, but my rp characters have inspired a new idea.

[Snicks]

Hello.

I was just wondering if this sounded like a good plot line for a novel.

So, every person in the world is born and given a necklace and it has half a charm on it (E.G. half a flower, half a heart E.T.C).
The persons soul mate has the other half of the necklace charm. So in this book everyone is trying to find their soul mates. But there's this one girl (whose name is Penny because her charm is a coin), who looses her necklace. But in this world if you lose your necklace you get killed, so she runs away. Long story short, she meets a guy named Nick (short for nickel , who has also lost his necklace. So this is a story of them "Running from the law".

How does that sound??... Need Help!!!!

I would read that, sounds interesting!

Yeah.. I'm working on a project of my own, but I don't have any idea where the plot is going. I have some basic ideas, but no real plot. I'm working on that problem... I started it a couple years ago but I haven't gotten very far with it. xD

[randompersonH2O]

Yeah, I get what you guys mean. You know what fan fiction is, right? Well, I like to write that a lot, so I have almost ten of them in the works at the same time, all of which can be found here. With both those and my original stories, which I have almost five of at the moment, I think of a certain moment in the book and build the plot from the beginning to that point. It seems to have worked so far...

[protégé of batman]

I have started so many books... I get an idea and start a book, and then I get another idea, and I start writing another book, and then I get another idea, and the cycle is never ending. XD Maybe I'll actually finish the one I'm working on currently, but my rp characters have inspired a new idea.

This happens to me all the time!!!!!!! For a while, I had about three to four stories going at once. It was pretty bad. Then I just gave up on a couple of them. I wasn't very attached to the story, so I let it go( oh frozen)

[tide.]

Wow, it's been ages since I've been on CS! How is everyone? As of a couple weeks ago I'm in the works of getting something published, so I'm super excited about that. Any chance I could get some critique on this? (It's 10,500 words total so I'm only giving an excerpt.)

Static clouds my head
I am waking up?
My nerves scream awake and it feels like my bones have been crushed to dust between my muscles and flesh.

Noise. Static. Soft words passed between people. I cannot open my eyes. Or, I will not. I couldn’t tell. Everything within me ached, and there was a heavy pressure on my temples. I forced my lips open so I might let breath into my lungs once again, an attempt to wake up, but the further inflation of my chest makes me choke and instantly I am hacking and sputtering. Warm liquid dots my pale lips and without looking I know it is blood. The static starts to clear then.
What happened, I think mutely. And that is when things start to get truly horrific.
In a panic fueled by waves of pain that wash over me quickly, coldly, and heavily, my eyes fly open and what I see around me is indescribable. I do not know how I got into this room. I do not know where I am. I have never seen the people around me.
Fluorescent light floods my vision, and metal walls dotted with the occasional glass shelf cover my entire field of vision. I try not to think about what is on those shelves. The soft murmuring around me ceases; they have realized I am awake. The metal does not reflect the light well, and what little illumination the bulbs offer is cast dimly off of the table I am…strapped to. I feel my heart stop in my chest. What was once panic is now sheer terror, and the only thing keeping me silent is the hope that they will leave me alone if they dub me unfit for whatever it is they want me for.

I do not know why they want me. I’m not interesting; I don’t even know who “they” are. My name is Florence Ashford. I am nineteen years old. I was born in Brooklyn in a taxi on the way to the hospital and my mother never wanted me so I left and I went to live on my own as soon as I could and the last thing I remember is
Nothing
I realize the thoughts I’m having are being made up as I try to sort myself out. Something tells me that the name is real, though, and I decide to keep it. I suck in one more breath, this time more slowly to avoid my ribs constricting me. The pain, this time, is a dull throb between my lungs and it does not bother me as much. I absentmindedly take note of the fact that I am cold. A shiver runs down my spine as if my mind cued it.
“Good morning, Florence.”

The voice is what grounds me.
“Welcome back, ma’am. Did you sleep well?”
I do not respond.
“Come now, don’t be shy,”
“How are you feeling?” A second voice chimes in and I don’t want to register the fact that it sounds faintly familiar. Cold and clinical with a fake smile that clings to the words like the smell of smoke in the air after a light rain. It is a voice that drips with chemicals and I do not like it. If I do remember the voice, then I do not think that I ever liked it. The breath that belongs to the voice (I cannot determine the gender and I have closed my eyes moments ago when they began to speak to me) is ice cold, like a murderer breathing heavily after a kill. The static threatens to cloud my mind again.
A hand is suddenly gripping my chin very tightly, and I screw my eyes even more tightly shut. The gesture commands for an answer, so I force out one word: “tired”.
“Sounds about right. We had a lot of fun yesterday, didn’t we? I don’t think you remember it yet, though. You will when the procedure is done, however.”
“Procedure?” I mumble weakly, the words practically falling out of my mouth in an uncoordinated act of exhaustion.
“Yes ma’am. When you were conceived—which was in a test tube, by the way—we knew exactly what we wanted. So, we made it. And you came out. Of course, we had to let you out after the first couple years; you had to develop normally enough or you’d suspect something along the way. You had an average life and an average mother and father. Your brother and sister would fight and you, Florence, the precious, overprotective older sister, would break it up. You were practically a saint at home—yet nothing short of what people considered a demon at school. Florence, let me tell you, almost everyone but you noticed that you were different. No one could quite place it, though. Even your parents noticed something, but they couldn’t quite tell what. No one could put a finger on the feeling that they got while they were around you, so they forced another one into its place and called it hatred. Do you know what it was, really? It was fear, Florence Ashford. They hated what they couldn’t understand so called it fear and beat the hell out of you daily for it. They used words and fists and those glances like daggers to call you out on your individuality. Because you’re not the same, Florence. And we made you that way on purpose.”

[Guardian-Angel]

Wow, it's been ages since I've been on CS! How is everyone? As of a couple weeks ago I'm in the works of getting something published, so I'm super excited about that. Any chance I could get some critique on this? (It's 10,500 words total so I'm only giving an excerpt.)

Static clouds my head
I am waking up?
My nerves scream awake and it feels like my bones have been crushed to dust between my muscles and flesh.

Noise. Static. Soft words passed between people. I cannot open my eyes. Or, I will not. I couldn’t tell. Everything within me ached, and there was a heavy pressure on my temples. I forced my lips open so I might let breath into my lungs once again, an attempt to wake up, but the further inflation of my chest makes me choke and instantly I am hacking and sputtering. Warm liquid dots my pale lips and without looking I know it is blood. The static starts to clear then.
What happened, I think mutely. And that is when things start to get truly horrific.
In a panic fueled by waves of pain that wash over me quickly, coldly, and heavily, my eyes fly open and what I see around me is indescribable. I do not know how I got into this room. I do not know where I am. I have never seen the people around me.
Fluorescent light floods my vision, and metal walls dotted with the occasional glass shelf cover my entire field of vision. I try not to think about what is on those shelves. The soft murmuring around me ceases; they have realized I am awake. The metal does not reflect the light well, and what little illumination the bulbs offer is cast dimly off of the table I am…strapped to. I feel my heart stop in my chest. What was once panic is now sheer terror, and the only thing keeping me silent is the hope that they will leave me alone if they dub me unfit for whatever it is they want me for.

I do not know why they want me. I’m not interesting; I don’t even know who “they” are. My name is Florence Ashford. I am nineteen years old. I was born in Brooklyn in a taxi on the way to the hospital and my mother never wanted me so I left and I went to live on my own as soon as I could and the last thing I remember is
Nothing
I realize the thoughts I’m having are being made up as I try to sort myself out. Something tells me that the name is real, though, and I decide to keep it. I suck in one more breath, this time more slowly to avoid my ribs constricting me. The pain, this time, is a dull throb between my lungs and it does not bother me as much. I absentmindedly take note of the fact that I am cold. A shiver runs down my spine as if my mind cued it.
“Good morning, Florence.”

The voice is what grounds me.
“Welcome back, ma’am. Did you sleep well?”
I do not respond.
“Come now, don’t be shy,”
“How are you feeling?” A second voice chimes in and I don’t want to register the fact that it sounds faintly familiar. Cold and clinical with a fake smile that clings to the words like the smell of smoke in the air after a light rain. It is a voice that drips with chemicals and I do not like it. If I do remember the voice, then I do not think that I ever liked it. The breath that belongs to the voice (I cannot determine the gender and I have closed my eyes moments ago when they began to speak to me) is ice cold, like a murderer breathing heavily after a kill. The static threatens to cloud my mind again.
A hand is suddenly gripping my chin very tightly, and I screw my eyes even more tightly shut. The gesture commands for an answer, so I force out one word: “tired”.
“Sounds about right. We had a lot of fun yesterday, didn’t we? I don’t think you remember it yet, though. You will when the procedure is done, however.”
“Procedure?” I mumble weakly, the words practically falling out of my mouth in an uncoordinated act of exhaustion.
“Yes ma’am. When you were conceived—which was in a test tube, by the way—we knew exactly what we wanted. So, we made it. And you came out. Of course, we had to let you out after the first couple years; you had to develop normally enough or you’d suspect something along the way. You had an average life and an average mother and father. Your brother and sister would fight and you, Florence, the precious, overprotective older sister, would break it up. You were practically a saint at home—yet nothing short of what people considered a demon at school. Florence, let me tell you, almost everyone but you noticed that you were different. No one could quite place it, though. Even your parents noticed something, but they couldn’t quite tell what. No one could put a finger on the feeling that they got while they were around you, so they forced another one into its place and called it hatred. Do you know what it was, really? It was fear, Florence Ashford. They hated what they couldn’t understand so called it fear and beat the hell out of you daily for it. They used words and fists and those glances like daggers to call you out on your individuality. Because you’re not the same, Florence. And we made you that way on purpose.”

Oh my gosh I love this! It really hooks you in and makes you want to read more (like me).

[Tigerstripe11]

I love writing, and I've thought of many ideas. There is one that I called Mind Games.

Since I was small, I always looked out the window of my car and played games with my mind. I always imagined and animal for instance a orange cat, a Chesnut horse, or a raccoon, sometimes a skeleton figure. Don't ask why cx. Anyways I made obstacles as the car moved, control it's movements and how it always kept next to the car, following certain rules. The story is based of that, but the skeleton figure.

My idea was that a girl began to see the skeleton figure everything she looked out the window, following her gaze. It's energy became stronger that it finally talked to her, asking for help.

I need help in what it wants, like a horror and thriller or suspense. Also I need help on a description, anyone has any ideas? Thanks! c;

[isabel441]

I'm currently writing a book. I've been working on it for about three years. I'm looking for some CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. Thanks!