The Advanced Writer's Club

[Artesian]

Pish posh, we're all crazy.

It's the normal people you've got to watch out for; they're the real crazy ones.

[Roonil Wazlib]

Could someone take a look at my blog? Keep in mind that it's not about my actual life, it's more of an alter-ego. It's more of a story than a blog, sort of. It has mild swearing, but nothing major. If you do look at it, could you PM me to tell me how I'm doing? Thanks!
Link

[abandoned.]

ohhh ouo
lemme try that gumdrop
thanks <3

[princess pudding]

Finally wrote down the draft of the Prologue for my novel.
I'd love someone to give it a test read over pm.

[winter.]

Username: winter.
Nickname: Winter, but I'll respond to anything.
Writing Preferences (Poet, Novelist, roleplayer...): Aspiring Novelist. I used to role-play, but I don't now.
Example (Can be anything; must be a good length): The only example I have is from the story I am currently writing.
I have written other things, but they have been either accidentally deleted or misplaced.

This is the beginning of my current novella/story:

There are only two things of which I am sure: my name is Ivy Hale, and I have been running for as long as I can remember. However, that really isn’t that long.

A few days ago, I awoke to the sight of leaves glowing with the light of sunrise, their branches swaying gently in the wind. Where am I? I lifted my head and surveyed the area. I was in a small clearing on the forest floor surrounded by nothing but untamed wilderness for miles. Glancing down, I saw that I was wearing only a nightgown, soiled with dirt: my feet were bare, yet clean. How did I get out here? I stood up shakily, my frail legs struggling to maintain balance. I stared at the vast forest around me and realized that I was utterly alone. Panic overtook me: I tried to shout for help, but to my shock … no sound came out. What happened to me? I laid down on the ground, overwhelmed with confusion and terror. I can’t just wait for help. I don’t think anyone knows where I am. I’ll starve to death before I’m rescued. And I’ve been running ever since.

. . . . .

Rocks dig into the soles of my feet, causing them to bleed. Branches whip my face as I speed through the forest. My stomach howls in hunger, but I ignore the pain. Only one thought is on my mind, or perhaps, one image: a boy’s face. I don’t know who he is, but I know that he is what I’m looking for. It is then when I start to wonder: How long have I been running? Where am I going? When will I get there? But then I stop. I don’t know the answers to these questions, and it won’t do any good to keep wondering.

A few hours later, I pass by a small pond. Only then do I realize the burning in my throat. So thirsty. I stop and kneel down at the pond’s side, cupping my hands and bringing the water to my lips. It is murky and brown, but I could care less: it’s something. I drink until my thirst is quenched, then I rise to my feet. I can’t rest now. I have to find him. Looking down at the pond, I realize something else: I can’t remember what I look like. I try to find a reflection on the water’s surface, but there is only a shadow.

If it is too short, or you would like to read more, please refer to the link below. :)

Links to stories / roleplays: Fly
Other: Thank you so much for the opportunity! I know I am not that excellent a writer, but I am hoping others here will help me improve.

[aphelion ✧]

Username: Zuchi

Nickname: ...Zuchi or whatever you can come up with c:

Writing Preferences (Poet, Novelist, roleplayer...): Novelist and roleplayer. A bit of a reporter as well.

Example (Can be anything; must be a good length): A short something I wrote for the 100 theme challenge:

{{1.Chores}}

A hard or unpleasant task.

----“Bu-but Dad! I don’t wanna scrub the walls!” cried the small child with crocodile tears forming at the corner of his eyes. He lifted a small hand covered in blue paint to his face and wiped away the fake tears from his eyes, leaving a smudge of paint in the path of the hand. With sparkling blue eyes that shimmered with adorableness, he looked up at his father and pouted, acting exactly like a whipped dog just to get out of cleaning up his mess.

----Blue paint had been rubbed, drawn, and even thrown onto the pristine white walls of the small house, splattered on every inch of the child’s room and the small child himself. His blonde hair that was almost as pale as his skin had speckles of the blue substance and the once white shirt slipping off his small frame was drenched in the paint, seeping through the clothing and onto his porcelain skin. The khaki shorts he wore no longer looked tan, but were now a shade darker than the paint. The source of the chaotic state of him and his room could be found by following the blue footprints to a corner, a corner that had childish scribbles and drawings covering every inch of it. A small can of paint had the lid flipped off, but all of the colorful liquid was gone from the can, completely used up by the blonde who was barely nine years old.

----“Sunny, you made the mess, you clean it up. That is how things work in this house,” a man with black hair tinted with blue highlights spoke, not budging even slightly to the pitiful act in front of him. After a few years of putting with the fake tears and sad faces, he learned to ignore or at least stare at his rather interesting shoes like right now instead of being a victim of the well practiced act. He placed a bucket of soapy water in front of Sunny and opened the child’s small hand up, prying out a brush from it and replacing it with a different type of brush, a scrub brush to be more precise. Just as the father figure was about to leave his son to clean up the nearly impossible mess, he heard quiet sniffling and paused in his steps, almost walking out of the whimsical room to return to his study, but the stifled sobs had him turning back around.

----The small boy hadn’t moved an inch from his original spot, only tightening his fist around the brush and looking towards the carpeted floor, blonde bangs shadowing his face and the real tears that poured from his eyes. The salty drops dripped off his face and softly hit the floor, pattering against the floor with light thuds. Almost as quickly as the water works had started, the bluish haired man did an about-face and quickly hurried back to his child’s side to bend down to his level, practically scooping the frail form into his longs arms and hugging him close to his lanky body. He ran a hand through the blue-blonde hair soothingly and let Sunny cry openly in his shoulder, tears pouring out faster than a waterfall, drenching the white collared shirt the father wore.

----As the tears stopped flowing and the cries turned into broken hiccups, the bluish haired man pulled himself away from the kid and looked him straight in the eyes. He didn’t turn his silver eyes to look down at his white shirt that was now a light blue or to his tanned hands that were covered in speckles of paint. He looked calmly at his little artist and kept one hand on his shoulder in a reassuring manner, squeezing it slightly to gain the attention of his little Leonardo da Vinci.

----“You’re not in trouble Sun-bun. I’m not angry or disappointed in you at all,” the lanky man whispered softly, talking slowly to make sure his son understood the words. It didn’t work as well as the father thought it would since the kid just continued to hiccup and nodded his head side to side.

----“Look, if you do your chores, I’ll take you to the beach and buy you a Popsicle. Okay?” he bargained with a large grin. With those words, the blonde perked up immediately, blue eyes sparkling with childish happiness and youth. He lifted the heavy bucket by himself, an amazing feat for a child his size, and hurried to get all of the paint scrapped off the walls, eager to get his treat once he finished his chores. When the father noted that his son would continue to work diligently, he left the room, sighing lightly and running a hand through his messy hair.

----When the tall man walked back into the child’s room later in the day, he was welcomed by the sight of paint smeared onto the walls even more and soap bubbles floating through the room, drifting everywhere and popping when they landed the silently fuming man’s nose. Shifting his eyes around the room to find the cause of the mess once again, he located Sunny curled up in small ball in the corner with all of the paintings, snoring lightly as he dreamed of frozen treats that tasted like tropical fruit. Just as the enraged father was about to yell at his son to get back to work and scrub the walls, he looked over at one of the poorly drawn pictures and his hard face softened.

----On the white wall, drawn with a small finger covered in blue paint, was a rather tall man with straight hair holding a smaller boy’s hand with fluffy hair. Underneath the taller one, DAD was scribbled in a barely legible script and underneath the shorter figure, MƎ was written very carefully. Instead of being the cruel man most people made him out to be and forcing his child awake from his serene dreams that were normally riddled with horrific nightmares, he picked up the frail body in his arms and carried the blonde haired kid to his bed covered with plushies. The father carefully tucked Sunny into the covers and placed a light kiss on his forehead before he moved to look at the bucket of soapy water. He picked up the scrub brush discarded by the napping child and dipped it into the water. He scrubbed and rubbed off the blue paint the best he could, but always avoiding the one piece of art.

---Specifications---
Song} Song For The Dead by Sea Wolf
Words} 1085
Paragraphs} 9
Lines} 69
Pages} 2
-Form By Zuchi-

Links to stories / roleplays: xXx - My only current roleplay on the forums

Other: Nope, nothing I can think of at the moment.

[Rolly-chan]

Username: Rolly-chan
Nickname: Rolly, Rolly-chan, whatever floats your boat :3
Writing Preferences (Poet, Novelist, roleplayer...): Novels, short stories, fanfiction, sometimes poems
Example (Can be anything; must be a good length):

My father once told me that every ending is at the same time a new beginning, always, everywhere. I found it hard to believe. Evidence was scarce, opportunities few. And through the fire I dismissed them. His words. The oh-so promising poetry behind them.
What was it to me? And who listens to the fleeting, wistful fantasies of a bored man?
Not me. Not in the fire.

***

Unbearable heat pierced through her skin, black smoke crawled into her nose and irritated her eyes, orange and yellow light frantically danced before her eyes and blurred silhouettes of people scurried all across the place, disorganised like ants. Their voices carried over to her like faint echoes, dulled by endless repeats. Only the white full moon stood out clearly above in the night sky.
The flames all around her hissed furiously while they grew and spread, and her own coughing rang in her ears, louder than any other sound.
Screams for help and pleas for lives came through the flames from all around and she really considered turning around and helping the people the voices belonged to - but she couldn't. Her mind paralysed, heart pumping heavily from fear, she felt unable to command her own muscles; all she could do was march on steadily, avoiding the flames at all costs, even though she wanted to help them. She really wanted to. Her thoughts said so.
But she kept going, never looking back.
This hell... wasn't for her.

She blinked open her eyes and looked around in confusion, slowly dismantling herself from disorientation. The dizziness from before had disappeared, and she remembered. She remembered everything that had happened.
A sudden wave of guilt hit her stomach as she smelled the rusty smoke from her own skin and clothes.
"It wasn't my fault," she rasped quietly to herself, her eyes prickling with tears. She dragged a dusty, filthy arm across her face, over her eyes. It still hurt to speak.
Most of them must be dead. Just like that, in one night, they had all died. People she had known. Her friends, people who had lived next door for so many years she had forgotten if she had been there first or them.
She sat up, an angry frown on her face, looking at nothing in particular.
They had meant so much to her, having lived through so many years of mutual friendship, helping each other in need, lending support through hard times, laughing and crying together, united in their emotions. Why, then, did she feel so detached? Even when she forced herself, she couldn't dig out feelings of remorse, grief or frustration. And it scared her so much that she couldn't move for a moment, chained by a surge of underlying horror.
Then, out of the blue, a fast gush of wind brushed her cheek and her heart almost jumped out of her chest. A second later there was an arrow sticking in the ground a little away from her.
Clutching the hem of her tunic at her chest, she stared big-eyed at the brown, neatly cut arrow.
What the heck was going on?
"Oh, I beg you pardon, young lady. I mistook you for a boar," a voice behind her spoke, sending her heart jumping again.
"STOP SCARING ME!" she screamed as she jumped up from the ground, getting some more distance between herself and the man that had found her.
"I'm sorry again, young lady. As I told you already, I mistook you for our meal."
"I DON'T EVEN REMOTELY RESEMBLE A BOAR! You jerk!" she kept screaming hoarsely, ignoring the pain in her throat. The adrenaline pumping through her veins didn't allow for contemplation.
The man cocked his head to the side and smiled. "My name is Tarik, not 'jerk', of that I'm quite certain. Well, at least you speak my language."
The anger flared up inside her and made her forget all about the fear. "Excuse me? Your language? Stop talking to me like I'm dumb! Jerk!"
He only broke into a chuckle. "Why, you are quite lively, aren't you? But pray, why are you here, in the middle of the forest, all alone? And what is your name?"
She huffed, not in the least inclined to answer him. But since he gave her his name, she had to be polite enough to return that favour.
"I'm Seren. And it's none of your business what I'm doing here."
Tarik raised an eyebrow at her, looking all the way amused by her frantic temper.
"Don't forget that I'm the one with the bow," he said and raised said weapon in demonstration.
"Pfft! I don't give a rat's bottom about your bow." Seren crossed her arms in front of her chest and regarded Tarik warily. She had never trusted easily, so of course she wouldn't let this jerk of a complete stranger in on the details. Never in a hundred years after him mistaking her for a freaking boar! She wasn't that ugly!
"That's too bad. Because if you are lost, right now, I'm your only option."
That sure took the wind out of her sails. Grinding her teeth, she fisted her hands and glared at that stranger in front of her. He was right. Of course, he was. And that was exactly what she hated so much about this situation.
But whatever. If he was her pass out of this labyrinth of a forest, she'd take it. This wasn't forever, after all.

Links to stories / roleplays:
Tactics fanfic - BEWARE, there is at least one bad curse in it, but otherwise it's not that bad xD
Fluffy short story on CS
Story I wrote for a contest on CS
My poetry corner
Other:
So many people I know from the Inklings thread x3 I need to stalk you here, too.

[rose;]

Username: The Burning Rose
Nickname: Rose, Rosie, Turtle
Writing Preferences (Poet, Novelist, roleplayer...): Role-playing and nothing else at the moment. I'm terrible at poetry, and motivation goes splat whenever I try and write a story.
Example (Can be anything; must be a good length): Just wait until I get on the computer xP
Links to stories / roleplays: No stories, and I'll link to a few of my role-plays, but I highly doubt you want them all.
Other: I'm from the semi-literate role-players club

[abandoned.]

Accepted Rosie.

[Rivkah]

I know I'm not supposed to post until I am accepted but my form is a page or two back. If I could get a PM on whether or not I was accepted that would be great.