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[Eek-A-Mouse]

Any comments would be appreciated  .

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The sun played with the leaves of the elm tree and cast a warm speckled shadow on the grass below. It was a pleasant Spring afternoon and many among the people of Thurville were playing, conversing, or dozing among the bushes and the willows, oaks and elms of Hertford Center Park. Kappa was one of these people. As he lay on his blue-green patchwork blanket and warmed his closed eyelids with the recesses of light falling through the elm’s canopy, he took a long breath and smiled as the pleasant smells of the park drifted into his nostrils. Beside Kappa sat Geb and Will. All three were young men of lean build and hair not particularly light or dark. Besides the occasional passerby was a solitary man of wrinkled aspect who sat nearby on a bench and took long, steady pulls from a wooden pipe.

   “It’s not often such nice weather comes along,” said Kappa. “This warmth is just what I needed, though.”

   Will nodded. “Exactly. It seems like the moment the dreariness of the rain and endless nights in the library begins to become overbearing, the clouds part and give way to days like this.”

   Geb grunted, half-listening to the conversation as he lifted himself to a hand-stand on the grass.

   “I’d go mad if there were no moments like this.” Geb’s voice was slightly strained as he concentrated on keeping balance. “You need time to get away from your brain. I had nearly forgotten I was capable of anything besides math problems and Latin.”

   Will grinned and rolled himself against Geb’s ground-planted hands, forcing the latter to tumble into the grass. Geb swore and Kappa laughed.

   “Or maybe you’ve gone totally insane,” playfully chided Kappa, “and everything around you is a fraud.”

   Geb laughed. “Maybe!”

   The old man closed his eyes as he took a long draw from his pipe. He exhaled in a pleasurable sigh and released a cloud which a musing spectator may well be inclined to think was a visible essence of his contentment. This wrinkled character had already had ample time to contemplate such things, and was now focusing on a more particular matter underneath the elm tree.

   “The boy is right, it is a beautiful day.” He mused with a smile. “And he certainly seems to be enjoying his conversation.” He paused to take a pull from his pipe.

   He released the puff with a thoughtful sigh. The cloud embraced him and gave an air of sympathy as the wrinkles about his eyes pinched and seemed to magnify the scrutiny of his thoughts.

   “Perhaps his condition allows him more happiness than others. Surely one can enjoy another’s company, but it is more convenient to simply imagine your companions. And what better friends are there than those which the mind creates for the sole purpose of appeasing itself? And look what he does now.”

   Kappa watched Geb lift himself onto a lower branch of the elm. The limb was slightly above his head, and only after he pulled his body to hang on the branch like a cloth on a clothesline was he able to maneuver his legs and sit properly on the tree.

   “You’re a natural acrobat today, Geb.” Kappa said in amusement.

   Will laughed. “You should stop lingering around the school and follow your true calling at the circus.”

   “Make all the fun you will,” said Geb, “but three weeks from now when the rain and clouds have made you two forget the sunlight I’ll at least have the recollection that I made the most out of today.”

   “And maybe you’ll have a broken leg as a souvenir of the day’s escapades to accompany your happy recollections.”

   Geb threw a twig at Will. “Well, are you two coming up? Or have your muscles atrophied beyond use?”

   The wrinkled man continued to spectate, the occasional puff never failing to rise above his temples. He arched his brows in curiosity as the boy walked under the tree’s lowest branch. He raised his arm to the branch as if compelling it or some shade within it to lift him. He swore when there was no result, and then went about pulling himself onto the limb.

   The old man listened as the boy’s voice trailed to his bench:

   “Will, you coming?”

   He held his breath as silent moments passed.

   The boy stared at the lawn below the tree and then shrugged. “Suit yourself. Geb was right, it feels nice to set your body to a task.” He laughed. “I may even get sore and have something to remind me of my limbs in the days to come.”

    The man released his breath and let the forthcoming smoke blanket his whiskers.

   “A very curious boy. He may live in a mirage, but if he is content in his place, does the difference between mirage and reality matter? He’s happier than many people without invisible companions.”

   He took a long pull from his pipe and stretched his back against the bench, letting the smoke rise from his mouth as his vertebrae made soothing pops upwards along his spine.

   “If happiness is life’s ultimate goal, he may have a window to achievement. However, if truth is requisite, would this boy be alienated from the race to real solace?” The man’s wrinkles gathered between his eyebrows in a quizzical expression.

   He tried to pull his pipe but to no avail: only ashes remained in the wooden bowl.

   “Well, the pipe is finished and you haven’t said a word! You’ve been awfully quiet this afternoon.” He looked to his gray-haired companion on the bench and laughed.

   “Oh well. We mustn’t tarry. Shall we begin our evening walk?”

Also, how do you all go about writing longer stories? I know there's no one answer; I'm just interested in hearing your thoughts on the matter.

[fqllve]

The sun played with the leaves of the elm tree and cast a warm speckled shadow on the grass below.

I would probably say "The sunlight played on the leaves" or even "The sunlight played against the leaves" first because it gives the impression of a highly concrete metaphor as is (a personified sun literally playing with the leaves) and because it's probably more accurate to say the sunlight causes the shadow. Warm speckled shadow is a nice noun phrase you've got there, though.

and warmed his closed eyelids with the recesses of light falling through the elm’s canopy

Er, do you mean with the [blanks] of light falling through the recesses in the elm's canopy?

he took a long breath and smiled as the pleasant smells of the park drifted into his nostrils.

Which such smells? Flowers, or fresh grass, or the clean smell a fountain leaves in the air?

Besides the occasional passerby was a solitary man of wrinkled aspect who sat nearby on a bench and took long, steady pulls from a wooden pipe.

I don't quite follow this sentence. Did you mean something like "Other than the occasional passerby the only person near them was. . .?" I also would not begin the sentence with besides, since the previous sentence began with such a similar word.

“It’s not often such nice weather comes along,” said Kappa. “This warmth is just what I needed, though.”

The fewer words the better, right?

Will nodded. “Exactly. It seems like the moment the dreariness of the rain and endless nights in the library begins to become overbearing, the clouds part and give way to days like this.”

Probably ought to be in past tense, since it's already happened.

Geb grunted, half-listening to the conversation as he lifted himself to a hand-stand on the grass.

Inserting an only before half-listening makes it read more smoothly.

"Or maybe you’ve gone totally insane,” playfully chided Kappa, “and everything around you is a fraud.”

I could go on and on about how topicality is an esoteric feature of English grammar at best, but succinctly: in this what's important is the suggestion that Geb has indeed gone insane, therefore you should make it "Or maybe you have. . ." to emphasize this fact.

He exhaled in a pleasurable sigh and released a cloud which a musing spectator may well be inclined to think was a visible essence of his contentment.

May can only express future or present reference. Might is used in the subjunctive past.

This wrinkled character had already had ample time to contemplate such things, and was now focusing on a more particular matter underneath the elm tree.

Did you mean peculiar instead of particular?

The cloud embraced him and gave an air of sympathy as the wrinkles about his eyes pinched and seemed to magnify the scrutiny of his thoughts.

Gave requires an object. What did it give an air of sympathy to?

He arched his brows in curiosity as the boy walked under the tree’s lowest branch. He raised his arm to the branch as if compelling it or some shade within it to lift him. He swore when there was no result, and then went about pulling himself onto the limb.

You less confusingly change antecedents for "he" if you combine the two sentences. Also, you should put commas surrounding or some shade, to make clear it's in apposition with the branch. I would structure it such: "He arched his brows in curiosity as the boy walked under the tree's lowest branch and raised his arm, as if compelling it, or some shade within it, to lift him"

He tried to pull his pipe but to no avail: only ashes remained in the wooden bowl.

Pull on the pipe.

He looked to his gray-haired companion on the bench and laughed.

You really ought to replace he with whomever it refers to. I assume Kappa, but it's not very clear.

All in all I enjoyed it. Generally I prefer less psychological fiction, though I do have a psychological bend, but it was well done. There's some good description and the dialogue is solid. However, overall I feel it was just a bit light for my tastes. There wasn't much story to the story. Not in the sense of plot, but it just feels like it could have been put more succinctly.

Ah and now I've used up all my time responding to this and I've gotta go. I'll reply to how I like to structure longer stories when I have a chance.

e: Ok. I must also admit that I disagree with your thesis. It's tangential, I know, but I can't say that the mind would be best at coming up with its own companions simply because the mind's knowledge is limited and therefore its ability to understand even itself and predict its desires is limited as well. I don't think the mind would be any better at coming up with company than random chance, but again, I digress.

As for your question, I think the thing that's best served me in longer fiction is taking the paragraph as the fundamental unit, rather than the sentence. When you look at a story paragraph by paragraph its rhythms are thrown into contrast. For this I generally consider sections of dialogue to be their own paragraph, unless someone's monologuing or something and then it's as usual. It's also very informative to read stories you like and analyze how the story evolves through each paragraph and its purposes. That's probably taught me more about writing fiction than anything else.

Other than that I think the most important thing is to have a goal. If you don't know where you're going it's usually easy to tell when reading and it's hard to prevent yourself from meandering. Personally, I like to outline fairly thoroughly, but even just a general idea is sufficient. I think if you don't have a goal then you really don't have a story to tell because it means your character doesn't have a goal either.

[Caz]

Also, how do you all go about writing longer stories? I know there's no one answer; I'm just interested in hearing your thoughts on the matter.

It's just a matter of stringing several little stories together. At least that's how I see it.

[Reudh]

Also, how do you all go about writing longer stories? I know there's no one answer; I'm just interested in hearing your thoughts on the matter.

It's just a matter of stringing several little stories together. At least that's how I see it.

That's exactly correct. You want an A story that links to your B story and so on. As long as the stories link together in a way that satisfies your major plot, then it's all good.

[Eek-A-Mouse]

Thanks for the reply fqllve. I've always thought of myself as enjoying writing, but this is one of my first attempts getting something on paper for the fun of it. Although it was short and not too full of story, it felt good writing something. I'm not too bothered about how many accept the thesis--it was more just something fun to think about. Your words on it were interesting, though.

I'm going to try and make more a habit out of writing. Nanowrimo looks like it'll help with routine. And yeah, I agree with you guys on that longer stories are like several interlocking smaller stories, and that a good idea of where your headed is important.

Here's the same write-up of my last post with some edits. Hopefully its a bit clearer now  .

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

The sunlight played with the leaves of the elm tree and cast a warm speckled shadow on the grass below. It was a pleasant Spring afternoon and many among the people of Thurville were playing, conversing, or dozing among the bushes and the willows, oaks and elms of Hertford Center Park. Kappa was one of these people. As he lay on his blue-green patchwork blanket and warmed his closed eyelids with the rays of light falling through the recesses of the elm’s canopy, he took a long breath and smiled as the smell of fresh grass and budding flowers drifted into his nostrils. Beside Kappa sat Geb and Will. All three were young men of lean build and hair not particularly light or dark. Other than the occasional passerby the only person within earshot was a solitary man of wrinkled aspect who sat nearby on a bench and took long, steady pulls from a wooden pipe.

   “It’s not often such nice weather comes along,” said Kappa. “This warmth is just what I needed.”

   Will nodded. “Exactly. It seems like the moment the dreariness of the rain and endless nights in the library began to become overbearing, the clouds parted and gave way to clear skies.”

   Geb grunted, only half-listening to the conversation as he lifted himself to a hand-stand on the grass.

   “I’d go mad if there were no moments like this.” Geb’s voice was slightly strained as he concentrated on keeping balance. “You need time to get away from your brain. I had nearly forgotten I was capable of anything besides math problems and Latin.”

   Will grinned and rolled himself against Geb’s ground-planted hands, forcing the latter to tumble into the grass. Geb swore and Kappa laughed.

   “Or maybe you have gone totally insane,” playfully chided Kappa, “and everything around you is a fraud.”

   Geb laughed. “Maybe!”

   The old man closed his eyes as he took a long draw from his pipe. He exhaled in a pleasurable sigh and released a cloud which a musing spectator might be inclined to think was a visible essence of his contentment. This wrinkled character had already had ample time to contemplate such things, and was now focusing on a more peculiar matter underneath the elm tree.

   “The boy is right, it is a beautiful day.” He mused with a smile. “And he certainly seems to be enjoying his conversation.” He paused and took pull from his pipe.

   He released the puff with a thoughtful sigh. The cloud embraced him and gave him an air of sympathy as the wrinkles about his eyes pinched and seemed to magnify the scrutiny of his thoughts.

   “Perhaps his condition allows him more happiness than others. Surely one can enjoy another’s company, but it is more convenient to simply imagine your companions. And what better friends are there than those which the mind creates for the sole purpose of appeasing itself? And look what he does now.”

   Kappa watched Geb lift himself onto a lower branch of the elm. The limb was slightly above his head, and only after he pulled his body to hang on the branch like a cloth on a clothesline was he able to maneuver his legs and sit properly on the tree.

   “You’re a natural acrobat today, Geb.” Kappa said in amusement.

   Will laughed. “You should stop lingering around the school and follow your true calling at the circus.”

   “Make all the fun you will,” said Geb, “but three weeks from now when the rain and clouds have made you two forget the sunlight I’ll at least have the recollection that I made the most out of today.”

   “And maybe you’ll have a broken leg as a souvenir of the day’s escapades to accompany your happy recollections.”
   Geb threw a twig at Will. “Well, are you two coming up? Or have your muscles atrophied beyond use?”

   The wrinkled man continued to spectate, the occasional puff never failing to rise above his temples. He arched his brows in curiosity as the boy walked under the tree’s lowest branch and raised his arm, as if compelling it, or some shade within it, to lift him. He swore when there was no result, and then went about pulling himself onto the limb.

   The old man listened as the boy’s voice trailed to his bench:

   “Will, you coming?”

   He held his breath as silent moments passed.

   The boy stared at the lawn below the tree and then shrugged. “Suit yourself. Geb was right, it feels nice to set your body to a task.” He laughed. “I may even get sore and have something to remind me of my limbs in the days to come.”

    The man released his breath and the forthcoming smoke blanketed his whiskers.

   “A very curious boy. He may live in a mirage, but if he is content in his place, does the difference between mirage and reality matter? He’s happier than many people without invisible companions.”

   He took a long pull from his pipe and stretched his back against the bench. Smoke rose from his barely-parted mouth as his vertebrae made soothing pops upwards along his spine.

   “If happiness is life’s ultimate goal, he may have a window to achievement. However, if truth is requisite, would this boy be alienated from the race to real solace?” The man’s wrinkles gathered between his eyebrows in a quizzical expression.

   He tried to pull the pipe but to no avail: only ashes remained in the wooden bowl.

   “Well, the pipe is finished and you haven’t said a word! You’ve been awfully quiet this afternoon.” The old man looked to his gray-haired companion on the bench and laughed.

   “Oh well. We mustn’t tarry. Shall we begin our evening walk?”

[Justiceface]

I never thought to look here for writers, but now that I'm here... Is the Bay12 Writers Guild closed and this is the new/current writer thingy?  I wanted to reply to the last post in the Writers Guild thread but it's locked.

[Reudh]

You would be correct.

[DiezIrae]

I just rewrote my old prologue of my old story 'Bad Fantasy'.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

BAD FANTASY

He never thought much of people. The only person that he cared for was his littler sister. And of all things that could happen, it happened.

As his parents died 3 years ago, killed by a lunatic that took their car and left them with the corpses of their parents on a street, not far away from their own house, he would have never thought it would happen.

He took care of her, she was never gravely sick and he worked when he could to save money. She was only 5 years old as they lost their parents after all, and he was 15. As he turned 18 he couldn't stay at the orphanage anymore. They wouldn't allow it. And he couldn't take her to him because they didn't think he could take care of her.

And there she was. He visited her every day since his birthday half a year ago... and now she just lay there. Pale. Not breathing. Cold...

And he did the only thing he could do right now. He knelt down and sobbed.

---

It would be some time until someone would find them. And it was a bit expected how they reacted when they saw the young man sobbing over his younger sister. The police was called and he was arrested until the autopsy showed that she just... died. There wasn't a single mark on her body besides some small bruises children have when they play with other children.

The officers apologized, but he didn't care about that. At least, he had the money to give her a proper burial. Their parents raised them to believe in God. To believe in an afterlife and that those who dare to stand against God would suffer in hell. They were strictly about it...

And as the priest came to him after the burial and spoke about life and death he just listened.

And listened.

And listened.

No. He didn't really listen, he heard the words but didn't care about their meaning. But as soon as the priest said a few words he snapped.

“She's at a better place now,” the priest told him. Yes, she was gone from the face of earth. Maybe she really was in God's hands now. But more importantly, she wasn't with him. His sister wasn't with family just like his parents weren't there anymore.

So he punched the priest.

“A better place...” He muttered, trying to control himself while the priest still looked understanding, slowly coming up again. “There is no better place than to be with family!”

Of course, it seemed a bit immature. But he took care of her, protected her so what happened to their parents couldn't happen to her. And yet, he failed.

She died. But... why did she die?

She didn't suddenly stop breathing. The people who cut her open said.
She didn't suddenly heart attack.
Nor did she have a stroke.

All her body functions seemed to have stopped at the same time. The was nothing in her blood...

So what happened?

If he could get the answer to that question he could be happy.

If he could know why his sister is gone, he could live happy. The why and what is what is missing.

And not even God shall stand between him and that answer.

---

His studying was interrupted for the fifth time this evening by some of his friends, giving their condolences and not really realizing that he is hurt more and more by the fact that all are talking about it.

He knew that they didn't know what he was feeling right now. It was less feeling, more thinking. Death is such an easy thing.

A human is so fragile. Nine months to create such a fragile creature and one second to destroy it. Of course, it was the same with animals too, but they weren't so detached from nature, who ever heard of newborn animals drowning because they walked near deep water or getting burned by fire?

Lying down after a tiring day he just closed his eyes. Maybe he won't open his eyes tomorrow too... maybe... just maybe he would know how it was in the last moments...

---

And as he opened his eyes he saw a city shrouded in moonlight. A tower standing tall in the middle of it and he never felt more alive as he did in this moment. Just then he realized something.

He wasn't breathing, was he?

An interesting concept for a story. You have a great current of emotion that buffets the reader along, it's a great thing for a writer to have. Your narrator, the boy, seems very eloquent indeed, despite an upbringing that suggests little chance for books or loving parents. Why is this so? I am not saying that it is incorrect, merely that it is out of the ordinary for one orphaned at a young age to have the stimulation to be so eloquent.

The part where he speaks to the priest certainly conveys the hopelessness that the boy feels... the repetition is a very strong way of showing it. It's very jarring, however; try not to overuse it. Repetition, even only used to convey hopelessness/emotion/etc is still repetitive.

'Never gravely sick' is an awkward phrase, perhaps replace it. 'Never gravely ill' is less awkward.

Finally, while I do think you do have to have a plot piece that motivates his and his sister's seperation, the 'he's 18 and hence too young' reason is not that strong.

If he's earning, and has a house, even a shitbox rental, he'd most likely be able to have custody of her. Unless she had a particular illness that required care, most often he'd get custody.

I thought this was a great piece, with a few parts I wasn't sure about... but the current of emotion that runs through it is powerful indeed. With some refining I could see this being a story I'd hook into easily! Keep up the good work, DiezIrae!

Thank you very much. Would it sound better if she did live with him but the Youth Welfare Office took her back to the orphanage because he wouldn't be able to help her?

[schrocko88]

Well folks, I am at my wits end. And so I turn to you, in my time of need. I have a project due next Monday, in which I have to take the Aesop fable: The Grasshopper and the Ant, and revise it in a way that keeps the main story, while being drastically different. It also has to be for children.
I don't ask this be done for me. I just don't know how to change it. What way should I drastically alter it? I need your help.

[fqllve]

The trick is to start isolating elements from the story. Namely, the ant, the grasshopper, and the storage of food for winter. So then you just need to identify what elements can't be changed without disturbing the core of the story, its point. Which is really only that one party fails to prepare for something and is contrasted with another, more diligent party. So you can write any story that someone could say was about that. With as many varied complications as you want. You could write a story about a space wizard and a cactapus and the space wizard fails to keep an adequate supply of his heart medication whereas good ol' cactapus makes sure to get his medication on time. There could even be a subplot where the wizard quarrels with his daughter (who is a planet) over the hiring of a nurse.

As long as people can recognize it's a morality tale about preparedness you can do pretty much anything you want. For a children's story, just think of the most outrageous stuff you can.

Thanks for the reply fqllve. I've always thought of myself as enjoying writing, but this is one of my first attempts getting something on paper for the fun of it. Although it was short and not too full of story, it felt good writing something. I'm not too bothered about how many accept the thesis--it was more just something fun to think about. Your words on it were interesting, though.

For an early attempt that was good. And there's so much to master about the craft that I wouldn't put too much emphasis on story. In fact, I think good dialogue and good characters are more important than a good plot, though I will admit that nothing keeps me in for the long haul like getting to tell a story I enjoy.

And you shouldn't be too worried with what people think about your ideas. It's just hard to read a story and not comment on them. Hell, I was just glad to find they were there!

[Fishbreath]

For an early attempt that was good. And there's so much to master about the craft that I wouldn't put too much emphasis on story. In fact, I think good dialogue and good characters are more important [...]

I quite like this point. It's not so much that coming up with stories is easier or less important, I would say, but that we get a ton of practice at coming up with interesting stories in the course of being human. Character and dialog (and pacing and prose and a million other things) are technical elements, none of which get much of a workout outside of dedicated practice at fiction.

[Joben]

I think it's a very symbiotic thing...but it is probably easier to watch or read silly fluff that has great characters than it is to watch or read clever plots played out by boring stock characters.

I remember stopping a Robert Ludlum book once (not Bourne, something else) that had a fascinating global conspiracy that was shaping up in a really unique way. But the characters were all made of cardboard and getting through each page was a chore.

[Leatra]

Hi, new guy here.

So, I have been writing a story. I'm afraid that I will leave plot holes and stuff while writing so I double-check it when I finish a chapter. I also keep notes about what have I revealed about characters and what I will reveal later to keep things interesting and not bore the reader to death with pages of extensive backstory. This fear of writing a bad story is probably the only thing that constraining me while writing. I feel like if I give names to those nameless people the proganist speaks for like 5 minutes and moves on, I must not forget that guy later. Or, if I reveal the age, profession, hometown or anything about a character, I must not forget it and write the story according to any tiny details I reveal. The fact that I'm trying to create a fictional country doesn't make it any easier. I even checked this post before posting it a few times.

I decided to start writing this story in the middle of the night, I was bored to death and I wasn't feeling sleepy at all. Also, no internet for 3 months means you gotta find some kind of a hobby. It started out as something I did when I was bored but I really liked creating a story out of nothing. I was going to keep it short (like 5,000 words) but as I wrote I had many ideas that came to my mind and I couldn't help but expand the story. If I keep going like this it will be no shorter than 30,000 words. I'm rather slow at writing this since it's just a little hobby but if I keep this up at this speed it will be finished in a year, two years top I don't have much encouragement and free time to keep writing for now so it's at an hold.

Shortly, story is about a man who went through a car accident. He injured his brain in a way (I wrote a long theory about it to make it seem realistic) that he loses himself rarely in dire situtations. It's something like Hulk. However, when he is in a situtation like that his only goal becomes the survival of the mind. Note that survival of the mind depends on how mind defines itself so it doesn't mean he goes rampage against anyone near him. For example, McUrist's mind defines itself with only his family and nothing more (it's not that simple but since it's just an example...) so he commits suicide after all his family dies is an unfortunate accident. Definition of mind is an interesting topic and I have decided to take it as a basis for creating this fictional injury. I know. It sounds like bullshit. I'm still doing research about psychology to make it better.

Also, while in this state, the psychological restraints we have that keeps us from overexerting our muscles doesn't trigger while in this state, giving him more strength but leaving him tired and in severe muscle pain afterwards. Normally, this kind of stuff only happens if you are exploding with adrenaline or something. This strength I mentioned doesn't make him Superman but he has enough strength to lift an average man with his one hand and throw him away for like 2 meters.

Of course, there is more to it than. It will be a story about revenge. The protagonist is a type III anti-hero leaning towards type IV. He will be Type I at start but I'm thinking about some big character development as the story progresses. His best friend (who also married his sister recently) had big debt and when he died, the guy who he owed money to decided to make sure his family pays. He and his sister is the only family that guy has so he is in trouble. Also, the fact that police is looking for him because of a murder means much more trouble.

I'm also telling the story from the perspective of an old police officer, who had his wife raped and killed years ago, looking for our guy who is blessed with a badass injury. He was ambitious and a rockstar for the police but after the incident with his wife he became a rather weird guy. Now, this is the part I feel I'm going to fail because I have no idea about how police works out murders and stuff. I had to look up what "ballistic report" is. My idea of police investigations are mostly based on old noire movies. When I'm telling it from the policeman's perspective, the genre turns into a detective thriller and I don't know the first thing about them.

There is also a former office worker who works in a brothel for the last year but it's rather difficult to tell things from her mind. All these three characters have chance of dying and if I decide to off any of them I'll introduce new characters.

I'm writing it in my native language now but I'll translate it into English too. I have already written 7,000 words. The story is written with western cultures in mind. The fictional country is very mixed when it comes to nationality but it's mostly US-based with a pint of Russia. So it will be stupid not to write it in English but I felt I would express myself better with my native language.

So, if you managed to read all this text, I hope you can offer me some advices too

[schrocko88]

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Hi, new guy here.

So, I have been writing a story. I'm afraid that I will leave plot holes and stuff while writing so I double-check it when I finish a chapter. I also keep notes about what have I revealed about characters and what I will reveal later to keep things interesting and not bore the reader to death with pages of extensive backstory. This fear of writing a bad story is probably the only thing that constraining me while writing. I feel like if I give names to those nameless people the proganist speaks for like 5 minutes and moves on, I must not forget that guy later. Or, if I reveal the age, profession, hometown or anything about a character, I must not forget it and write the story according to any tiny details I reveal. The fact that I'm trying to create a fictional country doesn't make it any easier. I even checked this post before posting it a few times.

I decided to start writing this story in the middle of the night, I was bored to death and I wasn't feeling sleepy at all. Also, no internet for 3 months means you gotta find some kind of a hobby. It started out as something I did when I was bored but I really liked creating a story out of nothing. I was going to keep it short (like 5,000 words) but as I wrote I had many ideas that came to my mind and I couldn't help but expand the story. If I keep going like this it will be no shorter than 30,000 words. I'm rather slow at writing this since it's just a little hobby but if I keep this up at this speed it will be finished in a year, two years top I don't have much encouragement and free time to keep writing for now so it's at an hold.

Shortly, story is about a man who went through a car accident. He injured his brain in a way (I wrote a long theory about it to make it seem realistic) that he loses himself rarely in dire situtations. It's something like Hulk. However, when he is in a situtation like that his only goal becomes the survival of the mind. Note that survival of the mind depends on how mind defines itself so it doesn't mean he goes rampage against anyone near him. For example, McUrist's mind defines itself with only his family and nothing more (it's not that simple but since it's just an example...) so he commits suicide after all his family dies is an unfortunate accident. Definition of mind is an interesting topic and I have decided to take it as a basis for creating this fictional injury. I know. It sounds like bullshit. I'm still doing research about psychology to make it better.

Also, while in this state, the psychological restraints we have that keeps us from overexerting our muscles doesn't trigger while in this state, giving him more strength but leaving him tired and in severe muscle pain afterwards. Normally, this kind of stuff only happens if you are exploding with adrenaline or something. This strength I mentioned doesn't make him Superman but he has enough strength to lift an average man with his one hand and throw him away for like 2 meters.

Of course, there is more to it than. It will be a story about revenge. The protagonist is a type III anti-hero leaning towards type IV. He will be Type I at start but I'm thinking about some big character development as the story progresses. His best friend (who also married his sister recently) had big debt and when he died, the guy who he owed money to decided to make sure his family pays. He and his sister is the only family that guy has so he is in trouble. Also, the fact that police is looking for him because of a murder means much more trouble.

I'm also telling the story from the perspective of an old police officer, who had his wife raped and killed years ago, looking for our guy who is blessed with a badass injury. He was ambitious and a rockstar for the police but after the incident with his wife he became a rather weird guy. Now, this is the part I feel I'm going to fail because I have no idea about how police works out murders and stuff. I had to look up what "ballistic report" is. My idea of police investigations are mostly based on old noire movies. When I'm telling it from the policeman's perspective, the genre turns into a detective thriller and I don't know the first thing about them.

There is also a former office worker who works in a brothel for the last year but it's rather difficult to tell things from her mind. All these three characters have chance of dying and if I decide to off any of them I'll introduce new characters.

I'm writing it in my native language now but I'll translate it into English too. I have already written 7,000 words. The story is written with western cultures in mind. The fictional country is very mixed when it comes to nationality but it's mostly US-based with a pint of Russia. So it will be stupid not to write it in English but I felt I would express myself better with my native language.

So, if you managed to read all this text, I hope you can offer me some advices too

Sounds like an neat idea. I'd love to read what you got so far. ^_^

[Skyrunner]

I'd be willing to quality check it, if not for grammar as much for flow. xD