I've been spending the last couple weeks writing my novel, which is becoming a huge success!

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three

And… That's all I've got.

(The reason there is nothing here is because I am adding the chapters in different posts. Hang on a couple minutes)

Chapter One - I fall down the rabbit hole

It was a normal day when it happened. When I realized the whole world, well, both worlds, rested on my shoulders and if I didn’t do something they’d spontaneously blow up. But, like I said, it was completely mundane until then.
My name is Robin Burns. Yes, Robin is a boy name too, haven’t you ever heard of the famous archer guy? I’ve had many conversations of that sort. I was thirteen years old when it all started, and although this is a cliche introduction, it’s all I have. Before I begin unravelling the secrets and answering the billions of questions you have circling your head right now, let me tell you this. As amazing as I am in this story, it’s not mine. Sort of. Not only mine, I should say. What I mean is I’m not the only one involved. My friends were there too, and although I enjoy credit, they get some of it.
I’m writing this book to show how crazy and fantastical a story can get, and still be true. If you’re reading this, picked it out from the fantasy section in the library, then I can understand. My story isn’t what happens to everybody. But it isn’t a lie, and if you find a small stone on the ground, don’t pick it up, or you won’t likely survive.
It was a Thursday, a lousy day to begin a hair raising, life threatening, and overall really freaky escapade. The sun was high in the sky, it was the middle of summer. The bees were buzzing along the tall flowers, and some neighborhood kids were eating popsicles and riding bikes. In the small town of Wilder, nothing much happened, especially in the suburban parts, which was pretty much all of it.
I didn’t know I would soon be fighting for my life, saving whole kingdoms, and poisoning sheep anytime soon, so I was in my kitchen, making a peanut butter jelly sandwich. I spread the peanut butter along the top piece of bread, and slapped both slices together. Munching absentmindedly, I walked outside. It was a nice day for a walk, and both my parents were at work.
Poisoning sheep, you ask? Well, that’s something for later.
The sidewalk was hot, I’d forgotten shoes. But something else caught my eye. There was a small, forest green stone, shining in a crack in the sidewalk. I bent down, picking it up. Nothing happened.
Although this may seem anti-climactic, if I had known what would follow my small action, I would have run from the stone, slammed and locked my door, and hid in some blankets until I got so hungry I had to eat. But, not having the gift of foresight, yet, I picked up the stone, and slipped it in my pocket.
Whoops, I think I just gave away another spoiler. You probably hate me now, because I’m not going to let you finish the book unless you know everything which happens in the rest of the series, and I won’t be able to give you the story without making annoying side notes like these.
I made my way back into the house, slipped on some socks and tennis shoes, then put the stone on a shelf and walked back outside.
Thomas Heighter, the junior high bully, was skateboarding down the sidewalk, and stopped when he saw me. His face cracked into a smile with slightly yellowing teeth. Before I go onward, I’d like to confirm your suspicions. This book is completely cliche. Nothing in it is original, or clever. But before you stop reading, let me remind you it is a true story. Which means even if it’s cliche, it’s life, right? And although bullies normally don’t appear in real life, that doesn’t mean they’re nonexistent.
“Hey Robin, enjoying your summer break?” he said stupidly, apparently trying to make it an insult. He never much succeeded, which is why he normally took to flushing heads down the toilet.
“Yes, actually. Thank you very much,” I said. “It’s much better without seeing your ugly face every day.” And I walked off before he could comprehend what I’d just said. If I’d been in the school, Thomas’ father, Broden, horrible name, I know, aka the principal, would have given me detention and made me eat lunch in his office for a week.
But, school was over, and had been for a month, leaving me free from endless torment.
I didn’t know very well where I was going, but eventually I decided I’d head to the old Bayson house on the hill. The Baysons had moved out a couple years before, and nobody had wanted to buy the rickety old structure at the top of the dry hill. I left the suburbans and saw the barbed wire fence ahead, with the familiar ‘No Trespassing’ sign.
I feel this is a good time to establish the fact that I am not a bad person. I don’t see ‘No Trespassing’ signs as commands, just strong suggestions. Same with that ‘Beware of Dog’ notice that was always next to the fence.
The dog in question, was actually dead, having starved itself when the owners of the house left it on the hill. Not that I minded of course, I believe that the sign giving me the warning was not a bad idea at all on its part. The Baysons dog had been known to bite the legs of visitors and rip off their shoes.
I climbed the hill, dry grass blowing slightly in the breeze. After slipping on a rock, and watching a snake, I reached the house, opening the lopsided door and walking into the dark living room. A large gray spider crawled outside, and I shivered, involuntarily stepping back. I hated spiders. Hated them. Ever since I’d visited Brazil and seen a spider the size of my face, I’d learned to stay away from them. I mean, eight legs, eight eyes, creepy movements. How could you love them?
I heard a faint crunch in the grass and looked outside the clouded window, momentarily worried that Thomas had followed me. But instead of the expected sallow face, sunken eyes, and big nose, I saw dirty blonde hair, a tall figure, and pale skin. Hunter Evel had been my best friend since 4th grade, after I set up the famed ‘Whisker Incident’, and loved dogs. He was the only one in our group which had been sad when the Baysons dog had died, and had buried him at the bottom of the hill. Hunter was a slight bit older than me, but because of my boyish face, when next to me, he looked fourteen or fifteen.
Hunter entered, brushing a cobweb from his eyes. He looked around, and seeing me, his face broke into a grin.
“I thought I’d find you here,” he said, his husky voice filling up the room. “I saw dear old Tommy skateboarding in front of your house. What’d you do, escape the back door?”
I smiled. “Nope, I walked right past him. I wonder what he’s still doing there. I mean, I’ve already left.”
Hunter shrugged. “Don’t know, maybe he’s waiting for you to come back.” He straightened and bumped his head on the wall. I coughed, but it may have sounded like a laugh. I was short, and although I suffered nicknames like midget, shorty, shrimp, etc, I managed to make witty jokes about Hunter’s height also.
At that moment, something tugged in my pocket. I froze, dumbly thinking that it might be a spider. Irrational fears, they tend to get away from me. Then my stupid brain came to the conclusion that no spider that could fit in my pocket could push so hard.
Before we continue, I’d like to ease your confusion. I know you’re thinking something along the lines of, Robin, why do you keep praising yourself then insulting your brain? Which side are you on?
If you are not thinking such a thing, then I’ll talk about this anyway, for future references.
My brain is in a constant battle. I feel proud for my victories, but angry for my failures. It’s amazing how stupidifying I was
Another pull, I stumbled. Hunter stared, not knowing what was going on, which was better than I could do. The next tug was so strong my pocket tore. Something dark green zoomed out, breaking the window, and shooting down the hill. Glass shattered and fell all over me. A piece cut my lip, but I didn’t care. The stone I’d picked up earlier had just flown, out of my pocket and to who knows where. I looked at Hunter, and although I now had a straighter idea of what was happening, he still knew we had to chase the IFO, or Identified Flying Object. I ran outside as fast as I could, and although this is a cliche used statement, it is the truth nonetheless.
Somehow, my legs moved without my control. My brain was in overdrive, and although I couldn’t see the stone, I knew where to go.
“Come on!” I yelled to Hunter, but my voice sounded far away. I sprinted through the weeds, and vaulted over the fence. Then I saw it, the stone was in the middle of the road, just at the entrance to the suburbs. I tried to stop, but something was pulling me toward it, I caught a glimpse of Hunter behind me, yelling at me to slow down. Then everything went pop art style, and I sunk into the ground, just grabbing the stone.
If you’ve read many books, you’d have learned that some authors like to end chapters at parts which leave you desperate to go on. These are called cliffhangers. I’m not a big fan of cliffhangers myself, but I do realize the strategy behind these horrible ways of writing.
When an author leaves a cliffhanger, the reader is left torn. Because this is the beginning of the book, I doubt you are in your bed, under the covers, and holding a flashlight in one hand, and this book in the other. But normally, if this is the case, the reader, such as you, thinks that they need to stop reading, so they can sleep, but they also need to figure out what’s going on. This is a demonic plan developed by the author, to keep the readers nose in the book.
If you’ve read all this, and haven’t skipped to the next chapter yet, you’ll have realized that I have planted a cliffhanger myself in this book, even though I expressed dislike for them. But you didn’t see that coming at all, did you?
I feel it is necessary for the reader to keep reading until they’ve read the whole story, so as not to be labeled as a quitter.
However, I also feel it should be encouraged for readers to get their sleep, which is why I will not be forcing you to read onward, and to do so I cannot end with a cliffhanger. Hence this explanation.

Chapter Two - I meet a couple of trolls

Let’s talk about cheese.
It’s hard for me to explain this story, as it is wonderful but strange, and never seen before in your unoriginal life. I can relate to cheese this way, because of the fact it is hard for me to make good cheese, and even if I had an amazing story while making the cheese, it still tastes bad when finished.
If you want to throw this book at the wall, do so now.
Now that you’ve picked the book up, found the spot where you were at, because you’d forgotten to put a bookmark in before the wall was dented, let me continue.
I’ve had several adventures with cheese, one of them including a nonmagical spell, dry ice, and mold that hadn’t gone bad. But isn’t that always how they make cheese in the factories?
In this one book, although I do not eat cheese, I have an awesome adventure, and top it all off with a huge failure, my friends dying and me turning into a pineapple, which gets eaten by the trolls in this chapter.
Yet even though it’s an incredible story, it all depends on how the author portrays it? I took a class when I was young, but I still am horrible at autobiographies. Please forgive my terrible writing, and enjoy the story.
I woke up, face down, on the pavement. No, wait, not the pavement, I thought. This is grass.
I opened my eyes, and sat up, my head throbbing. There was no road, no houses, no hill. I was in a clearing, thick pines and tall grass all around me. The only thought that came to me now was that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Which, just to clarify, I never had been in Kansas. That was just my delirious mind making a Wizard of Oz reference.
The clearing was empty, but I could smell smoke. There must have been a campfire somewhere near. I thought of Hunter, staring at the place where I had been, back in Wilder. No, I must be asleep. Maybe I knocked myself out when I hit the pavement. But the stone. Then I realized the truth, I was still in bed! I was having a lucid dream, having been in bed all this time. I grinned, and looked at a grass blade, willing my dream to do something to it.
Nothing happened. Maybe I couldn’t do that in this lucid dream. No, that didn’t make sense, it was lucid after all.
I heard a groan right never to me and jumped. Hunter was unconscious, his head on a rock. His lip was bleeding, and he kept whispering about dogs. But my mind wasn’t on his pets and his worries. My brain was focused on the fact that he was here, even if he was unconscious.
And if he is here, then that means…
It wasn’t a dream. I stared at the grass blade again, my eyes started to hurt. Then something most surprising happened. I felt a tingling in my hand, and my head throbbed again. There was a flash of red, and the grass lit on fire. It burned slowly, and the fire didn’t spread. It was calm, and there was no smoke. I slapped myself on the face, pinched my arm, and put my hand on the flame. They all hurt, especially the latter.
I howled most unheroically, and jumped back. The fire exploded in a wave of heat, and I fell on my rear. Now the fire was spreading, eating the grass like thin paper. I scooted away, transfixed. The fire was spinning, or maybe that was just my vision. I wasn’t comprehending I was in danger as the flames spread toward me. I threw up on it, and fainted.
I’ve now blacked out twice in the first two chapters. Both times I’ve missed huge facts. The first was that after I fell into the road, the stone I had in my hand glowed so bright that when Hunter saw it, he fell unconscious himself, and fell into the sucking pavement, which was clarified about two hundred fifty words ago. Well, more than that now, and more than what I just said. And more. Ok, I’ll stop counting. The second thing I’d missed was that after I puked on the flames, the campfire from outside the clearing was hurriedly abandoned, and the owners ran over to the source of the now smoking flames.
These folks weren’t that pleasant, and when they saw us they had a brilliant idea, mostly involving food, and roasted at that.

I woke up, my head hurting, for the second time that day. My face burned, and not from emotion. My captors were huge, I could tell by they’re huge steps, but my face was staring at the blackened ground and I couldn’t look up. My left eye had blistered, and I was winking permanently unless I got it fixed.
From the repeated grunts and groans of the figure next to me, I could tell Hunter wasn’t awake yet. I really hoped he hadn’t been burned, because from what I had seen it had all been my fault.
My captor snarled, and it sounded like they were communicating. Suddenly, as if my ears had tuned in, I could understand them.
“-this one is skinny, Grobbish! He will have bones to hurt my teeth!”
The other, Grobbish, grunted back with a hoarse voice.
“You can have him, Pell, I want other one. He has fat on him!”
I’d never thought myself fat before, and didn’t appreciate this Grobbish guy calling me that. I tried to convince myself that this was all a dream, but it was getting harder to do. I kept my mouth shut as the two what must have been brothers argued.
Finally I was set down, well, more like dropped hard on the dirt. I had grubby hands holding my gaze directed toward the ground, so I still couldn’t see them. But I could smell rotten eggs, dead animals, and an overpowering smell of unbathed, dirty, things.
I heard a nearby fire crackling and seriously hoped that the forest fire I had unwillingly started wasn’t still going. But this sounded smaller, and my captors would have been scared if they heard the fire coming, right?
Then I was released, and I spun my body around, my gaze settling on my kidnappers. I stifled a scream.
The first was seven feet high, thick boned, with dirty green skin, and no hair. He had beady eyes, and a huge nose, bigger than Tommy the Bully. He was wearing thick armor made from what looked like leather. The thing sniffed and looked at me, his black eyes narrowing.
“Pell, the fat one is awake,” he said, and Pell looked around. Pell was shorted and stubbier, but still looked like he could rip apart prey with his thick hands. He was wearing a dark green loincloth, which looked like it was a ripped up cloak, and held a large white stick which revoltingly reminded me of a bone.
“I want him,” he grunted. “He is fat. The other is a stick.”
I shakily drew breath. “What…are…you?”
Grobbish laughed, a large bellow that shook the forest. “I am Grobbish, the great mountain troll!”
Pell glared at him. “You are not the great mountain troll. You told me we are!”
Grobbish snarled. “Fine,” he said, turning back toward me. “We are the Traug Brothers!” He beat his chest. “We are the great mountain trolls!”
Pell sneered, cracked brown teeth showing, grinding against each other. I flinched, and his grin grew wider.
Grobbish had stomped up behind me, and hoisted my body over his shoulder. His skin was rough and the odor was horrible. But my thoughts were more whirling around about where I was, that there was a big fire in front of me and I was being carried over to be cooked on it, and for some reason, I thought about cheese.
He put me on a thin stick above the fire, and blisters popped up on my arms as he tied me with thick chains. Where had he gotten those?
But the stick wouldn’t hold. It snapped, and I fell and died, burnt and blistered, to be dinner for the Traug Brothers.
Really tragic name.
Seriously, Pell, and Grobbish? Grobbish Traug? Even if they are trolls, I would never name my children that. Besides, I already have great children, and live in a large castle in the capital city. Oh, no, wait. More spoilers.

Chapter Three - We're rescued by a fox

Yep, I’m dead. Hunter woke up conveniently at that time and was roasted too, and we were both devoured by trolls.
It was pretty sad, and I know you were attached to me already, and I’m sorry to disappoint you.
I’m guessing I tasted like chicken, because I’d just had chicken wings the night before, but I wasn’t sure. I hoped however, right before I died, that I would taste horrible, and the trolls or whatever they were would throw me into a hole, and I could be buried and have a nice funeral march played.
What? I didn’t die? No, all because I said I had children, doesn’t mean I could have had zombie children. I live in Dark Castle, on Bones street, Graveyard City, Lyra. As a ghost. Yup.
Ok, you caught me. I didn’t die. Congratulations, you are so smart.
I screamed, and birds flew off of the trees. But I wasn’t dying. The fire felt comfortably warm. I still had blisters, but it was as if I’d been in the fire, and turned off the heat.
There was a sort of green light, shining around me. I didn’t know how I saw it, but it was like a thin layer, in the air, but not really there.
The troll brothers grunted angrily, probably unhappy I wasn’t dying. I wasn’t with them, unfortunately, I was really feeling quite elated.
“Burn, fat one!” Pell yelled. “Burn!”
Grobbish marched over me and raised his club.
Uh oh.
He smashed it down toward me, but a lot of things happened at once.
One, a flash of orange and white shot from the trees and stuck to Pell’s head, He screamed, a high girlish sound unfitting for his size and width. It was a fox.
Two, Hunter yelped, and sat up, yelling something about labradors.
Three, Grobbish’s club bounced off. Yep, it bounced right off the air, inches in front of my face. He staggered, dropping it.
Four, an arrow sped out of the trees snapping the stick I was tied to in half. Yes it didn’t break in the previous chapter, sorry, forgot to note that. I fell into the burning coals, but they felt like normal rocks, which hurt also. Burnt wood was crushed as I jumped out of the firepit, still scared whatever was happening would wear off.
The fox bit Pell’s nose, and he fell to the ground. Hunter was paralyzed with shock. Luckily, I didn’t black out again. The person who’d fired the arrow jumped out of the trees.
He was dressed in white, like one of those people in Assassins Creed. He had a hood, but instead of a ninja suit, he was dressed like a normal person, just in white. He wore a gray belt, a thin white shirt, with a white undershirt, and a white chestplate, which was made of a material I couldn’t pinpoint.
His pants were tight, but looked like they had been made especially for him. They were fitted like moulds to his legs, which moved swiftly, but somehow quietly toward the fire. He offered his hand, and his skin had a deep tan. His brown eyes met mine, and they were filled with a kind of ferocity, but which wasn’t directed toward me.
Before I could respond, he grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the way. At first I was scared he was an enemy too, but then I saw Grobbish’s club miss me by mere inches.
I stood up and began to run, trying to get away from these people. My voice was hoarse when I remembered Hunter, and yelled for him to hurry.
I entered the thick trees, and was immediately lost.
I heard growling, from all directions, but didn’t know where I was supposed to go. I started moving blindly through the trees, but somehow knew I was completely lost. I felt a pull from behind, and stumbled backwards. Suddenly I was back in the troll’s campsite, but the trolls were nowhere to be seen. Instead there was piles of stone and pebbles, while a girl I hadn’t seen before was standing next to the man in white, apparently in an argument.
The girl’s ears were pointed, and she wore an orange cloak with white bordered fur, like a fox.
I couldn’t see the man’s face again, but his posture told me he was angry, and again the emotion wasn’t pointed at me, but at the girl.
Hunter was nowhere to be seen, and I didn’t have a good feeling as to where he had disappeared to.
The girl turned, and her eyes were full of tears. She glared at me for no apparent reason before stomping away into the forest. I was about to call out to her, that it was too dangerous, but suddenly she rippled and changed, and a sleek fox darted off into the trees. I gaped. I’d been doing a lot of staring and gaping.
The man sighed, and looked at me as if this was all my fault.
“Strange clothes you wear,” he said suspiciously. “Where are you from, friend?”
I was about to protest that I wasn’t the one wearing strange clothes, but then I remembered the trolls, and realized maybe I was the one who didn’t belong.
I know, took me long enough. I was pretty stupid right there, I admit.
I’ve been nice this chapter. I didn’t disturb the action and the battle with my trademarked side notes and jokes. I’m afraid it’s been long enough, and it’s time for more philosophy, no, there will be no cheese.
To be, or not to be? That was the question that Hamlet asked to himself when he was pouting in his room.
I’ve always thought that Hamlet reminded me of eggs, and assorted meats. Just the name, which is a really horrible one in itself, makes me really hungry.
Back to the to be question. To be a hero, or not to be?
Heroes get the basics, luxury, fame, etc. But everyone expects you to solve all their problems. They think you’ll always make the right choice, no matter what it sacrifices. Heroes don’t want to pretend to lead millions, and have them slaughtered just to win a battle. Heroes have to lose their friends, and are left alone at the final stand.
If you had the choice, or knew you had the choice, what would you choose? If I had known I would have the life of a hero, of Lyra, not Earth, well, at least not a recognized hero of Earth, I would have died, instead of watching everyone else I know do so.
But it was too late. By picking up that stone, I had unwittingly plunged into a long life of death, betrayal, and choice.
With that somber note, let’s continue.
“Who are you?” I said shakily, taking a wobbly step forward.
“I am Rohan,” the man replied. “Guardian of the East.”
I now knew his name, but the rest didn’t make sense. Guardian of what?
“Rohan,” I repeated. “I’m Robin.” The names were similar, which creeped me out. Just to confirm, our names being nearly the same had no relevance to the rest of the story or the epic plot.
Rohan’s eyes grew wide, and although I haven’t told him this before, his left eye twitched involuntarily. His hand shot to his sword, but hesitated. Then he did a surprising thing. He took off his hood, revealing his ragged black hair, and bowed. I stared, aghast. Nobody had ever, ever, bowed to me before, except in that one Shakespeare play, where I acted as royalty.
Rohan muttered something under his breath, which sounded like something about flight and saving people, I thought I heard my name, but I may have been mistaken. Of course, later I learned that I certainly wasn’t, and was soon going to die.

Chapter Four - I blow up something important

Chapter Five - I am foretold my death

Chapter Six - We ride to monster town

Chapter Seven - I kill a campfire

Chapter Eight - I'm turned into a toad

Err.. Bump? I know it's a lot to read, but normal novels have longer chapter than this. I just have really short dumb ones.

Bump…again…

Bumpadumpabumpadump…

Show, don't tell.

That is all I have to say here, except maybe that there is a lot of buildup, and it's not really as funny as I think you think we think it is.

scratchisthebest wrote:

Show, don't tell.

That is all I have to say here, except maybe that there is a lot of buildup, and it's not really as funny as I think you think we think it is.

Yeah, I think my metaphors don't make any sense at all. I mean, at all. Oh well, I've already rewritten it five thousand times. xD

I'm thinking of changing it somehow, to make more sense.

I think you like Rick Riordan

avoid the following:
• haven’t you ever heard of the famous archer guy?
• Before I begin unravelling the secrets and answering the billions of questions you have circling your head right now, let me tell you this. As amazing as I am in this story, it’s not mine. Sort of. Not only mine, I should say.
• a lousy day to begin a hair raising, life threatening, and overall really freaky escapade.
• I didn’t know I would soon be fighting for my life, saving whole kingdoms, and poisoning sheep anytime soon,
• Poisoning sheep, you ask? Well, that’s something for later.
• Although this may seem anti-climactic, if I had known what would follow my small action, I would have run from the stone, slammed and locked my door, and hid in some blankets until I got so hungry I had to eat.
• Whoops, I think I just gave away another spoiler. You probably hate me now, because I’m not going to let you finish the book unless you know everything which happens in the rest of the series, and I won’t be able to give you the story without making annoying side notes like these.
• Before I go onward, I’d like to confirm your suspicions. This book is completely cliche. Nothing in it is original, or clever. But before you stop reading, let me remind you it is a true story. Which means even if it’s cliche, it’s life, right? And although bullies normally don’t appear in real life, that doesn’t mean they’re nonexistent.
• I mean, eight legs, eight eyes, creepy movements. How could you love them?
• Then my stupid brain came to the conclusion that no spider that could fit in my pocket could push so hard
• Before we continue, I’d like to ease your confusion. I know you’re thinking something along the lines of, Robin, why do you keep praising yourself then insulting your brain? Which side are you on?
If you are not thinking such a thing, then I’ll talk about this anyway, for future references.

don't bemoan the fact that your story is cliche, just don't make it cliche
and stop breaking the fourth wall

if you do this, the story will be a bit better although length is still an issue

generosity wrote:

avoid the following:
• haven’t you ever heard of the famous archer guy?
• Before I begin unravelling the secrets and answering the billions of questions you have circling your head right now, let me tell you this. As amazing as I am in this story, it’s not mine. Sort of. Not only mine, I should say.
• a lousy day to begin a hair raising, life threatening, and overall really freaky escapade.
• I didn’t know I would soon be fighting for my life, saving whole kingdoms, and poisoning sheep anytime soon,
• Poisoning sheep, you ask? Well, that’s something for later.
• Although this may seem anti-climactic, if I had known what would follow my small action, I would have run from the stone, slammed and locked my door, and hid in some blankets until I got so hungry I had to eat.
• Whoops, I think I just gave away another spoiler. You probably hate me now, because I’m not going to let you finish the book unless you know everything which happens in the rest of the series, and I won’t be able to give you the story without making annoying side notes like these.
• Before I go onward, I’d like to confirm your suspicions. This book is completely cliche. Nothing in it is original, or clever. But before you stop reading, let me remind you it is a true story. Which means even if it’s cliche, it’s life, right? And although bullies normally don’t appear in real life, that doesn’t mean they’re nonexistent.
• I mean, eight legs, eight eyes, creepy movements. How could you love them?
• Then my stupid brain came to the conclusion that no spider that could fit in my pocket could push so hard
• Before we continue, I’d like to ease your confusion. I know you’re thinking something along the lines of, Robin, why do you keep praising yourself then insulting your brain? Which side are you on?
If you are not thinking such a thing, then I’ll talk about this anyway, for future references.

don't bemoan the fact that your story is cliche, just don't make it cliche
and stop breaking the fourth wall

if you do this, the story will be a bit better although length is still an issue

Well, I don't think I made this clear.

This book is not meant to be serious. Nope. It's a complete joke. It's meant to be a cliche autobiography, and the author is meant to keep breaking the fourth wall to put notes in his story, and maybe rewrite it to sound more awesome.

Length is a problem, but I'm currently in the ‘WRITE AS FAST AS YOU CAN BEFORE NANOWRIMO ENDS AND YOU DON’T REACH YOUR WORD GOAL!' stage. Not the ‘OH MY GOSH THIS IS HORRIBLE I MUST MAKE THIS LONGER RIGHT NOW!’ stage just yet.

I know some of the jokes don't make sense, I know I'm a horrible writer, but the book is meant to be like this, although I guess my bad metaphors really don't belong.

I thought those parts that generosity pointed out weren't really the problem. I thought you were giving too much exposition too, but it's also got some charm to it, and it works, so I changed my opinion while reading through. It could use a little work with sentence structure and all that, but I really like what you've done with the whole thing so far. That kind of awkwardness the character has is pretty humorous, even if it wasn't intended that way. You should continue doing it like this but at a good pace.

black_eye wrote:

I thought those parts that generosity pointed out weren't really the problem. I thought you were giving too much exposition too, but it's also got some charm to it, and it works, so I changed my opinion while reading through. It could use a little work with sentence structure and all that, but I really like what you've done with the whole thing so far. That kind of awkwardness the character has is pretty humorous, even if it wasn't intended that way. You should continue doing it like this but at a good pace.

I've never been very good at not being awkward, which is why this is funny.

Sentence structure? Well I guess I don't really know much writers formatting, all those capitalization rules etc are for my editor. Muhahahaha…

SilverEagle wrote:

Sentence structure? Well I guess I don't really know much writers formatting, all those capitalization rules etc are for my editor. Muhahahaha…

Just to let you know, if you want to get serious about this (ie; actually want to have an editor one day), you need to know that an editor will not touch your work if it doesn't follow ‘all those capitalization rules’. Yes - it is an editors job to fix up errors and tighten your story. But you have to see that editors go through many, many manuscripts each day - they will only pick the most professional looking. First impression is key. So, the mindset of ‘I’ll leave it for the editor' will get you nowhere.
I'm curious now, how serious are you about eventually getting published?