This is actually really, really good! I love the mood you bring in; soft, melancholy…it’s gorgeous. So, I do only have a few suggestions:

MoonlitSeas wrote:

Paris steps forward from behind them, bringing herself into the waning moonlight.

“I know. I didn’t want you to think you were all alone,” she replies, her voice soft and reassuring.

I feel like you didn’t really introduce the character before you brought her into the story. I don’t really know who she is, and to me it was sort of like, bam, she magically appeared. So maybe in the beginning find a way to say something like, “two people sat silently on a rock”, so that we know she’s there. And then on that first sentence in the quote I just put in, when “Paris steps forward”, you could say something similar to “the other, a girl with (description of appearance) steps forward”.

Foxglove looks out at the world from the cathedral’s bell tower, quietly admiring the beauty of the rustic, yet subtly beautiful landscape. There’s not much here, but they think what they see is worth remembering.

I love the adjectives and adverbs, those are my favorite words ever lol I think you should delete “yet subtly beautiful landscape”, because you have already established the idea that the landscape is beautiful: “admiring the beauty of the rustic”. And even if you haven’t said beauty here, I don’t think you should have said subtly, just because I imagine that if someone is admiring a landscape it would be very beautiful, not just subtly. It seems to me that your character likes the view, so it must be breathtaking (even if it’s not much, as you have stated).

“Foxglove, I–” Paris began, unsure of the direction she saw their conversation going.

“Paris,” Foxglove, whispered, arms curled around themselves. “I–”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. Paris couldn’t take the silence between them, the subtle ignorance of their conflicts anymore. “I– I can’t do this anymore. And I know you can’t either. This needs to stop.”

Foxglove bit their lip, doing their best to hold back the tears they feel slipping past the corner of their eyes. “But–”

“I know we’ve made promises. I know we said forever, that we’d let anyone tear us apart. But–” Paris hesitated.

To begin, I’d like to say that this scene is really emotional, and I really feel myself getting in the story. <3 But, I do feel like the characters are very similar to each other. They both seem to pause or hesitate when things get hard, they both seem to talk in the same manner, and I’m imagining in my head the same body language. In real life, people react to situations like this differently; some get angry and talk louder. Some cry easily. Some are undisturbed and stony. Some talk faster, some get hurt more easily. And, more generally speaking about their dialogues across the whole piece, they also seem to talk in the same way. Personally, I notice differences in dialogue between friends and family members in my life. Some speak more formally, some use more slang. Some are more poetic and tend to use lots of metaphors or idioms, some of them are straightforward with their words. Some speak in longer sentences, and some use one-word answers. It tends to vary among people, and it would definitely deepen your characters by giving them each more differences personality- and dialogue-wise.

They pause, letting the weight of their own words sink it.

I don’t know if it’s a typo, but “it” needs to be changed to “in”.

Also, throughout the whole piece, it seems like you’re switching tenses, from past to present. I don’t know if you’ve done that on purpose or not, but if it were me I’d change the whole thing to one tense. If you don’t want that, though, that’s good too! And you did good on this!

to build a home - chapter one
1669 words, no points

Chapter One: Paris

Paris found myself awake on a cold, hard sidewalk. It was concrete, though a sandy sort of color that she hadn’t recalled seeing before, but it was smooth, far smoother than any of the old concrete of her city. She, it would seem, was alone on the concrete. Still, that was, in her opinion, fairly normal, and she told herself that she had no reason to be concerned.

Not yet, at least – which lead her to the question of where she was, and how she had gotten there. Paris had already implied that she was far from home, much farther than she could have ever carried herself. And she didn’t imagine anyone would have reason to take her from the library –

– the library.

The library, wherever it had been, was the answer to her questions.

Closing her eyes, Paris could see the pheltora of books around her, their colorful covers lined up neatly upon the shelves. Some where clearly much older than others, while others seemed new as anything these days – regardless of there age, she seemed to be sitting in a section that regarding natural science, particularly the branch of it regarding environmentalism.

In front of her lay a book, it’s thick, dark parchment pages lined margin to margin with barely legible words. In her mind, she couldn’t quite read what that said, but she imagined they were related to environmental science. Why had she been so caught up in her studies of science?

Science had, ordinarily, never been Paris’s preference or strong suit. She preferred the endless lore of history, though whether it held true or not was an entirely different matter. Regardless, she enjoyed learning about the many things – beautiful and horrible – humanity before her had done, and had also enjoyed her language studies.

Where humankind could be reflecting on themselves, it seemed Paris had taken a tremendous interest – she wanted to know who she was, and why she was there.

Just as she did now, it would seem.

The very last thing she remembered was the falling of a thousand books, their collective boom shaking the floor beneath her. She remembered the blare of alarms, the sounds of a million screams as the world outside began to shake. She remembered crouching below her table, book still in hand, unsure of to do. She could barely keep herself steady, much less stand – and she was alone, left without the advice she so desperately needed.

Paris, in her mind’s memory, had closed her eyes, wishing herself the best as she had laid against the ground, covering her neck with her arms. She had kept the book close to her chest, clinging to it as the world began to fall apart.

The next thing she remember was waking up, here where she lay.

She no longer had the book, nor did she have anything but the clothes she wore – but she was there, and that was what mattered.

Getting up, Paris took a moment to take in her surroundings. She was still very much alone, and an eerie sort of silence haunted the air around her – there was little for her to do but begin to walk forward, hoping the fog that shrouded everything in the distance would clear with time.

Within a few minutes of walking, Paris came across a butterfly, its winds glowing with a subtle gold light. Curious, she began to follow it – she had no better guide, nor somewhere else to be. There was little left for Paris to do but trust, and hope that this little creature had good intentions – it seemed it already knew more than she did.

If she was being quite honest, that wasn’t a lot – but knowledge, Paris knew, was valuable. And she would place her trust in her newfound guide – as it began to fly just to the right of her direction, she followed.

Together, they made there way across a series of grasslands, with noting the scenery but the occasional flower. Once, Paris paused to bend down, reaching for a tiny dandelion bursting with seeds. As she blew her breathe across it, setting the seeds free to the wind, she smiled.

Freedom, she thought, was a beautiful thing. And wherever she was, there was plenty of it – the atmosphere around her still hummed him that steady calm, with little to disturb the peace of the world around her.

Here, she would be safe. There was no one and nothing who would ever want to hurt her. As she continued to walk along the path of the butterfly, she wondered if it might stay with her. Was the butterfly unique to her, or had there been others it had guided?

Some part of Paris wished she could talk to the creature. Surely it would have something to say, some advice to offer. But it was, after all, a butterfly – a beautiful, yet silent creature. It would remind her of the things she was meant to live for, for all the good moments in life.

Later, she would reflect on how the butterfly, in its silent nature, would remind her that words, while powerful, didn’t quite hold the weight of emotion. Paris could describe the butterfly, with its beautiful, iridescent purple wings lined with gold and the way it would soar from one side of the path to the other, giving her time to keep up.

But that wouldn’t quite capture the way it almost seemed to smile at her, the way it almost seemed to know everything she was thinking. It wouldn’t quite capture the understanding Paris felt between them, or the compassion that seemed to hide in the little creature’s wings. It wouldn’t quite capture Paris’s later gratitude for the path the butterfly would set her on, and the gifts that path would give her. And it wouldn’t quite capture the simple love for and beauty of life – the butterfly, despite its silence, was a living thing, with feelings and intentions of its own.

Soon enough, Paris and the butterfly reached a pair of arched doorways, the building behind them surrounded by a thick viel of fog. Whatever this place was, she would have to go inside to discover it – though curious, she wasn’t quite sure what waited ahead for her.

The butterfly, swooping near the doorway before return to her side, waited. Paris tilted her head, deciding that the creature wanted her to go in – and after a moment she did.

Pulling the doors open, Paris staggered with their weight – this place was meant to be well guarded, though she didn’t see the present need. She dusted off her shoes, walking smoothly inside. It was only a few minutes later that she realized that the little butterfly had not followed – perhaps there would be others for it to guide. Or perhaps it had simply decided it was time to leave, to leave her to her own devices.

As she walked through a second set of doors, Paris couldn’t help but gasp. Before her lay a library. It was the grandest, best filled library she had ever seen – books stocked thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of shelves lining each of eight walls, each extending dozens of levels upward. It was as if someone had compiled every book ever written into this one, grand library – it was the ultimate source of knowledge.

This library, Paris knew, would be her paradise. Here, she could learn everything and anything the was ever to know. She could learn human history, from its very begins to its near ends, and she could learn the languages that had come and gone with it. She could learn her way through literature, from ancient to classical, and she could find her way through the through the thousands of analysis that had been written along the way.

As she began to explore the library, finding her way from one section to the next, Paris realized, for the first time, that the library held the same sort of eerie silence as the outside world. Here, there was the additional smell of billions of pages, but, for a library, not a single one seemed to be flipped. There was no librarian shushing rude patrons, and no students quitely typing away in corners. There were no children, eagerly curled up in armchairs, finding their way into fantasy world to escape the present responsibilities and realities.

There was no one else here, despite the incredible knowledge that the place held. And there didn’t seem to be anything to indicate that anyone else ever had been there – there were no papers left on tables, no chairs pushed out of place. There was no stack of books for returning, and there was no long list of holds or due dates. There wasn’t even a book of two left poking out of a shelf, not quite pushed back in place by some curious earlier patron. There was only Paris, and a million books to read.

Settling down in an armchair, Paris decided that this is where she would stay, at least for the day. There was nothing to indicate that she was less than welcome here – if anything, the butterfly had guided her to the place she belonged. She would look for books that might tell her about where she was, and perhaps what the history of this part of the world – or perhaps world itself – might hold.

Perhaps she would have to find herself something to eat – though upon reflection, Paris would realize that she, despite all the walking she had done, wasn’t actually hungry. Even hours of reading later, she still wouldn’t be quite hungry, nor would she be longing for something to drink. There would be little for Paris to do but begin to read, finding herself at home, at least for the moment. And there would be little place Paris needed to be, at least until her guide returned.

Wherever she had woken up, Paris seemed to know it was where she was meant to be.

november 18th - sidekick fanfiction
304 words, 400 points (including proof)

Toothless glanced at Hiccup.

Then he glanced back at the sky.

And then back at Hiccup.

In the sky, Toothless saw the light fury. His light fury. She was his world – a gleamy ivory, soft-tempered, cautious, and charming, she was everything to him.

And in the sky, Toothless saw her falling. Her wings were entangled in something – maybe a net – and from here, there was little Toothless could do about it. He couldn’t send a sonic wave, nor could he shoot fire to save her. He was too far away, and he could never risk hitting her.

He could never risk hurting her.

But he had to help her – but he couldn’t leave Hiccup. Hiccup, still blissfully unaware of the crisis at hand, was sitting his tea. Toothless did his best not to sigh – Hiccup was a Viking, and this sort of behavior should be expected from him. But he had a mission, and he needed Hiccup’s help.

Toothless nudged Hiccup.

Hiccup kept sipping his tea.

Toothless nudged Hiccup again.

Hiccup kept sipping his tea.

Toothless nudged Hiccup a third time, practically knocking the tea out of his hands.

Hiccup kept sipping his tea.

Sighing in exasperation, Toothless nudged Hiccup one last time.

When he still didn’t react, Toothless made his choice. He would leave Hiccup behind – just this once – to save the light fury. He told himself that he had no choice – he had no time to wake Hiccup from his tea trance. And the light fury had no time to wait for Hiccup either.

Backing up against the cliff wall, Toothless took a deep breathe. He could do this. He could fly without Hiccup – and he could save her. He had to save her.

Running forward, Toothless took his leap of faith. He opened his wings, taking to the sky.

I’m coming.

november 18th - unprompted word war
to build a home - chapter two
1323 words (+383 non word war), unknown points

Chapter Two - Foxglove

In their dreams –

Foxglove sat by the edge of a river, their feet just barely touching the surface of the water. It was cold – freezing, in fact – but it felt perfect on the hot, humid summer day. They were ready to play, to have fun with their brother.

Back then, Foxglove had just been a kid. They wanted nothing more than to have fun, to enjoy themselves as they slowly grew up, learning what there was to learn along the way. They looked up to their older brother – his name was Forest – and someday, they wanted to be like him. They thought everyone should want to be like him.

Forest was kind, wise beyond their young years. He understood what it was to be happy; what it was to be sad. He would be there for you when you were having the worst of days, and would smiling along with you during the best of them – Forest would give anything to see you happy. And he always looked so happy himself – sometimes Foxglove wondered if that happiness came from making others happy too.

Someday, Foxglove would realize that not everything was as perfect as it seemed. They would realized that Forest’s life was far more than they knew, that the truths Forest understood went far deeper than they had ever known to be true, as a child. But they would also realize that Forest had earned his happiness. He had given what he could to Foxglove, and done what he could to take care of both of them. Forest had been a good older brother – Foxglove wished they could have been as great of a younger sibling.

As Foxglove sat by the river that day, they glanced behind them, looking for their older brother. He was sure to be somewhere along the treeline, among the forest for which he was named. Foxglove sometimes wondered why their parents had chosen the name for him – maybe it was because he was a steady soul, someone Foxglove could always rely on.

Right now, Foxglove wanted to rely on him to have fun together. They were just kids – there was little else for them to do, in Foxglove’s mind. Really, there was little else for anyone to do – having fun meant being happy. And everyone deserved to be happy, and so they should have fun.

Foxglove called out to Forest, urged him to join them. They wanted to swim with their older brother.

In hindsight, they were too young to understand how dangerous the river could be. They were too young to understand the bargain it drove, too young to understand the true cost of the fun they thought they could have. They were naive, innocent to the harsh realities of the world – the playful, to Foxglove, was sometimes the dangerous. Someday they would learn – but that someday would be far too late.

As they waited for their brother, Foxglove quickly grew impatient. They knew he was somewhere nearby – surely he would join them soon enough. But… if they were being honest, they were a little scared. They didn’t want to go swimming without their older brother – their older brother gave them an assurance of safety, and Foxglove needed to feel safe.

Even now, Foxglove still needed to feel safe.

Still, they were hot, and the river was cool. Taking a deep breathe, they glanced at the waters, evaluating their glittering refreshments before they took their chances and jumped in.

For a moment, it was glorious. They laughed as they splashed into the current, feeling the cool breeze against their wet skin. Everything was perfect – everything would be perfect. They began to swim along the current, heading towards the bridge they saw ahead, just a short walk from home.

They called out to Forest, urging him to meet them there.

Somewhere in the distance, Forest heard their call. He understood what it would truly mean – he understood what lay beyond the bridge.

And so he ran – he ran to Foxglove, to pull them out of the river. He ran to the bridge, catching Foxglove moments before they would have met his fate – but far too late to save himself from the very same fate.

Foxglove, in their memory, had screamed. He had pleaded for his brother to come back, begged for the mercy of the river.

In reality, they hadn’t quite understood. They had gone home, curling up under a blanket as they had begun to dry off. They had waited patiently for their brother to come home, unsure of why he hadn’t yet. They had made themself supper, eating a messing sandwich as they sat by the door, worry growing in their mind.

Where was their brother?

Why hadn’t he come back?

Foxglove, in their dream, watched helpless, as their younger self fell into the despairing realization of the truth. They were alone – and they always would be. They promised themself that they would never again have a sibling, never again have anyone they could ever let down so completely. They would never again hurt someone else, and never again would they ever be responsible for their death.

It wasn’t fair – they should have died that day. Not Forest. Not perfect, compassionate, happy, helpful, wise, gentle, kind Forest. Forest had deserved to live.

And Foxglove had not deserved to live with themself.

-

Foxglove awoke with a jolt, their back to a rough, yet warm surface. The sun was shining to their face, but after a few second – and a few blinks – Foxglove cleared their vision, surveying the land around them. The trees scattered across the dirt they sat on were both maple and oak – they weren’t like the evergreens they found back home.

Which meant that they weren’t at home. After a moment, Foxglove realized that they had to be far from it – perhaps somewhere they had never been before. In the distance, they could hear a rushing river, not unlike the one they had known.

Not unlike they one they had lost everything they had to.

Not unlike they one they had lost their brother to.

As they slowly stood up, Foxglove decided that they should go investigate. This wasn’t the same river – it couldn’t be the same river – and they had nothing to loose from gaining awareness of their surroundings. They didn’t hear any animals nearby, nor did they hear any people – the air was quiet, with only the rush of the river to satisfy their curiosity.

They walked around the tree which they had woke up against, follow the sounds of the water as they wondered how they had gotten there. It had been years since Foxglove had been near any rivers – they had done everything in their power to avoid them, seeking out any other source of water they could find before resorting to a riverwater, and they wouldn’t have deliberate carried themself so close to one.

But they also had not been near any humans for a very, very long time, and none of their animal companions would have carried them here – they had a particular sense for taking care of animals, and in turn, their companions were kind to them, but there was little more to their relationship but a mutual respect and feeling of companionsy. They would offer help as they could, that was all – and that was all Foxglove would ever let themself have.

Soon enough, Foxglove reached the river. As the dipped their fingers into the water, they were surprised at its warmth – it was around the same temperature as the air, and not unpleasant, at that. They weren’t quite thirsty – but should they ever need water, they decided to remember this river as a place they might find it.

Foxglove had a knack for remembering things – sometimes they were little things, like the shape of a leaf, or the color of a flower. Other times, they were more important things, like this river. Regardless, they liked to take pride in their memory – it was something that made them special, and that in itself was worth remembering.

Even after their brother was gone, Foxglove had done their best to cling to the parts of him they thought he would have wanted them to remember. They remembered how he would smile, looking out at the world like it was the most beautiful thing ever to exist. Foxglove missed that smile, and they did their best to emulate it in his memory.

Forest deserved that much, and so much more. So Foxglove did their best to be happy with themself, happy with their life – they tried to remember all the best things about it, all the little things that made them smile. In the end, they liked to think that it was those things that really mattered, more than anything else. As they looked out to the horizon, they realized that the sun was setting, at perhaps it would be best if they found somewhere to rest, if only for the night.

They could set up camp somewhere, if they could find decent leaf cover or shelter, or perhaps they would simply lay under the stars – they seemed to be alone in their world, wherever they were, and in solitude, Foxglove often found safety.

Safety was important – even with their brother gone, they knew he would have wanted them to take care of themself, to be safe. And so they did their best, keeping careful track of their food and water supplies, finding waters to shelter themself from the storms that would come.

Under the treetops which they had woken up, Foxglove looked up at the sky.

It was a clear night – perhaps just a nice, warm fire would do. There would be no rain to hide from, no winds to shiver with in the cold.

There would only be Foxglove and their fire, keeping their own quiet company through the dark.

For Foxglove, that would be enough – that would have to be enough. When they had no one and nothing, they had learned to take advantage of the little things, to be enough for themself. And so they had – there was like left to do but spark the flame and watch it burn, crackling quietly through the night.

to build a home - chapter three
1680 words, 100 points (word war)

Chapter Three - Paris

Paris had begun to naviage the many sections along the walls, discovering the history, the science, and the classical literature. She had made her way through around a wall and a half, climbing up and down the stairs to view the different levels – it seemed to high you went, the newer the books were, ranging from ancient history to modern literature and scientific journals – before she had realized that she was practically dead weight on her own two feet, exhausted despite her lack of true exertion. Physically, she didn’t find herself to be quite hungry, but she was nonetheless tired. Perhaps it was time to rest – but first, she decided that she ought to finish the row she had already started.

She moved from left to right, scanning each shelf for any book that might indicate where in the world – if she was even in the world she knew – she may have ended up, or what sort of literature this library catered to. For the most part, the titles seemed to be in english, but that wasn’t particularly telling – there were a lot of places in the world that spoke english, if not as a first language, then as a taught second or third language, and she couldn’t rely on that to give her an idea of where she was. Still, she didn’t exactly have a better idea – so she took what she could get, moving upwards as she finished each horizontal shelf.

To her amazing, the books were lined up perfectly by alphabetical author’s last name, not a single cover out of place – even the highest of shelves appeared to be well kept and dusted, despite the library’s apparent vacancy. Someone, perhaps in secret, took care of this place – or perhaps it simply took care of itself? Paris remembered the butterfly who had guided her to the library. Perhaps it had been her imagination – perhaps she had simply followed it as it flew around on a whim, going where it pleased – or perhaps this place, in some capacity, was magical. It would certainly explain why she was no where she recognized, or could even identify on the many maps she came across – she, in some way, had found herself in another world, somewhere with a form of subtle magic.

If magic was truly there answer to her surroundings mysteries, then perhaps Paris’s work for the evening was done. She would look for books pertaining to what exactly the magic that surrounds her might be, or how this world she had found her way to relates to the one she had known, in the morning. For now, there was very little left to do but sleep, to let to exhaustion that continued to stir within her bones relax and dissipate. Looking around the library, Paris found herself an armchair – it was no bed, but it was quite comfortable nonetheless. Paris would sleep quite well tonight.

She quietly unbraided her hair, rebraiding it along the same lines. As she settled down, Paris noted how easily her breathe fell into a subtle rhythm – she was meant to be asleep right now, or so the world around her thought. Or perhaps she was simply at ease – there was little more for her to do right now than rest, and surely she would wake up feeling more energized in the morning. Today had been a lot to take it, and perhaps tomorrow would come with something new – something she would use to understand this new world around her, and something that would give her a sense of purpose.

She closed her eyes, and as Paris drifted of to sleep, she began to dream.

It started with voices, their subtle melodies calling her name.

Some were loud, while others were soft. Some were gentle, others harsh. Some were happy, others heartbroken. Some were young, others old. Some spoke slowly, others fast. Some whispered, while others wailed.

As they began to speak, they began to ask questions. Questions that she didn’t know the answer to, questions that she didn’t understand. Their questions surrounded her, eveloping, trapping her, cutting her off from her world, her truths, all the things she knew –

– but their questions pushed at something deeper, something she wanted, no, something she had to understand.

“Remember, Paris. Who are you?”

“What happened to you Paris?”

“Why can’t you remember? Who we were. What we did.”

The last voice was small, a melody belonging to a young boy. His voice was sort, but there was something Paris heard in it that she couldn’t quite put her finger on – something about the boy’s voice was familiar. She had known him, once.

“Paris,” he whispered, his voice echoing in her head. “Where were you? I needed you.”

For him, Paris had no answers. She could picture him so clearly, his bright blue eyes ready to cry, his voice breaking into a thousand pieces. Whoever he had been, he was right. He had needed her, and she hadn’t been there.

But as his face grew clearer and clearer in his mind, his expression shifted. It changed, somehow, from it’s youthful gaze to a hardened glare. From innocent to cold, hard apathy, something about this boy had changed. Had it been real? Had it been her fault?

Paris awoke, shaking with a fear she hadn’t known existed within her. Somewhere out there was a boy.

Was he here to?

Who was he?

Why had she known him?

She couldn’t stop the questions from echoing around her head, their voices taking the tones of the thousands she had heard in her sleep. She wondered who the boy was, and what had happened to him. She wondered how what he had told her had been true. She didn’t remember leaving anyone behind, forgetting anything truly important, not in living memory…

In living memory.

Perhaps that was the answer to all of this – the reason why she could remember some things as clearly as the day they happened, while others were lost to her beyond a shadow of what they once had been.

Paris had been in the library while the earth quaked. She had watched the world begin to crumble through the cracking windows, listening to the voices of a thousand screams. But it hadn’t occurred to her that she could have be one of them until just now.

It made sense – she had no memory of leaving the building. She had no memory of moving at all, no memory of what exactly had happened, beyond the initial rumbles and screams. She had no memory of her own death – of this, for the first time, she was certain.

She, Paris, had died that day in the library. She had be crushed along with thousands of books, millions of pages of priceless knowledge. She had lost her life to the same force that had crushed so many others.

So where was she now. She wasn’t quite dead – or perhaps she was, just not in the sense she would have thought to be. She was dead in the sense that she had left the world she had known behind, that her spirit was no longer present among the bustling streets of the city she had known, and her life, to the few she had known and loved, had been lost.

But she wasn’t dead in the sense that she was still very much conscious, wherever she had ended up – she understood her surroundings, and it did explain the sense of magic she had experienced. It also explained why she woke up to find herself miraculously lacking both hunger and thirst, and why she had been tired the previous evening, but characteristically lacking physical symptoms of fatigue.

Paris, nodded to herself. She could accept the death of her mortal life – it was, after all, only natural. It didn’t quite answer the question of where she was – she couldn’t quite imagine this to be the her final end – but she was here, and surely that meant that she had a purpose in doing so. Particularly where death was concerned, Paris was a strong believer in the idea that everything happened for a reason.

And while she remained here, she would do her best to find out why.

Her revelations giving her a new sense of purpose, Paris walked towards the great library doors. She had learned, she thought, what she needed to from this place. It was time to venture beyond her paradise, what she thought to be her comfort zone – it was time to venture out into the world, to see what it had to offer. She needed neither food nor subsistence, and she didn’t imagine physical danger would be a particular issue – she was free to wander.

She was free to see that world, and Paris was ready to take full advantage of her newfound sense of adventure. She could go anywhere in this world, discover every corner of what it had to other. She could find others, if there was anyone at all, and together they could ask their questions and seek every answer there was to be found. She could spend her new life – or perhaps death – running free, for the first time in her life, without a care for scholarly books and endless knowledge.

The world outside held the endless knowledge she was ready to seek – and there was no place she would rather be than among the wind, finding a new sense of purpose to follow.

Wherever she was, whyever she was there, and wherever she would go, Paris promised herself that she would do it. She would find what she was meant to do, who she was meant to be. She would find the answers the mysteries that surrounded this world, and she would be happy. Above all, Paris promised herself that – no matter where she went, who she met, and what she found along the way, Paris would enjoy this world. She would find every reason to smile – because why would she ever not be, in a place where her worries had been set free?

november 19th - critiquitaire
491 words, 400 points

critiquing "to smile"

hi vi! my thought first was about how much i love your title – “to smile” is simple, yet memorable, and it has a way of sticking with you – kudos for that <3

A red balloon, vibrant and shining like a single drop of blood, drifted up to the cold iron sky.

from the first line, i get the impression that the narrator is a rather emotionless, to the point sort of person – your description of the red balloon as shining like a drop of blood gives a little bit of an impression that it too is part of the dystopian vibe you’ve established in the iron sky – i’m not sure whether or not this was intentional, but if you are playing the red balloon as a symbol of hope, i would suggest describing it as something other than blood

——— could not get the image out of her head.

i’m a little conflicted on how to feel about the character’s lack of identification – i appreciate the stylistic choice to not give her a name, as well as the way the lack of identification adds to the worldbuilding of the dystopia you’ve introduced, but i’m also having a bit of a hard time visualizing and referring to her in mind as a result – i personally think it makes her less memorable and harder to emphathize with than she would be if you assigned her a number or something similar, but that is just my personal opinion

Very glad she knew what it was to smile.

my other note would be about the build up to the final line – it’s short, memorable, and completes the story perfectly, and while it is a well played line, i think you could have built it up to it a bit more. i really like the way the final two words of the story match up with the title, and had you reserved the word “smile” until the very end, replacing its earlier uses with something along the lines of “expression” or continuing the use of “grimace”, i think you had an opportunity to create a greater moment of realization that would help the story, as a whole, to really have an impact on the reader

“We can share,” a boy said, reaching out his fisted hand to hers. He gripped the cord of a blue balloon.

in regards to emotion, i think the only moment of the story that feels truly emotional to me is when the boy tells her they can share – it’s very sweet, touching even – and i think it plays well to the idea of smiling being something she has forgotten. the later half of the piece feels somewhat more emotionally narrated than the former, but i think they are both, as whole, fairly direct and without much emotion – whether or not this was the intention, i think it suits the story well

overall, i love your concept, and your execution of it was pretty on point – i think there are definitely a few points when you could have worded your narration to an even greater effect, to really make an impact on and resonate with a reader (or a judge) <3 thank you for letting me critique this, and best of luck with whatever your present writing comp entry might entail!

november 20th - concept sprinting
355 words, no points

Dandelions are seeds of hope - they carry dreams wherever they are meant to go, and they hold the wishes of the innocent, often the children of this world. I think that could be important to a story because they would make for some really pretty symbolism, and be both simple and effective – maybe a few different characters all blow a dandelion, or maybe one does and then comes across it a gain someday, or maybe it would be a different dandelion then. Maybe the dandelion they find later could be form the seeds they blew away, or maybe not, whatever the case, there is a lot of really interesting stuff that could happen here. And maybe the dandelions bloom in spring, maybe sometime after a storm or maybe out the the long winter frost – dandelions could be a symbol of hope, a remind that no matter what happens, the narrator will always have a chance and a shot at their dreams. Even after things go wrong, someone or something will always come back to give them hope, a pretty flower blooming through the cracks in the frost, or maybe just a pretty flower, somewhere out in the wild. I think the dandelion story does remind all of us that there will always be a light shining through the dark, no matter what mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, or perhaps the mess that someone el.se handed to us, and that no matter where we go, there will always be a reminder of that. I think this would be fun to write because it’s something that not only could be touching and have an impact to other people, but i think it would also serve as reminder that no matter how much it seems like we have to do or how much the world seems to have it out for us sometimes, there will always be the things that make me smile, and the things that remind me why i love the things i love so very much – there will always be that light shining through the world, and that light will always be something special

harry potter word crawl - year one
3000 words (wip), no points

Year One:

Alright it is currently nine thirty pm and we are going to do this! I am not really sure why I have decided to take it upon myself to do this word crawl challenge, but I have way too much time on my hands and I think it would be fun to just sit down and see what thoughts and ideas might come from doing this word crawl. This is the harry potter word crawl, so it has seven years, which is perfect for this week – i can plan on doing one every day, or if i want to, maybe i’ll do more than one! And that would be the first challenge done hehe

So it occurs to me that i was really meant to have some sort of novel or something to work on while i do this, but i don't really want to work on my novel right now because i feel like it isn’t really going anywhere i honestly do not think that i have the motivation to write wthree nano pars a day, so instead i have decided that i want to write a short story every day this week. To me, that sounds fairly reasonable – in theory, we already do this for dailies every day, and those are doable, aren’t they? I wouldn’t say mine is always of the greatest quality, but that’s okay – they’re fun, and we learn something from doing them! It is also good to just be in the habit of writing, like right now, i am writing, even though it is not necessary quality storytelling, i am making good effort to write with both somewhat decent speed and accuracy, which should help my ability to type with such attributes in the long run, and is thus beneficial to me as a writer! I am also exploring a character voice, that being my own, and am freely expressing my thoughts as coherent – I hope – words on paper with somewhat decent grammar and spelling, so that is quite nice too! My thoughts also do tend to reflect on certain characters of mine, while others tend to take whatever i am thinking and twist it around a bit to come up with something that is somewhat different from most of my other characters, though i would say that a lot of them do tend to think alike – but hey, that just means they make for interesting friends! In some ways, a lot of their personalities are a bit similar, but there will also be things that make them uniquely them, and, as a writer, i do my best to focus on those things and celebrate that uniqueness as i write their characters, and it is quite fun to wonder what the characters would do if they had a mind of their own. That daily was quite a fun one, though i do not particularly like what i wrote for it – the puppet’s perspective, while interesting, was rather redundant, and i feel like they would have been a lot more interesting to write adventuring. Maybe I will do that at some point this week – I have plenty of time, and it would be a nice story to add to the challenge! I am not quite sure how much planning is going to go into all of these stories – i want them to be thoughtful, and to be something i can look back on and be proud of, but i don’t want them to be overthought to a point where they do not get done, and i do not want them to be so complicated that they become incoherent, as stories somehow do. If i look at the clock in the corner of my screen, or perhaps the timer in another tab, i can see that i do still have around two minutes left, and while i am nowhere near achieve the pair of fifty headed hydras i’ve been after all session with this, i am also not really sure what else to write right now. On some level, I had better figure it out – there will be plenty more challenges to finish, and I am determined to see this through to the end. We will see if my hands still agree with me by the time we are done – but for right now – and forever – it is a mission, and I will see it through! There are still around thirty seconds left, so i think i am obligated to keep typing – this is, after all, a sprint, but not story typing at the moment, there really is not much for me to do in order to keep up with what the designated par is, and oh, look at that, we are done! I am going to write words for an even number now

Arlight so i know i have to sprint to five hundred words and in order to do so i am setting myself a five minute timer because while i am at it a i may as well attempet another fity headed hedra even though i know that it will mean that my spelling is going to be absolutely sambymal but hwo cares because this is what aediting ais for and who knows who utterly incoherent all of this is going to end up but this si a word sprint and i just need to write wrods on this paper as i express myself in this manner and mayb ie iwl l blokk out thise window as i do so i kind of do msis the tiems when i word write very themed word war writings that were wvery wrambly but they also were really fun because i would keep to some osort of song ans a base i think that my two favorites were the room where it hapepns and the man or the muppet oh but i will alwsay sbe a man or a muppet sor to feprhap because they area truly unjust iconic like that i adn i really lsouhould talk about how i am neither a man nor a muppet but i am instea d muppet of amna or manybe i am just a very manly smuppet and i think that my very manly umuppet self is struggling with wwritn guqiklcy writing e now because my whadns arear gettinga l little bit tired but hey i starte dhtis and now i will finish this now just because this wekekly is a little hard to be doing at night because it requires a lot of thinking but soalso because i want to do this and it is a goal and now i will do this because i want to and i can and well i really do tneed to come up with some sort of theme fro all of this otherwise i am basically giving myself a private cabin wars with absolutely no theme and no stakes and just jme myself and i writing away as i do this sword crawl because ihat is what i felt like doing and iahve too much time as it is tso we can hop ethat eventually i will come up with something interesting to sawa and we can all esaved from this utter unonesene oh yes i should start thinking about cabin themes for next secession i was thinking of doing a literary fiction but if i do that i would want it to be a cabin that will not win because the concept just fits so perfectly but i also think i will still have the spirit for a competitive cabin, despite the beginning of ap exam season next session and i will also be lacking in chem work to do since we are just doing around seven practice tests after the end of february so that will just be

So i have survived the sprinting to five hundred words! It was not a fifty headed hydra, unfortunately, but someday i will get there – it is a goal, and i am determined to see it through. In the mean time, it seems my job is to write for 15 minutes as i consider what kind of pet i might want as ai journey into hogwarts – i am thinking that an owl would be the most useful, but i think a cat would be really cute and a bit more interesting that an owl because so many people choose those. It is not so much the want to be different or the novelty of the cat that makes me want a cat as the company a cat would provide that a toad or owl would not – cats are very huggable, if they are nice, and they would be quite nice for keeping my company as i wrote, or perhaps learned all there is to know about magic while i am at hogwarts. On some level, maybe the sensible choice would be the owl – but still, i cannot help but feel drawn to the cat. Maybe if i do choose the cat, i will write about it for a bit as i continue this sprint – something tells me that it will take me a while, though i think that maybe it will prove worth it in the end – it isn’t like i have much else to be doing, though i admittedly could be getting ahead with work this week, we really are not supposed to be doing work over our breaks because it is meant as type for us to rest so that we will be recharged to do the work later. Still, i think it might be a good idea to do some of the apush work this week, since it is just a lot of reading and writing, and i will be oding that anyhow – there is not much of reason not to take a break from personal projects every now and then to work on school related tasks. The other thing i really should and happily will do this week is look into model un crisis committee’s – i have the hunger games as a crisis committee in a few weeks, and despite never having been in a crisis committee before, i want to be as well prepared as i can be and be ready to put my character to good use. There are so many cool things about model un, maybe i will talk about them later – right now, it occurs to me that i will either have to not finish this thousands words right now or that i will have to write around anotehr thousands words in a bit, so i may want to stop paying so much attention to spelling and start just writing a bit faster so that i will have mor eof head tstart later since htis is a timed exchserse and well i could just use a galleon but i think i might want to save that for the really long stuff even writing around nien hundred words should only take around ten minutes and i know there was at least one forty five minute challenge in tehre but that may also just be afor hugfflpuff but i know that i am a ravencalwa nad at some point that will mean that i do need to work a alot harder than i otherwise would because ravenclaw’s are known for their quest for knowledge and that does often seem to be associated with a lot of work and i thinkt hat all of that work might mean that we end up writing a lot more owrods ant one point ofr sanother ain only have three precious coins though i think that i might find more somewhere along the way we shall seee i tried not to read too much of the words ccawal before decing to do it because i thought that that would ruin eosme of the fun but hey maybe it would hnot have hrut to have known what is coming maybe i will evnetuallyg et retired and decide to finisht his year tomorrow mbecause there will still be another day if i do finish this today at the end because next sunday is a weekend day and not a weekday so i wsitll nwill nto agave school and it will be qie nice or maybe i wiil make all of the day s in universal time because then i can take a break with this whenever i would like and finish it tomorrow morning when iw will have aust as much time because i will stil have a ton of free time tomorrow and i am getting tired right now and maybe i should just call it a day sooner rather than later but also idid start this but i also do not wkno whow long this is going to take because once again i did not read the whole thing maybe i should have actually read the whole thing that would have definitely saved me a good about of trouble and as aia sdie note i thave ahlmso discovered that i write alost faster when i do not need to hadd punctuation ewtween so mayb sentences oh yes run on sentences are much better because the thoughts do just flow with a some of rhythm to them as you type, one word just coming to you aftera oantoher, the content s of your brain just kind of emptied on theo paper. It is kind of interesting how i how cohose to either conintinelyc think about hta word i ama typing on the apge before i write anthem or just let them write with out igivng it much fthooguth t – i kind of wonder if that is what they truly mean by steam of consciousness writing where you are quite litaterally letting whatever is somewhere int eh deep dark pehtys of you roun omolouged head writing along to the sound of the wrclicking of keys caused by the very words that it had somehow thought up moments ago

Now that i have survivec hat challenge, it is time to finish this thousand words and write the earnest thousand! Honestly, this should not be hard as long as i ddo not pay too pmcuh attention to smys peling as i start tdo this, nand maybe its thould go baakc toa just dumping my steam of consciousness into these words aso that i can finish thetis faster because i am indeed getting tired, although it is not like i can not sleep into tomorr ow abecausa after all it, it is sthanksgivign break, and for once, it is a lovely time to be amn american studnet and to have time off because once in a whoil eth american school system is kindo fnice like and htannow haya we are on to the five hundred word stretch ora telast we are close and now we can just keep writing and wow do i really ended to find some kind of theme for all of this otherwise i ama just going to tend o up rambling endless ly but with a limited amount of stuff i can ramble about because the proof limits and rules we have which are really quietly iensibl ebut hte also do mean that anything iwrite wrill en dup on thineternet and i do not think that is always a good thing buecause there are definitelya number of things that i could be rambling about that would either addn my perivate information to the fgeater big sea of the internet or add d other private tinofrmation that i really do not really want added to the getat big seea of the internet because it is a god world out ther eiwth a lot of reall nice rpoeple, but ther eare also alway going to be people who are not quite so nice and that does become a problem when it could to adding information to the great big sea of the interest which ihnoestly kidno f sad because ther ea rea so many firendshisp taht acould be formed if people could better trust each other which private information beu at last, that would not b e possible in sour current world because that is ust the way that the world works and i think that wonce i finish roucnding out this thousand word i am going to go to bed because it can definitely see my spelling getting worse and worse to a point there i don to really want to go through adn edit all of ti and that is honestly fair, at elast in my opinion – as it would be, since i am talking about myself. In the event taht anyone is actually reading this, for one reason or another, i might warn you that there will probably not be anything of much interest in the many many thousands of words sure to follow – this is mostly my less interesting way of deciding not to finish my nanowrimo but instead to do something that involves writing, though at some point i will switch from rambling to either brainstorming or worldbuilding, though that some point will probably not be tonight and will instead be something either tomroorwo morning or in year two because that will ne when i am in more of a less tired state of mind and ama doing this not to pass time but to write something more interesting and to motivate myself to keep going, because hard work is one thing that often leads to satisfaction, while a lack of such hard work often does not, and there is something quite gratifying about knowing that you kenw that something was going to be hard and then went ahead and did it anyways, or in this case, i realized how hard this was oging to be somewhere near the start and then decided taht yes, i should go ahead and do it anyways because this i a mission, and i will see it through because that is the kind of person i want to be, so i will

november 20th - word war/brainstorming
1415 words, unknown points

dandelions
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dandelions are a symbol of hope – somewhere, our narrator feels lost, perhaps hopeless. they feel like no matter what the do, their dreams can never come true, and no matter where they go, their hopes will never come to life. still, they want something, or perhaps need something, more than anything else, and they are determined to cling to that hope. wherever we are – perhaps a dystopia, of sorts – hope is something of the essence, and something worth clinging to when it comes. there aren’t often a lot of reasons to be hopeful in this world. still, the narrator does their best to try anyways.

where the narrator is will be quite important – where are they, and why is hope something so beautiful and rare? what had happened to their world that they find themselves looking for hope to cling to, even as the darkest of days come to pass? why are they afraid – and why do they still believe that things can – that things have – been better?

one setting could be an implied fictional war – perhaps not in conflict itself, but in the distance, limiting food and supplies, metal particularly included. maybe the narrator wants something as simple as a bike – something that would be difficult to come by when metal and rubber are of the essence. bikes are interesting because they give you the freedom to go places and to see things that you otherwise wouldn’t – they give you the power to explore the world, to see the best of things. they’re also quite a simple wish – easy to portray, and easy to create as a reality for a child, of sorts.

another place to be could be some sort of natural disaster – where winds swept, perhaps bells could chime. i’m not really sure where i would go with this one, and i think the first is definitely a more feasible option – it has a pair of very concrete symbols to work with, and gives an opportunity for some very loose but fun worldbuilding. it could be something of entirely fiction, or something more related to a historical time period – but i would think that fiction is a better idea but it doesn’t leave room for historical inaccuracy that can becomes potentially problematic, whereas fiction leaves a lot more room for creative liberties that i'd like to have an opportunity to take. that is, after all, part of the fun of writing – inventing worlds and bringing them to life in their own special world, whether or not their is truth to the story. something i love about stories is how there will always be some sort of truth to them, whether or not the story itself is true – there will always be something about them that resonates, even long after the story itself has escaped memory.

back to dandelions, i think the best way to brainstorm this would be to ask myself a few questions and begin to answer them, so here we go!

where are we?

• we are somewhere in a time of conflict – as a result, both rubber and metal are very hard to come by. this restricts a number of things, particularly anything that would be for leisure and is not strictly necessary – such as the bike that the narrator wishes for at the beginning.
  
• i think we are somewhere in the open, away from any large civilizations – the narrator, whoever they may be, wants to see the world, and in order to do that, they must find their way away from hope and out into the world. some miles to the west, they know there to be a town from the many maps collected in their house – they want to see it, and they want to see the world
  
• they have been here, at home, for quite a while, living a fairly straightforward life of playing in the fields with their younger, or perhaps older sibling, occasionally helping to harvest food – despite their lack of connection to most of society, every now and then, a paper falls from the sky, delivering news on behalf of the government, or whoever else might be in charge
  
• this place is a bit of a dystopia – their history is well hidden, and beyond maps of where other towns and households can be found, there is very little information as to how their homes came to be
  
• or perhaps this isn’t quite necessary to include – unless the dystopian aspects of the world become particularly necessary, there isn’t any need to go into them right now because the details, while interesting, won’t add anything to the story
  

who is the narrator?

• the narrator is a child, old enough to have some idea of what is going on in the world around them, but still far too innocent and young to truly understand the implications of it. they want to see the world, and that intention is held above all else in their mind. they are remarkably curious, and they
• have a bit of a knack for finding themselves asking questions they shouldn’t necessarily
  
• they can’t help but wonder why they have never seen anyone other than their family, and why they never know much of the world beyond their fields but what the occasional papers from the sky tell them. they want more than they are given – they want to see and understand society, and what to see what their greater place in the world is
  
• their family makes grain, or perhaps some other kind of food, and every so often, the piles of grain routinely vanish as they sleep, finding their way off to whatever the people who drop the papers from the sky decide that they should be
  
• their family has long done this work, and has continued to do it with increased diligence as the war, wherever it is, has begun – the people from the sky told them that they need to help feed their fellow citizens of society, and in order to do so, they must produce more grain
  
• the increased work that has come with this has led to the narrator’s increased desire to see the rest of the world, and to understand what all of this is really for – what do they work for? slowly, they begin to assemble like pieces of metal they find – sometimes, in the fields, they and their family will find scraps of metal, pieces left behind from some distant past
  

what happens?

• this past has never quite been explained, but that isn’t important to the narrator as they begin to collect them, carefully assembling them to match the diagrams of the bikes they see in their schoolbooks
  
• despite the society’s lack of connection, the government – people from the sky – take good care to keep their young population decently educated on the workings of basic technology, language arts, and mathematics – within limits, of course
  
• all of this allows the narrator to begin to assemble their bike, until all they are missing is rubber for the tires. they will have quite a hard time getting this, as rubber is very, very limited due to whatever conflict the people from the sky informed them of
  
• after some days in the field, the narrator comes across a tire, or something of similar nature – looking up to the sky, they realize that they will never really know who is up there or where the tire really came from but, by chance or by gifting, the rubber is his to arrange into two slim tires for his homemade bicycle
  
• after having hidden it for weeks, the narrator is finally ready to ride free. they wait until their parents and sibling are otherwise occupied with the growing of food before taking it out, gently testing it
  
• it will take them a few practice session to get the hang on it – at first, they have to be careful, ensuring that they do not damage their skin, as that would be sure to attract the notice of their parents, who they do not think would approve of their intentions
  
• eventually, between sessions of producing food, they do get the hang on it, this time waiting for nightfall before the quietly make their way out of the house, to their bike, and begin to pedal west, towards the town they had always seen on the maps
  
• as they reach the edge of their fields, one of the first things they see is a patch of dandelions, their seeds blowing freely in the wind
  

november 20th - critiquitaire
509 words, 400 points

critiquing "this shattered fate"

hi ave! the first thing i remember really loving about “this shattered fate” was the way it stuck with me well after i had read it for the first time – you do a wonderful job of building up to the impact of the final lines and leaving a lasting message about defying fate in the reader’s mind <3

found family, or perhaps just family, is one of my favorite tropes – you do a good job of characterizing the dynamic between them, as well as how they look out for each other, but to some extent, there is a lot going on, with the number of characters involved adding to the slight overwhelming effect of it all. i think you might find it more effective to focus on fewer characters, giving them more individual character development and unique motivations and relationships with each other, giving them more of a chance to exist beyond their specific purpose in the story.

in regards to worldbuilding, there is, again, a lot going on – from the plague to the cons to the streets to the docks to the shops to the constant need for money to apartment to the marketgoers to the impact of fate, it’s all very interesting! it has a way of drawing me into the world, making me want to know more – but it also leaves me with the feeling that there is so much more that i don’t know and missed out on, in part because of the sheer amount of worldbuilding you’ve packed into two thousand words. in similar regard as characterization, i think it would have been more effective to focus on fewer aspects of worldbuild and take time to more thoroughly introduce and explain them – this would have slowed down the pacing a bit, and would also help the story to feel a bit more complete.

aaand pacing – it’s fast. really fast. to some extent, i feel like new information is constantly being thrown at me, for many of the reasons mentioned above, and i think it would help the execution of the concept and piece as a whole to slow down and focus on creating a more clearly defined worldbuild and development of individual characters. you truly do pack a lot into a little, with one thing constantly leaning into the next – it does help the story to have a very continuous feel, but, as a reader, it can also be overwhelming to a point where i am a little confused.

overall, i would encourage to think about your intention in writing each piece, the impact you want to have on your reader, and the themes you want to portray, and focus on the clarity of those intentions to have an impact with a theme as you write your story. execution is and will continue to be just as, if not more important than the concept of the story to its ability to resonate with a reader (and a judge) – best of luck with your entry this session, and thank you for letting me critique <3

november 20th - balancing figurative language
797 words, 600 points

as someone who tends to use way too much figurative language, i did my best to use it minimally here - not sure how that worked out ahahaha

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Daniel stood at the edge of a field, watching as his siblings chased each other through stalks of wheat, their joyous laughter ringing out across the barren landscape. There was little to interrupt its childish melody – out in the countryside, few things lived but his family and their grain.

From his daily lessons, Daniel knew that his family had farmed a single crop for generations. It was their job, given by the Government to his great-grandparents decades ago. Their work, his learned, listening eagerly from behind his little desk, was essential to their Society. Without food, their workforce could not continue to grow. Their Society could not continue to advance, and if they did not advance, they would Fall Behind.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of the Society did, or where they lived. Were they all farmers, like he and his family? Or were there other families, somewhere beyond the grain fields, who had a different job? Surely the grain they harvested went somewhere, and surely the packages of food that arrive on their doorstep every morning came from somewhere.

Things did not simply appear – no, that was against the nature of science. That, too, he had learned from his lessons.

As he walked along the edge of the field, Daniel came across something little, something different. It was a flower, the tip of its stem surrounded by a halo of fuzz. Picking it up, Daniel took it back to his house, where he looked it up in his book.

A dandelion, the book said the little flower was called. It was simple, yet pretty in its illustration – the seeds seemed to blow anyways from the stem, out into the world beyond. The caption below told his that, once, people had whispered their wishes to dandelions as they blew the sinds away, hoping their words would take root alongside the seeds on which they flew.

As he put his book away, returning to the fields, Daniel decided that he would blow his seeds to the wind too. His book had said that it was mere supersition, like the ghost stories parents used to tell their children to scare them into obedience, back before the Government was establish to create a model Society.

Still, Daniel was curious. Surely there would be no harm in trying.

As he brought the little dandelion to his lips, he wondered what he would wish for. If he could be anywhere in the world, where would he go?

That was just it.

As he began to blow them away, letting them soaring along the wings of the wind, as free as the birds in his book, Daniel whispered his secret to the seeds.

“I wish I could see the world. Dandelion… wish I could be free.”

-

Weeks past, the spring rains fading to the summer heat, then the gentle autumn breeze. Daniel quietly worked alongside his family, helping the prepare their farm for the season’s last harvest. Once they finish, there would be little more for them to do until spring. Daniel would continue his schoolings, and his parents would begin to prepare the seeds for the next season.

It was an endless cycle, and, in some ways, a beautiful one. Where one harvest year ended, another began, little changing but the coming and going of years. Soon, Daniel knew he would turn of age. When he came of age, Daniel was to take on his father’s responsibilities, becoming the head of their production. He would continue to work alongside his father until his siblings too came of age.

It would be then that their family would be split, his sister matched with other young men, his brother given a new plot of land. His parents would continue to their final home, where they would live out the remainder of their days in service to their Society. They would all be in service to their Society.

Once, as he flipped through the pages of his book, Daniel came across a contraption. It was a curious thing, with a pair of wheels attached a series of long, metal rods and a little seat, of sorts. As he saw it, Daniel felt something in his mind shift, a new possibility awakening. He would build this contraption. He would learn to ride it, and then he would see the world.

To the west, he knew there was a small village. The maps in his book told him so. That would be the first place he would go – the first stop on his journey of discovery, his chance to see the world with his own two gleaming eyes. There, he knew he would find other people, other members of his Society.

Daniel, for the first time in his life, had a plan.

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(might continue later - i don't really like the execution of the concept)

november 21st - word war/brainstorming
1624 words, unknown points

(cw: hunger games spoilers, overall dark themes)

the hanging tree
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It’s been quite a while since i have read the hunger games series in its entirety, but working on fixign that now! In the mean time, i did just reread the first hunger games book, so i was thinking of writing some fanfiction related to it, specifically the hanging tree some. The hanging tree song is something that, from what i remember, was a part of the third book, so hoping to find that and reread it sometime soon! I do relly like the song for the vibes because of the way it builds on itself, sending a message with a handful of repeated words, and the hanging tree itself is very symbolic of the situation that the districts find themselves in, and the song speaks to the way they sometimes communicate with each other, like how rue’s song would tell the workers that their work day was over.

One thing i could do with this is write it as a lyric fiction, especially overlaying the lyrics with the other parts of the story, as if to be a backing track to some sort of moie scene. That would be a lot of fun, although somewhat difficult to pull off well, i think it would be well worth the effort and time it would take. This is definitely not going to be an everybody-friendly piece of writing, but it should still be within the realm of things that are okay to post on a children’s website – i don’t think there’s any need to explicitly mention death, though we’ll see how this goes!

Starting with the hanging tree itself, the song revolves around the idea of people meeting at mdingiht at the hanging tree – the hanging tree is an interesting meeting place because it is a place of punishment for those who have broken the capitol’s laws, from what i remember, and i’m fairly certain there is another reason why they choose the hanging tree as a meeting place. In one way, all of the districts are between caught in the ropes of the capitol, slowly loosing their ability to breathe freely, though it would be fair to say that is one ability they have never really had under the capitol’s rules. As katniss tells us, strange things did happen here, and no stranger would it be if they meet at midnight at the hanging tree.

This could go in the direction of people meeting at midnight at hanging trees across the districts, passing a message through the mockingjays, their melodies carrying the voices of many across the districts. It could also focus on a single hanging tree, perhaps district twelve’s, as they meet there to slowly move towards freedom, perhaps two people with a love that defy’s the capitols will. Strange things, after all, did happen there – no stranger would it be if two young lovers should find their way to the hanging tree at midnight.

There are, of course, a number of other strange things that could happen there – what happens to the district, or perhaps districts, as the people continuously find their ways to a hanging tree, spreading whatever word it is they feel must be past along at all costs? Surely the peacekeepers will not let such activity go completely unnoticed, though surely the people who know what they are doing are aware of these risks, and perhaps find ways to avoid them. The rebels always were smart, thinking through what they did and what they were looking to gain before doing something, particularly something that was likely to have particular consequences, should it go wrong.

I think the first thing I need to decide is who is going to be meeting at the hanging tree, when, and why – perhaps this could be set after the first book, when Katniss and Peeta have just defied the capitol’s will, or perhaps later, after the world has already start to fall further apart? The farther i go into planning this, the more evident i think it becomes that i need to reread the other hunger games books – there’s so much lore that i really just don’t remember right now, and a lot of that lore is stuff i think could be useful to the story. Fanfiction is, at its heart, not my particular strong suit, though with time, i think it could be! It would be fair to say that i do very much prefer planning stories to actually writing them, but that’s alright – it’s always nice to have ideas ready for when you need them.

Back to the hanging tree, i think the story could start with a few lines of the song – are you, are you, coming to tree? And perhaps those that follow – i’ll have to look more carefully about what exactly those lines say before i finish plotting the story in a bit, but for right now’s purposes, let’s say that the story does in fact start with those opening lines. There’s a quiet string instrument in the background of the first verse or so – perhaps a violin, cello, or viola? Music never was my strong suit, but it’s almost whispering, as a breeze would across an barren landscape of a coal district.

Perhaps we could start with the tree, standing quietly as the scene is set, the lyrics overlaying the scene. It would set the tone nicely, and it would also be great to get the plot of the story moving a bit, right at the start – there is so much that could go on here that pacing is, as always, going to be essential. I know i have a huge tendency to overdo description, so it might be nice to pay more attention to balancing that, especially with the added mood of lyrics. Description often serves the purpose of setting a tone in a lot of my pieces – i don’t imagine that will require much here, giving the implications of all of the lyrics, so now would be a great time to practice not relying on it as much, instead opting to focus on other strengths.

After the tree, I could work on introducing the characters – or perhaps their prescneces, at the very least, could be introduced in the first bit with the tree? It would serve the plot well – whatever that might be – to keep the story moving, and it would be great if i didn’t have to introduce the characters here. So perhaps that would be a good idea – which does leave me to figure out who exactly they are, but i think i can deal with that sometimes when i do not have quite so much of a time crunch to get thoughts on paper. Moving on to where we are, i know it’s going to be another minute or two until the song loops back round to where i want it to be, so i think i will just have to be patient.

When the characters, whoever they are, step out from the shadows to move closer to the hanging tree, i think i could start be getting very to the point – why are they there? Surely their purpose must be urgent, if they are meeting at midnight by the hanging tree. Something strange has happened – what are they planning that must be done in the dead of night? Or perhaps, what is it that they must find their way to the tree, to be together, with a necklace of hope… or perhaps something else. Perhaps the story could end badly, with the hanging tree becoming not a place of hope, but a reminder of what happens when that hope is allowed to continue. The capitol has always been far from merciful – so perhaps the story could end with one of the characters meeting an unfortunate fate, or perhaps someone close to them meeting that same fate.

Regardless, the hanging tree is a story device practically begging for something unfortunate to happen – in this case, namely the death of someone who matters, a lot. Their death could serve as a remidner of why they can never run, a reminder of why they must run, or a reminder of what will happen if they never do anything to stand up for themselves, whether or not they run. Perhaps it matters not whether or not they ran – perhaps not matter what, the person they love will always die, simply because that is the will of the capitol.

This could also be a really interesting cause for time travel, but i think that’s a bit of a rabbit hole not worth going down right now – the hunger games, while dystopian, have never really been a place to possess that particular kind of technology, and i think it would be best to stick to what is realistic. So perhaps we can move along a plot line that looks something like this:

Begin with lyrics, then moving to the hanging tree, noting the prescneces of those who lurk around it, and perhaps the sense that something will always be wrong here. The hanging tree is not a happy meeting place – the mood set should emphasize that
As the instrumentals pick up, the pair could begin to whisper, talking about what’s going on. Strange things, as noted above, are happening, and surely it is no stranger for them to be there, in the dead of night. They should be cautious – they are scared, and they know the consequences of what they are doing.
The song continues to escalate, and with it, the characters could leave and return another night. Perhaps something has happened – something that gives them the idea that they should consider running, and perhaps the dynamic between the two could be better developed here

(will continue later)

november 21st - critiquitaire
341 words, 400 points

critiquing sandy's weekly part

good afternoon sandy <3

first things first, i love your opening line! it’s short and sweet, grabbing my attention with just a few words – you do a very nice job of setting the scene right from the beginning, as well as introducing the girl – whoever she might be.

speaking of the girl, i think it would be helpful to name her – not necessarily at the beginning, but eventually. names are helpful, at least to me, in finding something to remember the character by, and imagining them as a living person, rather than a figment of another author’s imagination, if that makes sense? that said, it is definitely a stylistic choice, and one that belongs to you ^^

i think there are definitely places where you add an extra word that doesn’t really add anything to the story, but does slightly interrupt the flow of you sentence, or places where you could rearrange the wording of the sentence to be more fluid. a few example would be were you say “this sight” (what sight? i think this could be better replaced by something like “this light” or “these flecks”), “only answering” (answering only), and “but no matter what” (but)

similarly to the girl, i think it would be nice to give the boy a name! the narrator refers to him as her brother – i think someone of such significance to her would be a named character. while you do a great job of quickly characterizing their relationship and explaining how it grows, as a reader, it would be great to get a little be more of scene that shows the girl’s growth, rather than you, as an author. telling me that it happens

overall, i think you did a nice job of quickly developing a backstory for the girl, and briefly for the boy! i would love to here a bit more about both of their past – they sound quite interesting – but perhaps that’s a story for another time. you are, as always, absolutely amazing, and thank you for letting me critique <3

november 21st - cabin inspired stories
435 words, 500 points

(loosely inspired by dystopian's mirrorverse)

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. . . shards are echoing. . .

. . . am i the one . . .

. . .the end will be . . .

. . . home is where . . .

. . . how will we . . .

. . . are we always . . .

. . . told you i’m sorry . . .


Whispers surround you, their threads pulling at your heartstrings as they beg for your help. For your mercy. You are in the place a thousand mirrors, where a million fragments of yourself gaze back at you. They look out through the broken shards, some hopeful, others lost in contempt.

You know you can’t help them all. You are one person, and they are millions. They may be parts of you, a plethora of people you could be, personas you could take as your own – but they are parts of you. You do not wish to be all that you could be. You do not wish to be plagued by the edges of dreams, the knives of sharp voices–

–voices.


. . . loved you, you know. . .

. . . please, i asked you. . .

. . . we could be all . . .

. . . remember who you . . .

. . . always meant to . . .

. . . together, we can . . .

. . . i hope you know . . .


Somewhere, your shadow of a heart can’t help but offer your pity. Their state of being, after all, is your fault – it was you who wasn’t strong enough. Not strong enough to hold them all together, not strong enough to gently pull your selves apart, giving them bodies of their own. Instead, you shattered.

At the time, you had tried. You really had – you promised yourself that you would find a way to control your power. You promised yourself that you were strong enough to do it all. To carry them all. But you hadn’t been. And now you would never be. It was always your fault, always your fault, always your–


. . . fault, yes you . . .

. . . you did this . . .

. . . to us, you . . .

. . . you trapped us . . .

. . . us and now . . .

. . . now we see . . .

. . . see the truth. . .


–truth. You were not strong enough. And it would always be your fault – but in acknowledgement of fault, there is something to learn. You know this, despite your faults. Somewhere inside, within the shadows of your bones, you can’t help but hope. Hope that another self might succeed where you failed. Hope that another might rebuild the bridges you had let crumble beneath your feet.

Slowly, carefully, you reach for a fragment. The self inside is calm, watching you with cautious, calculating eyes. They are neither cold nor kind, neither expecting nor denying. They have balance, where you have none. They, you know, will be worthy, where you were not.

Nodding to yourself, you begin to piece together the fragments, rebuilding the shape of your self around the one.

The one you deemed worthy.

november 21st - prompted word war
390 words, unknown + 25 points

As i walked up the street for my evening strol, there very las tithing i expect to see was i awent on my wamay to the market was a mango i was off to the market so that i could buy some margngoes to meat for dinner, but here, airght nin front of me, awas a alkeing talking mango just going about hhis day when i came across him. He was quite large for a mango, standing atnearly five feet and seven inches talk nd if it eawern’t mrof rif his mango apeparanc ei would have thought that he was human because he certainly walked and talked and otherwise oactied like a uman and that thidid kind of concern bme because he was very clearly a ango and none of these ethings are gghitgns that mangoes are supposed to do hbut hie sdid still do them. As i pasted him, bhe said apolite good evening, acting with dignity and compassion towards his fello wbeings in a manninger i had not heaven ssene omore humans act inad ndhe continue on his way with truly dleightlful smile, offering his good jwishes as i went off on my journey, as i would later look back on my encounter with the mango, i would wonder why he was there. Whas i sdeiesitned to meet a mango as i went to eat mangoes? Wwas he meant to make mee question whether or not i should eat mangoes? Was he just there ot rmeinde hme that lal living things are truly beautiful and deserve respect, amgnoes included/ maby ewe shouldnot tbe eating theme or breakfast, lunch and dinner and should instead treat them as equals, as people or perhaps mangoes to celebrate and indidivudals and treat with the upmtomst respect because we arsa writer sas re very irespectfull being asn that ashould be resfelcted in how we treat all living things of couse including mangoes because mangoes are living to, and as that fine mango showed me, athey even have feels th ths hould e respected because all feeling are valid and should be respected, a fmanoges iof course included because they do mater too and quite a lot, if i do saw y so myself because they are very important to the life of all living things and that is just the way life works

november 22nd - advertisements for odd creations
200 words, 150 points

Haven’t you always wanted a warm, toasty way to open that frozen shut door of your in the dead of winter? Aren’t you tired of recoiling your fingertips in shock as they come in contact with the frozen brass? Don’t you wish there was a way to keep all your doorknob-handling experience pleasant, free of frost, even as the temperature get chilly outside?

Today’s your lucky day! Introducing the all new, state-of the art, ulta-enviromentally friendly, responsible sourced, top notch pure twenty four carat gold self heating doorknob.

With a smooth, sleeky, and absolutely gorgeous shiny appearance, a self sustained, battery free, wireless heating system, automatic temperature adjustment, a ninety day mangoes back guarantee, what’s not to love? The self heating doorknob fits perfectly into all of your doors, whether they might belong to viking’s huts or minimalistic, modern paradises – the self heating doorknob is for you!

It belongs inside, outside, and everywhere in between, well suited to every possible weather condition you can imagine, from the north pole to the warmest suns of the galaxy – there is no place these doorknobs would rather be than with you, inside your doors, the ultimate gateway between every world and far beyond!

november 22nd - critiquitaire
352 words, 400 points

critiquing river's daily

hi river!

first of all, i love the way you’ve formatted this – it definitely stands out from paragraphs upon paragraphs of prose found in almost everything i’ve read this session, and i like how it give me a sense of time’s passing as the story moves along. it’s both very simple and very effective – kudos for that <3

i also really like the style you wrote this in – there’s a lot of short, briefly phrased thoughts that come one after another, without much elaboration or pause between plot points, and i think it suits the story really well! it also works nicely with the idea of things decaying quickly you mention at the start – thoughts too, it would seem, are fleeting.

partly as a result of the two traits mentioned above, i found myself a little confused at points, especially the bit on october 13th at 5:20 – i’m not really sure who’s narrating here, nor am i sure exactly what they are doing. to some extent, i think the vague nature of this story segment does work, and it does add to the overall suspense and intrigue of the story, if not dwelled on too much, but i think it could benefit from a bit more clarity.

in regards to character development, it is, by style, very quick, but i think you do a great job of characterizing both the initial relationship and how it changes with a few words – you have a way of saying a lot with a little, and, as a writer, that’s one quality i think i will always be left to admire ahahaha

as for fall symbolism, the use of the prompt wasn’t something that immediately jumped out at me, but it’s definitely there. i thought you incorporated it well – your use of fall symbolism feels natural and certainly suits the story, and the use of the prompt doesn’t feel forced or rushed into the story!

overall, i really don’t have much to say – your piece is brief, effective, and memorable, and it’s been quite a delight to read! thank you for letting me critique <3

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thank you notes
november ‘23


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dear swc,

today is sunday, november 26th, 2023. in some ways, it’s still hard to believe that this session is already coming to an end – it seems like only yesterday that my fellow hosts and i had open leader apps, moss and i accepting a dozens of congratulations along the way. later, i would help to choose this year’s final fifteen leaders, including myself, wait with no small amount of anticipation as my fantastic co-leaders, sun and summer, accepted their offers to join the fantastical fantasy team. throughout october, we would slowly cabin plan, waiting for the moment when we would meet and invite our campers later that month. when we finally did, i remember being nothing short of elated to meet our team of vikings – truly, the energy you all brought to fantasy was incredibly contagious. i found myself perhaps more excited for the session and all that it was sure to bring than i’ve ever been – you are the reason leading is such a gift to experience.

to all of the campers, co-leaders, leaders, tyrants, and ghosts of swc, i’d like to extend my thanks for all that you bring to this camp. individual notes will surely follow, but no individual could ever compare to the collective excitement, compassion, collaboration, creativity, and so much more all you bring to our little corner of the world. i’ve often said that writers are the people who inspire me most – you all have the ability to imagine our world and many others as you see them, as them could be. you can breathe stories to life, imagining characters to make us laugh, cry, and everything in between. you can remind us of the best and worst of us, inspiring us to reach for new heights and instilling a want for change. with every word you write, all of you have the potential to make a positive impact on someone else’s life, and i think that’s something worth admiring.

from the words you write to the joy you bring, i hope you all know that you are nothing short of incredible. it takes each and every one of you to make swc as wonderful of an experience as it is – thank you all for the many ways you’ve inspired me, the stories you’ve shared, and the memories we’ve made together – and here’s to many more to come <3

with love,
moonlit


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to my co/leaders of the past year – thank you so much for being there for me and each other, and thank you for helping to make all of these dreams a reality <33 from the dystopian and our crowful bond (love you crowsy <3), to sci-fi, a galaxy full of spectacular friends, to fantasy, a flight far beyond what i ever would have imagined, you – reese, moss, sun, and summer – have been an absolutely joy to work with, and i hope you’ve had as much fun as i have! thank you for your patience, your brilliant ideas, and your unending dedication. thank you for the late nights, the early mornings, and all of the hours in between we’ve spend together. thank you for all the memories we’ve made, as leaders and as friends – and here’s to many more <33

if i were to thank each of you with a single word –

reese – thank you for being illuminating. for perhaps lack of a better word, you truly are a light in the dark – fitting, for a crow hehe. it’s crazy to think it’s almost been a year since we started planning dystopian – thank you for always being there to light up my day, to share your brilliant ideas, and to remind us all how very human we are <3

moss – thank you for being optimistic. your way of believing the best in people, things, and ideas is truly amazing – thank you for believing in me and being there for me, no matter what. over the sessions, i know i’ve said it a lot – but thank you so much that everything our friendship has and continues to encompass, it really means a lot <33

sun – thank you for being reliable. from leading to hosting, thank you so much for always being there, and willing to help in whatever way you can – you never fail to offer solid advice, answers to my great many questions, or a kind and thoughtful opinion to share. thank you for believing in me, and i would love to chat more often on a less formal basis sometime <3

summer – thank you for being enthusiastic. truly, your energy is contagious – thank you for bringing your best to everything you do, and for all you’ve done for fantasy! you’re a lot of fun to be around, and it’s been amazing to get to know you over the past month <3


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to my fellow daily team coordinators, memory book crows, and judges, it’s been a lot of fun! no matter the committee, this session has certainly had its highs and lows – thank you for everything you all have done and continue to do for swc, and for everything you put into your work <3 all formal conversations aside, it’s often the little, sometimes quick silly, things we do that make me smile the most – thank you for the silly little things, the memories and the moments i truly hope i never forget. it’s been quite the honor and absolute joy to work with you all – thank you for being a part of it all, and i hope you’ve had a wonderful time as well <33

alia – thank you for being compassionate. we definitely have our silly moments (i still think you should adopt duo – i’m sure he would be an amazing child <33), and i’m very grateful for them as well – they are quite a lot of fun, but i’d also like to thank you for being open minded, for taking what’s presented to us for what it is, and for looking out for the best of all of us <3

starrsy – thank you for being our starr <3 truly, i can’t think of a better word to describe you – thank you for all the times you’ve made me laugh, the many things you’ve kindly explained, and all the things in between! thank you for lighting up my world, and many others, i’m sure – it’s a delight to revolve around you <33

alana – thank you for being understanding. from your willingness to listen to your unconditional compassion for others, thank you for being there for me, and for all you’ve done for the memory book committee this session! i hope you know how very amazing you are, and it is, as always, a joy to be your friend <3

sandy – thank you for being dependable. you’re a lot of fun to be around, and while i wish i had talked to your more often before judging began, it’s been quite a delight to defend dear duo with you! thank you for all the thought you’ve put into judging so far, and i can’t wait to see where we go from here <3


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to my favorite fellow hosts of the galaxswc – thank you all so much for everything <33 i don’t think words will ever do proper justice to the gratitude i owe you all – thank you for your joy, your patience, your compassion, and the so many other things that you all bring to our little corner of the world! there are few other groups of people i’ve ever felt more comfortable talking, sharing opinions, and passing time alongside – you all are a truly incredible group of people, and your open arms have (and will continue to, i’m sure), mean a lot to me <3

and to our haunting ghosts – i hope you’re proud <3 thank you for your advice, your continuous insight, and for all you’ve done to make swc the place it is today – it’s certainly been a journey from our first kingdom to the one we hold the keys to now, and i’d like to thank for paving the road along the way <33

robin – thank you for being resourceful. from sorting to problem solving, i’ve admired your patience for a great many things for a while – from the informal conversations we’ve had, you’re a lot of fun to chat with and be around, and i hope we can do so more often as both the session and semester wind down for a bit <3

luna – thank you for being amiable. chaos both involved and aside, you are such an absolutely joy to be around, and someone i would never hesitate to tell just about anything – thank you for everything you’ve done to be there for me, for all the ridiculous pastimes we’ve had, and for all the moon buddy memories in between <3


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to my fellow co/leaders of november ‘23, thank you for everything you’ve done to make this session possible <3 from your cabin planning, to your participation in the daily team and member book committee, to the encouragement and experiences you’ve offered to your campers, you all truly are the glue that holds the camp together – thank you so much for being a part of this session’s leadership team! i couldn’t be much prouder of you all – in leading your cabins and helping to lead the camp as a whole, you’ve helped to bring something truly special together, and i hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves along the way <3

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aaand finally, to the vikings of fantasy – there’s so much left to say that i doubt i’ll ever quite find the words for. robin, orion, churro, rei, general of headpats, skye, lark, enora, lizzy, moss, night, pixie, ly, ave, squidy, kiara, matty – you all truly are the dream team <3 thank you for everything all of you have put into fantasy – from sharing daily bits of your lives and likes through our daily questions, to the stories you’ve written and shared with all of us, to the cabin war mayhem that helped to bring us all together, to the truths and lies we told in the very beginning, it’s been perhaps the most fantastic journey i’ve ever shared with a particular cabin. i think my one of my favorite things about how to train your dragon will always be the way the many pairs and dragons and their riders collectively function as a team – as vikings, i think you all have done a fantastic job of embodying that subtle aspect of our theme, and truly, i am proud <3 thank you all for making my session one i have no doubt i will remember long past this december – it’s been quite a joy, and though this may be the end of the session, i hope you know that fantasy will always fly on <3


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