1werentallowed wrote:

Hey, I'm 1werentallowed, and I'm awkward*^____^
But I like writing humor and dark stories
so I decided to write a story named JargonSpeak which is inspired by shows like Rick and Morty.
It's about a zombie named Bill and a cute cactus baby named Bort which he decides to raise as his own and how they realize their friendship and hardness of each person's life while getting humor from it.
I'm aiming to publish it, in my website-https://17i677vic.wixsite.com/mysite-1 as well as here, by November 2020
I'm working really hard on this and I'm only 11 soo,……………..yeah
Reply with “I LOVE SCHEZWAN SAUCE” if you support my project
Okay,bye(⌐■_■)

I LOVE SCHEZWAN SAUCE

I’m writing a novel in the style of poetry. It’s about a girl who has gone through miserable events in her life lately, and she’ll do anything to stop it. When I say “anything,” I mean anything.

Hello! This is honeyy and I wanted to share an allegorical narrative I wrote, it is in a sense a dedication to my Grandfather who passed 2 years ago from Alzheimer's. So this is for you Wello, my one and only. Feel free to give feedback. I will be posting this in 3 parts..? Or however many I find fitting. So without further ado- here we go.

»»————-　♡　————-««


Window Into A soul
By A. Heron

Part 1
»»————-　♡　————-««
In room 119 lay a man. Although his memories fled long ago, he still held with him a small few. His hair wispy, and his voice coated with the ashes of far too many (censorship, although i'm not sure if this word would need to be censored?). Although, his heart had not been spoiled yet. Next to him sat a woman of about 40. She carried his bright blue eyes (although his had begun dulling down slowly), and in her hands she held an album. Its pages frayed and its cover peeling, holding the memories of 70 years. She mindlessly thumbed the plastic pages as she looked upon him. He slowly reached out with trembling fingers in an attempt to gain possession of the album, and with gnarled hands, he did.
»»————-　♡　————-««
The nurse walked in taking a glance at him, for oftentimes it was patients like these that would forget where they were and try to leave. Absent-minded, forgetful were all words used to describe the patients with alzheimers. But recently this specific patient's health has taken a turn for the worse. But he paid no mind to this, and with a light heart opened up the cover of the album. All at once his mind began racing with thoughts and words that had long been forgotten. The highs and lows, the youth and prime years. Parties and festivities, faces now buried 6 feet under. It all felt overwhelming and fresh, a wound long forgotten rediscovered once again.
Crisp and worn with age, he turned the first flap. Leaning his head down as curls of gray and pepper fell over his forehead. In his hands was a small baby, just born, beholding all the innocence of the world. His eyes a bright blue, and blonde hair that curled beneath his ears. Not a care in the world and the only sound escaping his lips a small giggle. Not a single blemish upon purity in the moment. Profanities not yet escaped, hate and jealousy out of the picture. Oh how he yearned for those days. A pained smile replaced his frown as he looked down.
»»————-　♡　————-««

Thank you,
feedback is always welcome.

aww this is really wholesome and heartwarming i loveee it all so much, every word is perfect

If you're new to writing (like I am google “How to write a novel, short story, fiction” whatever. Go to your library and read abt it.
However, the only way you'll actually figure out how to write is by…. writing!!!
Yeh, hope this helped

I need an idea.
So a scene in my book is the protag joins a rebel group. How would the rebel group know that new members are really on their side? The only idea I could think of would be new members are not brought to the real hideout, let in on the real plans, etc (but their not told that)..
After few months of them being trustworthy, they are brought to the real group.
Or is the reality of rebel groups that there might be a double crosser involved?

Heres the last scene from a novel I'm in middle of writing. I feel like the whole scene is too short. The protag, a rebel, is about to be killed, and its just like… idk?
Any ideas to make it more realistic?

Franklin stood on the platform, bound. He looked at the crowd, staring at him. His doubts surfaced again. Why had he been such a fool all those years ago? A pit formed in his stomach. No, he wouldn’t allow his doubts and fears to show. He would die honorably. He looked up at the noose that would end his life. Then back out at the crowd. He could say or do whatever he wanted. There was nothing more they could do to him. In a flash, he made a decision. He would publisize the cause. His last words would change the country. He had nothing left to fear.

He looked at the gaurds standing on either side of the platform. His words would be limited. As soon as he began to speak, they would be upon him.

He thought about what he oculd say, what would have the biggest impact with the least amount of words. After one last glance at the gaurds he opened his mouth. Then closed it. He couldn’t. It was too scary. What impact would his words have anyway.

No, he would do it. If he could only impact one person, so be it. It would be worth it.

“Citznes!” His words brought a gasp from the crowd, and the gaurds began rushing towards him. The words rushed out of his mouth. “Remeber what democracy was like? The power you had to influnce your country? It’s not too late! You still have that power. rise up and take back-” The gaurds were upon him. One slapped a hand over his mouth.

Franklin saw nervous, flabbegasted looks being exchanged in the audience.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he snarled. To the audience he said “see what is about to happen to this man? that is what will happen to you if you revolt!”

From his perch, franklin saw a few men whispering in the back. The guards were too distracted to notice.

Another grabbed the noose and lowered it over Franklin’s head. The last thing Franklin saw as the noose tightened was the men rushing forward, pushing through the crowd. And then, his world went black.

Hi, I'm -Love-Animator-. And I am writing my book called memories. It is sci-fi. They are 3 teenagers. Names are Kurome, Kazuma, and Mayu. They love experimenting with a lot of things. One day they made a huge explosion that turned earth into ruins. Now they are working on a cure to turn the Earth to its natural states before time runs out.

-Love-Animator- wrote:

Hi, I'm -Love-Animator-. And I am writing my book called memories. It is sci-fi. They are 3 teenagers. Names are Kurome, Kazuma, and Mayu. They love experimenting with a lot of things. One day they made a huge explosion that turned earth into ruins. Now they are working on a cure to turn the Earth to its natural states before time runs out.

Woah, that sounds really interesting!

I'm writing the first book in the first series of a three-series compilation known as the Andewale Tales.
So, the government is trying to harvest the resources of another dimension, but a kid throws an e-book in the base where they have the universe navigator. The AI running the tech thinks that is what it should search the multiverse for. The thing is, this wasn't The Pony Party. This was the unabridged, complete Grimm's Fairy Tales. You know, the one where some people don't live happily ever after. Anyway, a portal opens up and witches storm Earth. Now, its up to Mark and Emma McBrown, Martin O'Brien, Tom Stelnack, Summer Walsh and Ren Andewale to save humankind from enslavement. Even though they're not even 13, it sounds easy! But not when one of them turns into a cat!

“Except down!” Emma joked. “Naw. We’re too low to go any further.” Mark replied.
“Um… Sorry to disappoint you, but I suspect you’re incorrect.” Summer said with bated breath. “What? Oh…” Mark spotted a flaming helicopter rocketing towards the ground. As the children ran towards the helicopter, Martin cried out in pain. “What?” Summer frantically enquired. “@%$&^|\+*!” he screamed. Even as he cursed in pain, his body seemed to be melting into the ground, leaving a dark puddle. Mark stood in horror as his best friend dissolved into shadow. “W-what just h-happened?” Tom said, crossing himself. Suddenly, a dark and ominous shape emerged from the dark and not-as-ominous puddle. “Meow!” it said.

I just wrote a book for a writing contest. It's called The Wicked Things.

I'm currently writing a poem book, but I'e got writer's block.

I'm also writing a book about a philosophical theory.

“Except down!” Emma joked. “Naw. We’re too low to go any further.” Mark replied.
“Um… Sorry to disappoint you, but I suspect you’re incorrect.” Summer said with bated breath. “What? Oh…” Mark spotted a flaming helicopter rocketing towards the ground. As the children ran towards the helicopter, Martin cried out in pain. “What?” Summer frantically enquired. “@%$&^|\+*!” he screamed. Even as he cursed in pain, his body seemed to be melting into the ground, leaving a dark puddle. Mark stood in horror as his best friend dissolved into shadow. “W-what just h-happened?” Tom said, crossing himself. Suddenly, a dark and ominous shape emerged from the dark and not-as-ominous puddle. “Meow!” it said.

This sounds good!

Chapter 1, Timmy
6/19/21

All it takes to fill a blank page is one word. One word, and then another, and then some more words. Naturally of course, these words usually start to develop into a story. The story may make the reader and the writer feel sad, angry, resentful, or jubilant. One word is all it takes to change the story dramatically, and along with it the rest of the world.

It was library…excuse me, lunch…time. I yanked my granola bar from my pocket mercilessly. Without hesitating, I sprinted down the hall, to the left, and through the magic portal that were the library doors. As usual, the librarian ignored me. As usual, I got a book about pi off of the shelf near the back. As usual, I promptly sat down in a beanbag chair. But, quite unusually, there was a strange white object with a big red button sitting right in my spot.

(Really cringeworthy first draft of first couple paragraphs)

PencilOnTheDesk wrote:

“Except down!” Emma joked. “Naw. We’re too low to go any further.” Mark replied.
“Um… Sorry to disappoint you, but I suspect you’re incorrect.” Summer said with bated breath. “What? Oh…” Mark spotted a flaming helicopter rocketing towards the ground. As the children ran towards the helicopter, Martin cried out in pain. “What?” Summer frantically enquired. “@%$&^|\+*!” he screamed. Even as he cursed in pain, his body seemed to be melting into the ground, leaving a dark puddle. Mark stood in horror as his best friend dissolved into shadow. “W-what just h-happened?” Tom said, crossing himself. Suddenly, a dark and ominous shape emerged from the dark and not-as-ominous puddle. “Meow!” it said.

This sounds good!

Thank you! Spoiler:

The main characters go on a crusade to bring democracy to the fairy-tale dimension.

Currently, I've been working on getting my writing skills sharpened up in time for SWC. I've started to write on the fandom backroom's wiki, in hopes of having a page ported onto the official wikidot. Currently I'm writing about an entity who resides on a level and relies on getting their music heard to not fade away from reality (or rather, the reality that contains the backrooms).

Queer_Royalty wrote:

Chapter 1, Timmy
6/19/21

All it takes to fill a blank page is one word. One word, and then another, and then some more words. Naturally of course, these words usually start to develop into a story. The story may make the reader and the writer feel sad, angry, resentful, or jubilant. One word is all it takes to change the story dramatically, and along with it the rest of the world.

It was library…excuse me, lunch…time. I yanked my granola bar from my pocket mercilessly. Without hesitating, I sprinted down the hall, to the left, and through the magic portal that were the library doors. As usual, the librarian ignored me. As usual, I got a book about pi off of the shelf near the back. As usual, I promptly sat down in a beanbag chair. But, quite unusually, there was a strange white object with a big red button sitting right in my spot.

(Really cringeworthy first draft of first couple paragraphs)

That's way better than anything I've written!

I love writing, but just for myself. I'm writing a story in which a group of friends, after getting expelled from a school for their pranks, act like “perfect” students in their new school while still doing pranks so no one suspects them. When I continue writing the story I'm going to add that some students from their ex-school who hate them join the friends school and try to prove it's the friends.

A-Music wrote:

I love writing, but just for myself. I'm writing a story in which a group of friends, after getting expelled from a school for their pranks, act like “perfect” students in their new school while still doing pranks so no one suspects them. When I continue writing the story I'm going to add that some students from their ex-school who hate them join the friends school and try to prove it's the friends.

Oh wow! That's original! Do you know how many friends there are yet?

A-Music wrote:

I love writing, but just for myself. I'm writing a story in which a group of friends, after getting expelled from a school for their pranks, act like “perfect” students in their new school while still doing pranks so no one suspects them. When I continue writing the story I'm going to add that some
students from their ex-school who hate them join the friends school and try to prove it's the friends.

That sounds interesting!

Hey everyone,
So I wrote the following story for a local library contest. The theme is “Wild Ideas” and the prompt is “The wilderness called to me. It still does.”
If you have any general feedback, and if the story fits the prompt.
Thanks!!

https://jeffcolibrary.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/46/2021/05/07396_SC21_Writing-Contest-Rules-and-Rubric_FINAL.pdf
The wind tugs at my hair as I run. The forest calls to me. I reach the trees and they flash by me. Soon I will be safe. There it is, high in the branches. No one, nothing can reach me here. It’s just me and the wilderness. I climb up the last step on the ladder and tumble inside the wooden treehouse. Here, nothing has changed. The pillows in the center. The sunlight streaming onto the books piled in a corner. I am home, safe in the wilderness.
I curl up in the corner of the treehouse and try to forget today’s events. The man in the black suit arriving in his fancy car. The harsh words he said to my Papa behind closed doors. The hushed whispering between Papa and Mama when they thought I wasn’t listening. I had caught a few snippets:
“Behind on rent.”
“Take away.”
“Bank.”
I knew what was happening. They were going to take the ranch away from us. The animals. The crops. My place in the forest! What would I do if I couldn’t hide in the wilderness, a safe place away from the things that scared me? Would our new home be in a big city? Would there be a forest for me to hide away in? To flee when I needed to be alone, away from reality?
**************
I curl up in the window of my room. The sun falls on the pile of books on my nightstand. Nine years we’ve lived here. I was only ten when we move. I remember my safe place in the forest. How I wish we were still there. How I wish I was still that young. To be able to hide away in the wilderness, hide from responsibility. To be able to pretend that there were no problems in the world. No politics, no bills, no relationship problems. No more. Now I’m eighteen, legally an adult. I can’t hide. It is time to face my future.
**************
I stand on the covered porch, rocking my young child in my arms. The sun falls on the mess of children’s books on the table, and I make a mental note to clean them up later. I notice the book “Charlotte’s Web” in the pile. I remember the sun falling on the same book in a far-off treehouse in the wilderness. What fun times those were. Thinking all problems in the world would disappear by hiding in the wilderness. “Is that what my children think?” I wonder. “Do they think the same things that I did?”
**************
I sit in my office in a tall building in Manhattan. The sun streams through the window, landing on the pile of bills waiting to be paid. Bills for my house, bills for school, bills for the company. I sigh. Those bills will be waiting a long time. A harsh knock on the door, and I know it's time to face reality. I call to the person behind the door to come in, and a young man in a starched charcoal suit enters. I remember the days that I looked like that. The days that life lay before me, an open wilderness. Open possibilities. The man is not here to tell me about open possibilities today, though.
“As you well know, Mr. Johnes, your company is building up debts,” he says in his clipped voice. You have not paid the rent to this building in too long. If you don’t pay by the end of the month, the building will be repossessed by the bank.”
I nod, but my mind is elsewhere. He shakes my hand and leaves, his polished shoes clicking down the hallway as memories flood back to me. I remember sitting in another high place, thinking of the words “behind on rent,” “take away,” and “bank” that were said behind closed doors. Did my parents hear the same words I just heard? What did they think when they heard them? A beep from my phone interrupts my thoughts. A new text from my son.
I know you’re busy, but do you want to go for an outing? I really want to go camping, and even have a bunch of friends who want to go. We just need someone to take us. Are you available?
I let a slight smile creep onto my lips, and reply that I am happy to come, he’ll just have to wait a few weeks. First I had to find a solution to my problem. Thinking of the wilderness calms me, though, and an idea strikes. I pick up the phone and quickly dial.
A month later, I’m deep in the woods, attempting to pitch a tent. It falls for the umpteenth time, and the boys around me laugh. I laugh along with them. I am calm and happy for the first time in months. My company’s bills are paid, and I’m where I love to be. In the forest, the wild. The wilderness called me. It still does.