February 25, 2011

This is one of the opening scenes in my story. Does it draw you in, or does it bore you?

“Take one step onto our isle and it will be the last thing you ever do.” Hippolyte yelled in warning. The men stopped rowing. The messenger stood in the gently bobbing boat and called back “Queen Hippolyte! I bring a message from Lord Laertes. He says that the year he gave you to consider his marriage proposal is spent. I am to return with your answer. Will you have his hand, or will you choose to suffer the consequences of refusing him?” 
“Wasn’t the disappearance of his last messenger answer enough? Pride ill fits a man. Laertes wants the prowess of being the first man to wed an Amazon, and the Queen no less. Does he also hope to gain our fealty in the process?” Hippolyte muttered to her companions.
“The king also asked me to remind you that we will release a beast as fierce as the chimera on you if you choose to reject him.”
“I have a better answer, Herald.” Hippolyte called back. She pulled out her sword and tilted her arm back. She flung the sword at the Herald. It flipped through the air in a hypnotizing arch and severed the Herald’s arm before he had the sense to move. He screamed piercingly and collapsed backward into the water writhing about. Lyka and the two Amazons beside her used the time while the men were distracted by Hippolyte’s sword to rush to boat and silt the throats of the five guards that accompanied the Herald.
Hippolyte waded out into the blood tinted water and caught hold of the remaining man. She pulled his face close to her and hissed, “I believe Laertes is not lying about sending a beast to plague us. He may be loathsome, but he is no idiot. He wouldn’t call such a dangerous bluff. My spies have informed me that the people of Athens, at least, believe that Laertes does indeed have a mighty monster with claws that drip venom. But he made the mistake of taking his sweet time waiting for my reply. All the while we have been preparing for battle. Let him send his beast. We will feast on its flesh before coming for his head.”

The Fugitive

“So what’s this all about?” I asked quietly. Even though it was loud and crowded, I was worried that some FBI guy had followed me or something.
“It’s hard to explain.” he whispered back in his deep Irish brogue.
“Well, try!” I said urgently.
“Alright. You remember the Uncle I told you about? The one in the IRA?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, last Monday he called me up and asked me to help him with some work he had. He just moved to America so I figured it had to do with unpacking.” He stopped for a minute, trying to gather his thoughts.
“Let me guess, he didn’t need help unpacking.” I prompted when he remained silent.
“No he didn’t. He asked me to drive him to the bank with a couple of his friends. I feel like such a fool now, that I didn’t realize he was gonna rob the damn place. When they got back into the car, this alarm started going crazy. My uncle put a gun to my head and told me to drive. I didn’t have a choice; he would’ve killed me in a heartbeat.” He looked down at his feet in shame.
“Well the FBI will understand! It’s like you said, you had no choice! We’ll just go and talk to Special Agent Victor Lane and we will get everything straightened out.”
“It’s not that easy.” Fallon said, looking miserable. “If we go to the police my uncle will have me killed and anyone I’m involved with.” He gave me a sidelong glance. “That means you.”
“Then we will just have to run away together. We can go to California or Wyoming. I don’t care as long as I’m with you.”
He finally gave me a small smile and nodded his head slowly. “I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Let’s get out of this joint!” I exclaimed. I grabbed Fallon by the hand and rushed as fast as I could through the crowded pub. When we were finally on the sidewalk, we linked arms and walked back to my apartment to pack. I told Fallon to wait across the street and hurried up the stairs, two at a time.
This is an excerpt from my third story about a man being hunted by the FBI. I feel like this is a lame reason. Any Suggestions?

An excerpt

Then the next morning came as if nothing had happened at all. John got up and sneaked a glance at the digital clock at his bedside. 12:03pm. Ouch…he was going to get killed by his father, who insisted that “all real Asians” woke and slept early. John sighed wearily and stalked his way to the bathroom, nearly tripping over several paint canvases scattered on the ground.
He looked into the mirror and his reflection stared back; boring black eyes under a mop of unruly black hair. At barely 5’3”, he had to be the shortest senior -scratch that- shortest guy in his entire high school. He also happened to be the only one without a cell phone, girlfriend, or friend at that matter. At least, he thought, I can move out now that I’m eighteen, although deep within, John knew he would never have the courage to cut himself away from his safe but sorry current life.
He found a black package taped to the door. John groaned. It was probably another video game from his father. He was right. He was about to toss it in his pile of seventeen other video games when he read the title. “The Adventures of John’s Quest to the Truth”, it read. He frowned; of course his father would get a video game like this.
John yawned, and since he found nothing better to do, he popped the video game he never wanted into the game console he also never wanted. The TV buzzed and flashed a few times from lack of use. “Select a Character,” voiced the game.

**yawn** Did I create a believable character?


Arta, a teenage girl, age 15 with side bangs to the right, yellow highlights and raven black hair, sunshine yellow eyes, and a tattoo of a star under her right eye. She is a high school junior; she skipped a few grades. The school she goes to is called Electrix Coast Academy. Arta loves to draw, write, sing, and horse back ride. She can use magic and control lightning. Her family consists of her mom Charlene (is half goddess), dad Garrett (a powerful mage), older sister Elaine (runs an art and design business), and older brother Kai. Their house is a palace; it consists of stables of horses, arena for riding, and many more things that anybody can imagine. The family owns a company called JangNa Corp. Artea is a planet that is a world of magic and art. Also where Arta lives and goes to school. She is very popular because of her band’s popularity. Arta’s band is called Star Riders; they sing pop and rock. Arta is talented with drawing and designing detailed picture of objects, cooking exquisite meals and using high tech gears. Arta is talented in drawing/designing because her sister inspired her. She usually wears a skirt (denim or fancy looking) with any shirt or blouse, a watch, choker (necklace), rings (2 on each hand), earrings, boots (ankle length or knee length), and a backpack or purse.
On a Wednesday afternoon, Arta was in her last class. She thought the class was long even though she’s been in there for about 35 minutes. 5 minutes later, the bell rang and Arta got up and headed to her dorm. Her dorm room had 2 beds; one was palette shaped and the other was piano shaped, one yellow and blue desks, and 2 closets. Her roommate was there, her name was Musa, she had dark blue hair (shoulder length) but with bangs covering her forehead, hazel brown eyes, and a birthmark of a music note on her arm. They are best friends and have been since preschool. Arta’s side of the room was artsy; full of art supplies and easels. Musa’s side was all music-like; full of music sheets and instruments. Arta’s other friends are Lacus and Stella who were roommates in the room next door to Arta and Musa’s. Stella is Arta’s cousin; she has blonde hair, light brown eyes, high school skinny, and a really good fashion sense. Her mother and Arta’s father are siblings. Lacus has been friends with Arta since they’ve meet at friendly gathering. Lacus has brown hair, light blue eyes, and wears a gold pin on her bangs. The next afternoon when all classes were over for the day, Arta and Musa headed out to meet Lacus and Stella at the smoothie shop. They were meeting there to discuss the band and other stuff. Arta says... To be continued...

Is this a good description for a beginning to story? Do I need to back down on description and put more action or dialog?

Publish or Perish 2/25

The school bell rang. Instead of making her way to class like she normally would have, Abby walked out. She walked straight toward the back field of the school where she knew she’d find Kyle, Felicia, Heather, and of course; Levi. She stormed her way across the field, making eye contact with Levi. When she got close enough for him to hear her she shouted, “How did you know I’d be back?!”
After using cocaine, she felt like herself still; but better. She felt happier and more improved. She would’ve snorted even more if she wasn’t freaked out about over dosing. A day, or even, an hour without coke was depressing. She was hooked, already.
Over the next few weeks, Abigail skipped nearly all her classes. She avoided her old friends, to hang out with her new ones. She also skipped several cheerleading practices. When she finally did go, she was kicked off the team because her coach caught her using drugs in the locker room.
Abigail read the sign of the large brick building her mother was driving her to. It read, “Albany Drug Rehabilitation Center.” When she got inside, she sat alone in her new, dark room. She stared out the window and watched the rain. She thought about the way her life had changed. She wondered how the so called perfect life turned into the last thing she ever imagine she’d become. Yet somehow, she was finally at peace with herself.

Does it seem like I wrapped up the story too quickly? (mainly the part after the stars) If so, how would anyone suggest I fix the issue? What kind of details may I want to add?

The Doppleganger

Amanda came home after a difficult day at school, only to see Bob watching TV on her couch, wearing her clothes.

“Bob? Oh God,” Amanda groaned, “What the hell are you doing here sitting on my couch wearing my clothes?”

Bob stood up in surprise. And he raised his arms in victory forcing the too small shirt to stretching up and displaying a very painful looking muffin-top. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to take over your life!”

“Huh?” Amanda asked, “That will never work.”

“Hahaha!” Bob laughed, “How could it not work?”

“You’re a guy and I’m a girl,” Amanda said, “It doesn’t work like that Bob.”

“Yes it does.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Fine! I’ll prove my pint with a duel!”

“Fine! Winner gets my life!”

“Don’t you mean my life?” Bob said smugly as he took out his Yugi Oh Cards.

Amanda and Bob started their duel. Unfortunately, Bob did not remember to copy Amanda’s deck (and his deck was so crappy) so he lost quickly.

“Go home Bob!” Amanda said with triumph, “And you can keep the clothes. I don’t want them anymore.”

Was I going to far here? Do you think I should have included actual details about the duel?

Mr. Howard - By The Crimson Chin

I was sitting at my desk one morning at Interscope Records in Los Angeles, California. I was was a very important man in the music industry. I was a manager to some of the biggest artists Interscope Records had to offer, such as: Eminem, Dr. Dre, 50 Cent, The All American Rejects, M.I.A, and even New Kids On The Block. It was now 1:33 in the afternoon, three minutes after I usually took my lunch breaks.“Mr. Howard.” In walked a sexy secretary named Crystal. She was wearing a short skirt, with blond hair that stood up in a pony-tail.The only was a young broad like her would go for a man well into his fifties like me is for my money.“We’re taking orders for lunch today. Mark from the Cover Art department was thinking that sushi place two blocks over, do you want something from there?”“No thank you, Crystal. I think I’m all set with sushi today. I’m actually thinking of heading over to Pinks in North Hollywood.” I said back to her with the cutest smile on my face that I could, to make an attempt at flirting.“Pinks?” She chuckled. “That’s like a thirty-minute drive from here, Mr. Howard.”“Well,” I said getting up from my seat, putting my coat on to walk out the door, “it looks like I’ll be taking a long lunch today then.”

Do you think I have too much exposition? Is it too boring at the begining, with the introduction? How can I improve?

Gone in a Flash (Excerpt)

Arriving home was not an easy task, there were two police cars in front of my home, an unknown car, and both my parents cars. At first I had a double rush of relief, there was no car accident, both cars are in the same condition they were when I left home, and no one was murdered or anything because there was no yellow ‘Do Not Cross’ tape around the perimeter of my home. Aside from the extra cars at my house, it seemed as though nothing was wrong from the outside looking in. Sadly, the tragedy was inside my home not outside of it because that was why everyone was inside.
I reached for the doorknob when it was opened for me by a police officer, it was weird having people in my house that I did not recognize. My parents were sitting on the love seat together, they both were inconsolable. I did not see Analise anywhere, but maybe they thought it was better to keep her at school that way they won’t worry her. Or maybe it was the fact that she did not have a ride home, like I did. I man dressed in a shirt and tie approached me “Are you Ainsley?” he seemed stern, but also understanding. I nodded because I was so confused of what was going on. “Would you please follow me into the dining room?” he motioned to my dining room like it was his house I was visiting. I just methodically walked over to my dinner chair and took a seat.

How can I improve the anxiety in these two paragraphs?

Crater Lake (Excerpt)

Eventually we drove off onto a dirt road; Fred put the high beams on for better visuals. We continued on this road for about ten minutes and eventually appeared in a parking lot. He stopped the engine and we both got out of the car. We got flashlights and walked down to the lake. The cold wind stung our faces but we continued without stopping. We made it to the dock with just water surrounding us. The full moon brightened the night sky and made the night more memorable. I took the backpack off my shoulder and reached in for the box. I gave the box to Fred and he opened it and took out the ring and gave me back the box. He took one last look at it and then threw it into the lake.
All of a sudden there was a loud boom and we both covered our ears. After about a minute and a half we were convinced that the ring was destroyed and departed to the truck. We eventually reached the truck and man large man came up behind me. He tried to grab me but I kicked him in his crouch and elbowed him in the stomach. I learned that move in a defense class about a year ago. Then bright lights appeared and sirens went off and loud voices appeared. “Put your hands up!”
We both put our hands up and held our hands behind our backs. Another man went up to Fred and asked “Where is the ring?” Fred immediately replied. “In the lake, good luck trying to find it”.

This is an excerpt from my short story Crater Lake. It's about a guy and girl who find a ring and now must find this lake and destroy it. Is this excerpt descriptive enough? Is there any wording I could add to make it seem more descriptive?

An Excerpt from a Story

Ryan Grey’s business card read, “Ryan Grey, Attorney of Law, Defender of Justice.” Those which he would give out if he was telling the truth about his primary job would say, “Ryan Grey, Conman, Expert Forger and Pro at Staying off FBI Radar.” The cards other cons would print out for him would say, “Ryan Grey, Lucky Bastard.” All of the titles were true, really. He was a lawyer, and in that sense did defend justice. Ryan was also a white collar criminal who specialized in document forgery. Mostly, he forged things like passports and other documentation which could be sold, though he also forged bonds and cashed them. The latter he did with less frequency so as to keep himself out of the sights of the authorities. The 32 year old also forged invitations to get into the social gatherings of the elite. This helped him become part of the higher social circles and made him valuable to other cons. However, the only person he ever worked with on a forgery was Anne Walker, who he’d met at a wine tasting. Regardless, the last possibility for his business card was also valid; he was lucky that he’d never been caught or even suspected of committing the crimes he’d done.

Is this too boring or wordy to be the introduction?

Life on the Outside (excerpt)

“I don’t want him to see you. Not like this, he deserves better than this. He deserves to have a father who cared more about him than completing the perfect crime with some old buds. Do you even remember him, Steve? What’s his favorite toy, or his favorite color, or what time he likes to take his bath at night?” Amber asked, but got no response.
“What do you want me to say, sugar pie? I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Steve said, after a minute or two of silence. Amber shrugged.
“You say that as if words are supposed to repair what you destroyed. You have no idea the pain you’ve caused our family. Mom can’t even talk about you. Aunt Karen comes over every day to make sure we’re still making it by. She’s tried to get mom to see a therapist but she refuses.”
“Maybe if she just came to visit, I could talk her into it. I’m sure I could talk her into seeing someone.”
“Steve, you really think she wants to see you? She’s ashamed of you! She had to quit her job because all of her co-workers read about your arrest in the paper. Do you know how many reporters waited outside the house for almost three weeks waiting to get a comment from the family? She couldn’t even leave to get us groceries without being harassed. She had to have Mr. and Mrs. Charles bring over food after the reporters had left for the day.”

Is the dialog realistic? Is it too over dramatic?

An excert from my story "The Prologue"

So I walked in. At the head of our kitchen table was a slight woman with blonde hair worn in a bun. I sat down on the other side of the table and started twiddling my thumbs.
"Abigail," she said in a comforting voice.
"My name's Bailey," I tried to keep my voice from showing how much I hates her, for Daddy's sake. Instead, the words came out cold as ice.
"I always hated your first name, I can't believe I let your father pick it," she said quietly.
"Well, I hate my middle name so it's a good thing Daddy named me Bailey seeing as I'm the one who has to live with it, right?" My voice was getting more agressive, but at least I hadn't left or started screaming. I wanted to hear what this woman had to say. How could she justify nearly ten years of absence? Ten years of abandonment? I would hear her out, alright. Then I would turn everything around. I was going to break her. I wanted to ruin her life, just like she ruined mine.
"You hate me," she said miserably.
"Of course I do!" I said. My voice was scary and reminiscent of maniacal laughter.
"You have to understand," she told me desperately. "I...I wouldn't have been a good mother. I would have screwed you up!"
"So it was better for me to be raised by a single father? To make Mother's Day cards in school for no one? To have me go through life only knowing half of me? That wasn't fair!" I yelled that last part.
"You can't talk to me like that! I'm still your mother!" She yelled right back.
"I have no mother!"

Can you understand why the daughter is so angry? After her mother comes back in her life after 10 years of abandonment? Throughout the story, Bailey (the daughter) is potrayed as untrusting and as a grudge holder. Even with that in mind, do you think she's overreacting, or do you think she has the right to be angry? Are there too many details? Not enough?

figure it out

Does this make sense - can you picture what I'm describing or no?

He looked down at what was lurking beneath his feet; there was a flat rock, about ten feet in both width and length, and aboutr ten feet below. He hadn’t worked his way up from there; he came from the side of the rock wall, working his way over to where he spotted a formation in the rock that would have made for a stepping-stool to reach over the top. He was only an arms length away from making over, but he had come to a point where the rock became smooth and there was no way to climb. Jay alternated criss-crossing his legs like those sports players who grape-vined when they warmed up, working his way about ten feet over to the left where once reached, he could finish his climb. After he did so, he started walking toward a path-way he could barely make out with the glare of the sun blurring the vision in his eyes.


. He pulled up the bottom of his pants and took a step into the mud, only he never seemed to step on any ground. His leg quickly sunk, bringing the rest of his body with him. He instantly got mud in his eyes, his ears, up his nose, and so much for pulling up his pants, those were a lost cause now. Everything went dark, and the noise of nature’s chirpings turned to a numbing silence.
It smelled like something was burning. The crackles of the fire were barely distinguishable, but Jay did hear them. I must have stopped to take a nap, he thought. He went to open his eyes, to outstretch his arms and legs, but felt a wet, sticky resistant force holding him back. What the hell is this, he thought. He began feeling around, trying to make sense of where he was. The only feeling he could make out was the sense he had that he was somehow underground. Shit, he thought. Shit. Hopefully that wasn’t what it was he was swimming in. His thoughts began to race, and so would have his breath, but then he realized he wasn’t breathing, he couldn’t breath. He tried to swim upward, to get to the surface of this mess he had somehow gotten into. A gust of air swept over his fingertips. They had broken to the surface, which was only two feet up. He tried to grab onto something so he could pull himself up, but any weight he placed on them caused them to sink back into the moosh. Jay’s panicked thoughts began clouding his mind. I’ve been berried alive, I must have been, but how? How did I get here? I need to get out, I need to get out now, I need air! He tried to swim forward, to try and find the edges of this hole he was stuck in. A solid wall pressed up against his knees. Here it is, he thought. He followed up the wall with his hands until he found the top. He dug his hands into it and pulled himself up as hard as he could until his head broke through the surface. He gasped for air, but sucked in nothing but mud, and started to choke.


Today Nina got up and watched the news on channel 9 and noticed that the news people were a little too young to do this type of job. She had noticed that people have been disappearing for some time now. Leaving no trace of what has happened to them or to their families. Nina was driving her “new car” that was a gift from her parents on her private family estate. You see, her “new car” was a gift to her from her parent, sometime before they were assassinated. Her families were the “top dogs” in the business of working in the government. She went to the table to see if Walter, the butler, was sitting in the old chair with a high back. He was in his chair but he was sitting nervously.

“Nina, this letter came for you in the mail. It’s a letter from your mother and father.”

“WHAT, they died almost three years ago!”

“I know, I’m sorry I read the letter to make sure that it was them and not a fake.”

“It’s ok Walter, may I read the letter?”

“You can… But you may not be able to read it.”

“Ok, but at least I can try.”

“That may work… but you have to find the key”

“The key? What type of key Walter?”

“The key is hidden some where in the house, but even I don’t know where it is.”

“Ok Walter I’m going to my room if you need me”

“Ok Nina”

Nina darted up the stairs to her room. She started her regular morning and noon routine.
To be continued…
Do you think the dialog is realistic? What do tou think I should improve on?

herp derp it's a little of my story.

It’s not often that I show emotions of sadness. I wanted to kill him. He had taken my daughters’ lives. I felt another transformation building up. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. My strength doubled, breaking the straps that bound me. My flesh changed, making rough, cracked edges. The doctor was scared, scrambling to the door. I was standing, my stature getting taller. The other screamed as my spiny hand reached for his neck...

SO OTHER POP's! Whatcha think on this little snippet of a short story I have been working on? It's supposed to be creepy. I don't wanna give away the rest of it, so this will have to do. Oh, by the way, this dudes a demon. If you couldnt tell.

A Writing Exercise

Joey crossed the finish line. All his hard work finally paid off, he had come in first after training for a year. When he stood on the first place stand, he was happy but thought he deserved more. He thought that a year of training should not be put to waste on only one event. He thought that everything should be a race. Immediately, Joey ran off the podium and grabbed his bike. He took off and headed toward the exit trying to be the first to leave. As he was riding to the exit he noticed someone trying to leave. Joey hit him with his bike and made it through the door first cheering, as the old man was on the ground in pain. As Joey left the stadium he noticed a foot race about to start. Joey quickly hopped off his bike and ran to the start of the race. Again, Joey tackled and hit everyone that was in his way, determined to finish first. He crossed the finish line first, but when he tried taking the trophy, the officials would not let him because he had not officially registered for the race. Joey did not care because in his mind he was the winner.
This was just a writing exercise, but I want to know if it is easily visualized? It is not suppose to be too funny but does it provide a chuckle? Was it interesting and should I continue on with it?

Greatest BMX rider in the country

When Jothan, a professional BMX racer had won first place at the State Finals he was ecstatic that he had finally won the one thing that he had forever desired. But then he started to think to himself “It’s only a State trophy, I have to be the best BMX’er in the entire country.” With that he drove straight to San Quentin, California where the National BMX Finals were being held. Entering himself in the contest illegally, he was going to show the entire nation what a great BMX rider he really was.
“Ha-ha I’ll show those fools who’s the best rider in this entire country!”
With that Jothan’s chance to show the country exactly what he could do. Doing outrageous tricks that many people have not heard of, Jothan easily got a score of 50 which was a perfect score. The only way that he could be beaten is if someone else does more elaborate tricks which Jothan made sure would be impossible.
“That trophy is as good as mine!” Jothan said with an evil sound in his voice.
Without any worries in his mind, Jothan decided to take a small nap to help him for his big award ceremony, but didn’t know what went on. While Jothan was asleep, a new rider did tricks that weren’t even from the country! Once Jothan finally heard the judges voice over the loudspeaker, he was all prepared to receive his award but was humiliated when he was only awarded the 2nd place trophy.
What are some details i could add? What are some i should take away?

oh gosh.

Kate woke up to her younger brother Steven blasting screamo music. It was 10:30 “Dammit`! I’m late for school once again. MOM!.” No answer, she tries again. “MOM!!!!!!” still no answer. She grabs her bathrobe and puts it on, walks down the stairs and finds her 16 year old brother playing the air quitar in his whitey tightys. She unplugs the radio and he stops like a deer in headlights. “Why the hell didn’t you wake me up! Where’s mom and dad?!” he replied. “I don’t know. Billy’s parents aren’t home either.” Kate walked over to the TV and turned it on, “hmm that’s strange the news isn’t on.” There was only a brief message that said “we’re sorry the request you’re looking for is not operating at this time, please try again later.”
Her cell phone rang playing the infamous Justin Beiber song Baby. It was her boyfriend Robby, before she had a chance to say anything he said “babe I know this sounds weird, but it appears that no one over the age of 18 or under the age of 14 is even on this planet. I called my cousin out in Denver, he said the same thing. No one is around, are your parents home.” With a worried tone she answered, “No”
…..to be continued.

how could this be better? what changes could i make to make this story better?

My magic feather.

Magic feather? It sounded like the name of a Dr. Seuss book to me at first. Now, I know that a magic feather is something of a lucky charm for writers. It’s whatever gets the creative juices flowing. My magic feather is probably sitting down and reading before I start my own work. It inspires me to write well so that my stories can hopefully one day be engaging to other people, like the ones I enjoy reading are to me.

February 24, 2011

My Magic Feather

My magic feather is... I'd probably say that my personal magic feather is my own life experiences and things I've witnessed. The majority of my stories are started off of an idea of something that has happened to me personally, or to someone I know. Other times, I take real life situations that I have been through/witnessed, and come up with a similar, yet different subjects.

My Magic Feather

I don't have the superstition of anything like wearing socks for months on end (eww). I just kinda write. But it seems I write the best when I am alone, cut off everything. I guess it helps me forget the world around me and enshroud me in the world that I am about to create. I also found that if I write in the dark with only the glow of my two giant monitors staring me in the face I write even better. I guess it is because then I am only looking at the thing I am writing.
About the dark thing... the lamp in my room that keeps my room bright recently stopped working and I am too lazy to get a new one, though I found that it helps me, so when I find an old one in my basement, I'll probably turn if off for such occasions.

Andrea and the Magic Feather

I just typed this but since computers are just SO fabulous it decided to erase all my writing when I went to preview it and then hit backspace. I don't do well with computers - but that's the only way I can write well. I have to have a keyboard where I can easily edit and re-write every word I put down. It has to be quiet as well, because any noise will distract me like waiving Greene's red superman bag in front of a bull. Or someone who just really wants a prize. I can't have music on, especially when it's coming from headphones in my ears. That annoys me. So does the radio, or people with annoying voices who won't stop talking.
If I want to write, then I'll write. Nothing helps me write but motivation, and the plain desire to write. I write best when doing a reflexion on something rather than throwing out facts like in a research paper.

I don't have a magic feather. I don't believe in magic.

Magic Feather

My magic feather is nothing special. I do not have a real schedule or anything when it comes to writing. There is no ritual. I just write when an interesting topic comes to mind, something I think should be written about. I write about crime fiction a lot because that is what I read about, what I want to get a career in, and what I watch television about. I will sometimes listen to music, but that is mostly for when I am having a difficult time writing or have writer's block. The music I listen to for the most part is country, but I have to listen to it on a low volume. If the music gets too loud I find it hard to concentrate and will no longer feel like writing. I occasionally will do an outline of the story I am writing to try to help me come up with ideas. Especially for English research papers. For the most part, though, I start with the climax of the story and work my way back. This is because I sometimes get bored trying to get to the point of the story and I do not want to rush it. Working backwards help keep the story from being rushed and fresh. I guess I have yet to find what my magic feather is, but maybe this class can help me find it as well as better develop me as a writer.

Magic Feather

My magic feather is country music, mainly because it's the most fantastic thing in the world. Very underestimated and underappreciated, country music is not renound for it's killer beats or lyrics about clubbing, getting drunk, or shooting people (see Lady Gaga, Ke$ha, and every single rapper) but instead is (mainly) about morals and is written by people who have garnered experience with what their writing about (see Miranda Lambert, Taylor Swift, and the Zac Brown Band). I find the lyrics to be thought provoking and I listen to it as if it's a story being told. It inspires me to use words to the best of my power and it actually sometimes gives me ideas for my stories.

My Magic Feather

My magic feather is that I have to have the TV on as background noise. I need something else going on in the background so I can ignore it to focus on what I'm writing.

My Magic Feather

My magic feather is coffee. There's a sterotype that writers always sit in a cafe with a coffee for hours to write and I definitely fit into that sterotype. Once I have my coffee, it helps me focus and get into a writing mood. Without it, I can't focus as easily and I don't feel like my writing is as good as it could be. After I have coffee, I feel like I can be much more productive than I would be without it.

My Magic Feather

My Magic Feather is my TV.

Whenever I am about to write a story, I will go into my room and onto my laptop. My TV is located right above my laptop so as I am writing I turn it on, put a program on that I like (usually something to do with sports and/or Family Guy/The Office), and set it to mute. I suppose this is my magic feather because I enjoy watching TV as I write and I always like to have something to keep me off task. However, I set it to mute because the noise becomes too much of a distraction. Stone silence please.

My Magic Feather

My magic feather is sitting in my living room with the recliner up, a mountain dew, and some sort of sports playing on the TV. This is my magic feather because I need something else going on, if I feel I have to sit alone in the quiet I won't be able to bring myself to start writing my story.

My Magic Feather

There are plenty of places that could be considered my magic feather, though every time I do write whether it is at Dani’s house or the library I always have my hair up. Whenever I go to her house I just feel like I can actually write something worth submitting. I like the environment at her house and it helps me to come up with possible story plots. I also enjoy the library because it is extremely quiet and relaxing and I can keep my creative juices flowing without interruption. Though both times I have worked at those places I had my hair up. I don’t know why this happens but I feel better knowing that it’s out of my face. When I write with my hair down I tend to get more distracted and aggravated. I like to leave my hair up when I write because it helps me to concentrate and not have to keep moving the hair out of my eyes. I remember writing with my hair down once and it came out like crap and I didnt enjoy writing it. I guess when it doesnt matter where I write just as long as I have my hair out of the way, I'm good to go.