the obsessive writer

[shurra]

Allrighty...I looove writing, and I write a whole ton, so I'd love to be able to post some of my stuff here 'cause I really need people to criticize it. But not all the stuff I write is about wolves, so I don't know if it's okay to post (or if anyone would bother reading it). So...if anyone wouldn't mind reading some of my stuff, please speak up. and then make lots and lots of comments on stuff I should fix and improve upon 'cause I'm pretty sure there's gonna be alot of it.

[Gryffin]

yup its fine to post your stuff here ^^ it doesnt have to be just about wolves or that sort. and I'm sure many other members will read and comment! so all you have to do is post your pieces up

[shurra]

thanks *grins* 'kay so here's a short story I wrote a while ago...it's kind of long, but, well...hope you enjoy or at least, if you don't enjoy it, I hope you enjoy criticizing it lol.

I am sitting in the cold dark of this little shack, whispering to myself. It is the only way to keep from going mad, although sometimes I wonder if I have not gone mad already. I have been lying here for two days now, on an uncomfortable bed of straw, with only a thin blanket for warmth. It is winter, and this shack does not exactly keep out the cold.
I am in the kingdom of the tyrannical king, Sir Huffatto the III. It is astonishing how badly they treat their fellow warriors in this country. Food is brought to me, if you could call it that, but my cot is always damp. I am proud to say I was not born here in Nesad, but on the tiny island of Aile. That was my home until ten days ago, when these meddling foreigners turned half our tribe against us, with bribes and false promises. I slam my fist against the wall in frustration. It does little to alleviate my pain or anger.
Airyn stood on the snow-crusted hilltop, facing the sunrise. Her blond hair was wrapped in a thick braid, and her quiver was filled. She held her short recurve bow loosely in her hand. Alongside her were the twenty-three other Aileans brave enough to stand against the newcomers. Sails crested the horizon Airyn prayed to whatever deity watched over her to make the ships turn back, fall apart, anything. They only moved inexorably forward.
That was when it came. The shout. Airyn recognized the voice of her brother Jason. Dozens of men marched toward the Aileans, gleaming sticks of silver in their hands. Swords, Airyn’s mind supplied, although she had never seen one before. Her brain told her it was over, but she fired anyway, a blue-feathered arrow picking off the lead soldier. She and the islanders were overwhelmed within moments. Swirling snow, reddened ice, darkness…
Heavy pounding wakes me up, out of the nightmarish memory. A deep-voiced guard yells at me to come out. And what if I refuse? I think, curling up into a ball and feigning sleep. Sunlight flares as the door is flung open. Snow and wind accompany it. I pretend not to notice, though I am watching through slitted eyes. With cultivated speed, I slam my foot into the guard’s thigh muscle and am on my feet in an instant. The guard is cursing and yelling, but a swift chop to the base of his neck puts a stop to it.
I catapult myself out the door, into the snow, and am immediately set upon by two burly reinforcements. A hand covered in metal strikes the side of my face, a new bruise to join the others, then. I am soon overpowered, my arms are pinioned behind my back.
They march me through the deep snow to a large door. Once inside, the enormousness of the building astounds me. Not only the sheer size of these towering stones, but also everything inside is bedecked with jewels and precious metals. There is no time to gawk, however, as I am rudely dragged down the stone corridor. The building is teaming with people hurrying about their business, and none give me a second glance. Already I hate this place. It is none too warm, either.
The farther we walk, the fewer people there are, and those I do see are dressed much more elegantly. These ladies and gentlemen turn to sneer at me as I am marched past. I catch one lady peering down her powdered nose at me and wrestle an arm free of the guards long enough to send her a rude gesture. A cuff to my head quells my mutiny.
Finally, the forced march ends. The guards open a doorway to my left, and I am shown inside. The room is spectacularly furnished, with extraordinary paintings and a myriad of large, decorative pillows. A man rises from a chair on the opposite side of the room, and I start. I had mistaken him for a pillow. He really does look like one, with his fleshy features and glitzy, embroidered clothing. Before I know it, he is across the room and lifting my chin up so he can peer into my face. I restrain from spitting at him.
“Not pretty enough to be a maid,” he grunts. “And far to dirty to be allowed near the kitchens. A hard days work in the fields would do you good, girly. Shame it’s winter. Looks like it’s the stables for you, then. Now you better work hard, girly, ‘cause those bruises on your face will be nothing if you don’t.”
Girly? Girly? I am so mad I can’t see straight. Who does he think he is, the imperious, arrogant, puffball? The guards must see the murderous look in my eye, because they abruptly hustle me out of the room. As they tow me down the hallway, I am briefed on what my new schedule will be. They will not be bringing me my meals any longer—no more “room service,” they call it—instead I will be reporting to the mess hall, at sunrise and sundown. The rest of the day I will spend in the stables, at the mercy of the chief hostler.
“Oh, I already know I am going to love it,” I tell the guards, my voice dripping with sarcasm. One laughs roughly and strokes my cheek. I bite him.
Newly bruised, I am practically thrown into the mess hall, where breakfast is being served. The guards look as if they want to be rid of me as soon as possible, and trust me the feeling is mutual. Unfortunately I will most likely see them again, when they escort me back to my quarters after supper.
I head for the steaming food at the end of the hall, although about a hundred kids around my age block it from me, all jostling to get some. I really don’t want to push; they are probably just as hungry as I am. Stomach grumbling, I resignedly turn away, hoping I’ll at least find somewhere to sit. A hand appears in front of my face, holding a steaming bowl of what resembles porridge.
“Want it?” The voice asking the question has a thick, unfamiliar accent.
Of course I want some, I think. “Thank you.” I accept the food and turn to look at this generous person. He is about my age, maybe older, with short light brown hair and clear blue eyes. “Have you been here long?” I want to know. Unlike me, his face is not covered in cuts and bruises.
He laughs. “Longer dan I’d like. I think I’m starting to turn Nesadian. At least I get to work in the kitchens, dough. We get to eat as much as we want during the day.”
I smile wryly, then wince as the motion hurts my face. “Supposedly I’m too dirty to work there. Doesn’t matter. I’d rather be with the horses, anyway.”
“Stables, huh? Well, have fun widh dat.”
“I’ll try.” I like this boy. This place had not broken him yet, it seemed, unlike some of the others I can see. It gives me a little more hope. Maybe when I get myself out of here, I’ll give him the chance to come too. “So, what’s your name?”
“Damek. How ‘bout you?”
It is four days later, and I think I have settled into this new rhythm. I honestly like working in the stables, and talking to Damek at mealtimes is always interesting. My fellow Aileans are nowhere to be seen. None of the other slaves here have heard anything about them. I do not know about the others, because they try to avoid me. True, I still am getting into fights with the guards, and maybe they just do not want any trouble.
I swear I will get out of here soon. I want to be back on Aile, helping my islanders drive off the newcomers that have probably already oppressed them. Damek thinks my dreams of escape are crazy, but he managed to sneak me a knife from the kitchens.
There is a horse in the stables, Wildfire, to whom I am already attached. He is a young stallion, and his fiery nature suits my own. He is definitely going to help me with my escape.
It is snowing this morning, the flakes falling thickly and furiously. No one has come to get me yet, and it is well past daybreak. It appears everyone is snowed in. Aile, here I come. Although the door is firmly bolted, the boards in the walls are flimsy and rotted. Taking a deep breath, I scissor my leg upward, side-kicking the wall. Tenuous boards fall away and biting wind and snow swirl in. The snow is already up to my knees, but I am used to it (Aile is way up in the North Sea). There is nothing Mother Nature can throw at me that I have not seen before. I wade toward the stables, my breath streaming out in front of me, and I am profoundly glad when I reach the warmth of the stables. I use the small knife Damek stole for me to slash and destroy the other horses’ bridles and saddles. No one will be chasing me, not if I can help it. There is an old saddlebag lying on the floor. I pick it up and fill it with grain and hay. I do not know how easy it will be for Wildfire to find food out there, and I am taking no chances. I scrounge up another bag, and fill that as well. But what will I do for food? Contemplatively, I scoop a handful of grain and put it in my mouth. It really is not too bad.
Hastily, I saddle Wildfire, keeping his horse blanket on under the saddle. Wrapping one around myself as well, I lead him out into the storm. The cold is already biting through my clothes. It is going to be a fight for my life out here, but some things are worth fighting for. Freedom is one of them.

[Farrah]

Bravo! *applause resounds in background* Good work! You are repetitive in some areas and some tenses need to be confirmed though. Also, I think you need to star between the thoughts and different time periods. For instance:

I am in the kingdom of the tyrannical king, Sir Huffatto the III. It is astonishing how badly they treat their fellow warriors in this country. Food is brought to me, if you could call it that, but my cot is always damp. I am proud to say I was not born here in Nesad, but on the tiny island of Aile. That was my home until ten days ago, when these meddling foreigners turned half our tribe against us, with bribes and false promises. I slam my fist against the wall in frustration. It does little to alleviate my pain or anger.
****************************************
Airyn stood on the snow-crusted hilltop, facing the sunrise. Her blond hair was wrapped in a thick braid, and her quiver was filled. She held her short recurve bow loosely in her hand. Alongside her were the twenty-three other Aileans brave enough to stand against the newcomers. Sails crested the horizon Airyn prayed to whatever deity watched over her to make the ships turn back, fall apart, anything. They only moved inexorably forward.
That was when it came. The shout. Airyn recognized the voice of her brother Jason. Dozens of men marched toward the Aileans, gleaming sticks of silver in their hands. Swords, Airyn’s mind supplied, although she had never seen one before. Her brain told her it was over, but she fired anyway, a blue-feathered arrow picking off the lead soldier. She and the islanders were overwhelmed within moments. Swirling snow, reddened ice, darkness…
****************************************
Heavy pounding wakes me up, out of the nightmarish memory. A deep-voiced guard yells at me to come out. And what if I refuse? I think, curling up into a ball and feigning sleep. Sunlight flares as the door is flung open. Snow and wind accompany it. I pretend not to notice, though I am watching through slitted eyes. With cultivated speed, I slam my foot into the guard’s thigh muscle and am on my feet in an instant. The guard is cursing and yelling, but a swift chop to the base of his neck puts a stop to it.

TADA! That way, it's easier to understand the transition and not go on wondering, wait a minute...wasn't she just locked up? Why is she now on a battlefield?

Other than those minor details, it was GREAT! PLEASE write more! I want to know what happens! Does she take Damek with her? Do she and Wildfire survive? Where do they go to get more food when the supply of oats runs out? Tell me!

[shurra]

thank you so much! (for liking it and commenting on it ) and I had the time period switch in italics...I guess copy and paste failed me once again *dramatic sigh* lol. and oh man...it was originally just going to be a short story, except the few people that've read it keep asking me what's going to happen next. *frantically searches for place to hide* so now I'm seriously considering adding onto it...okay...here are my thoughts...Damek isn't going to come with her, but he's definitely going to show up later since I can't bear getting rid of him. I'm thinking she and Wildfire are going to meet up with (or start) a sort of little rebellion group. Not sure if I want her to go back to Aile and have just a small scale rebellion there or have a bigger one in Nesad. Damek might become like a provider of insider information...um, this stuff is just off the top of my head, but I guarantee you that I'll come up with some more definitive stuff soon. yay! awesome new near-the-end-of-summer project that has nothing to do with school so I'm going to absolutely love it!

[shurra]

So here we go...it seems like this story is just writing itself. I wrote this part yesterday, without any brainstorming or anything, so I don't even know if this is what I want to happen next. Oh well...here it is...

The storm blew itself out within a day and a half. Wildfire and I had spent most of it struggling to press forward. I had wanted to put as much distance between us and Nesad as possible. I still do. No tyrant king shall ever catch me! Although I do wish I knew which direction we were headed. I was not blessed with an innate sense of direction, and, indeed, I am lost without sun or stars to guide me.
A chill is creeping into my bones, although this horse blanket does much to protect me. The entire world feels silent and peaceful, as if its new coat of white has blanketed its troubles. Unfortunately, that is not true. I know Sir Huffato will be searching for me, his soldiers undoubtedly ravaging the pristine countryside. Damn him! Why can't he leave well enough alone? It is not like I am important.
Cursing, I struggle to my feet. I am not satisfied with our current shelter, but our tracks would be insultingly easy to follow in this snow. Tearing my gaze away from the view outside the cave--towering pines leaden with white, with sometimes a startling flash of color as a winter bird zips by--I force myself to look into the darkness behind me. I have not explored the depths of this cave for fear of slumbering animals. The elders in my village say many creatures go through the deep sleep during the winter months. From experience though, they wake up quite easily when disturbed.
Another reason I have not ventured farther: I do not like caves. I prefer to feel the sun on my face and the wind in my hair rather than exploring an underground death trap. But that is just me. If we could only ride into the forest, outrunning those who chase us. Perhaps we could make it to a village, and they would give us shelter.
Wildfire whickers softly, as if to remind me to quit daydreaming. I glare at him. Unfortunately, he is right. I saddle him, my numb fingers working sluggishly.
Glaring at nothing in particular, only my own misfortune, I take a step into the darkness. A gently tug on the reins causes Wildfire to follow. Multiple resigned steps later, I notice (with some aggravation) that this cave is much deeper than expected. I look at Wildfire, dutifully plodding after me and sigh. He wasn't going to make the decision for me. "Fine." I grumble out loud. "We're going. Into this buried, suffocating stone prison. At least no one's crazy enough to follow." I trail off, my footsteps combining with Wildfire's to create a horrid ringing heartbeat.
Having lost all sense of time in this lightless tunnel--for that's what it seems to be--my growling stomach calls a halt for me. A ways back I had smacked full force into a curved surface: seemingly the end of the cave. But I am stubborn--no use denying it--and I did not give up. So I slid my hand along the rock, and my arm finally slipped into a crevasse. It was cleverly concealed, whether Mother Nature's or man's I couldn't tell. It was narrow too. I had to unsaddle Wildfire just so he could squeeze through. We made it however, and now I can only hope there is no snarling beast with sharp pointy teeth waiting around the corner.
I reach my hand into a saddle bag, stuffing a handful of grain into my mouth. It is a bland meal, but it is better than starving. Although, I think ominously, patting the near-empty bag, If we don't find an exit soon...There was still a saddle bag left, but I preferred not to finish the thought all the same.
"I'm thirsty. Are you thirsty, Wildfire?" I asked. I should probably stop talking to animals and myself, but it's the only company I have right now. "All right. Let's go, boy. No use wasting away down here."
Finally--sunlight. All I can say is, if this tunnel leads back to the palace, I am going to throw myself on that little knife Damek gave me. Shouldn't have thought of him. I reprimanded myself. It is the sun blinding me, of course. What else would it be?

[Farrah]

Cool. This is just a thought as to another sequencial part of your story, but could the main character find her home town of Aile destroyed? She would be devistated and hunt out the ones who have inflicted this sorrow on her with an army of rebels. One day, while she's hunting out those who "destroyed Aile", she would find a hideout with the towns people in it. They had actually escaped before the Nesadians (?) could kill them. They then join her in the fight against Huffatto...

It's just a thought. I like the story so far, and if you could come up with those first two parts, then I'm sure you can come up with a better plot than what I've just described. Good luck on the remainder of your "short" story.

[Lydair]

-howls- Amazing!!! I LOVE it! I LOVE horses too, and Wildfire sounds awesome...-grins and grins again- Woot!

[shurra]

Et voila! lol. I did end up adding more (clearly) so I hope you enjoy this part too...

The tunnel slopes upwards toward the light. It is a narrow opening, and I nearly despair because Wildfire will never make it through. This assumption does not stop me from checking it out further though. I walk closer, tentatively, for who knows what is out there. My eyes adjust to the sunlight, and I can now see that the width of the cave and that of the actually opening to not match. There are branches covering the exit, making it appear smaller.
Instructing Wildfire to stay put, I wriggle out of the cave. Squeezing through, I am covered with a layer of snow that falls from the leafless branches. A large head sticks out of the whole after me. Horses. Do they ever listen?
I suppose the bushes are good in the sense that they render this cave practically invisible. Unfortunately, they also block my horse. More snow bombards me as I kick and rip at the impeding branches. They are thickly grown, but the bitter cold has made them brittle. It is hot and frustrating work. I clear just enough to allow Wildfire to pass. My big baby of a horse, however, shies away from the few stray twigs still poking out. I stalk back into the tunnel and catch up his reins, groaning in exasperation. Turning heel, I drag him forcibly into the outside world.
With both of us in the sun, I take stock of my surroundings. Pine monstrosities dominate my vision, sunlight streaming through their interwoven branches. It is lucky for me that the forest is dense, for the snowfall is much shallower here. There is sparse undergrowth, most of it covered by snowdrifts. Wildfire makes his way easily, the snow only reaching his fetlocks. Swinging my gaze back and forth (I was taught early to always be alert) I notice many animal tracks, including those of deer and foxes. Birdsong erupts from trees nearby, and my attention is captured by the bright colors of a male cardinal. It is a good thing Wildfire can walk in a straight line, because I give up steering him in order to watch the bird more closely.
A clump of snow becomes too heavy for the branch it is on. With a series of cracks it tumbles to the ground. Wildfire sidesteps to the left. I pat him on the neck—a gesture that means both “calm down” and “stop that, you are going to drive me crazy”.
There is another flash of red in front of me. I freeze in the saddle. It is much too large to be a cardinal, and there are no other birds that it could be mistaken for. Listening closely, I hear a soft swishing noise. It is the sound of someone making their way through the snow. Balancing precariously, I drop Wildfire’s reins and inch my hand toward my boot, where I have hidden Damek’s knife. The bow is the only weapon I know how to use, aside from fists and feet, but simply having a weapon in my hand is comforting.
Both the movement and the color are a stark contrast to the still woods. The red flashes again, but to my frustration it disappears behind the trunk of a giant pine. I glare at the tree, vainly willing it to shift aside so I can see better. My knuckles turn white from how hard I am gripping the knife. Wildfire, who has thankfully chosen to heed the pressure I am applying to his sides, sidles around the trunk. Just a little further, I urge him silently. Is it my imagination or can I see the edge of a red cloak?
A figure leaps at me, startling the breath from my lungs. In my surprise, I nearly topple from the saddle. Everything is a blur of green, white, and red. There is a yell, although it seems far off, and it seems to do with my hand striking a solid object. Apparently, I have been flailing arms wildly. Blond and black hair obscures my vision, stinging my eyes. The blond hair is my own, but black? I do not have dark hair, I think dazedly, before recognizing it as Wildfire’s wildly tossing mane. He is rearing. I feel myself being jounced backwards; soon I will fall off. Without thinking, I drop the knife and wrap both arms around the stallion’s neck.
I am going to die, I realize, My horse is going to throw me and I will crack my head open and I will die. But above the pounding of my heart and Wildfire’s whinnies, I hear another voice. This one is deep and calm, unlike my own voice would be if I were actually able to find the breath to speak right now. The horrible sensation of being afloat in a storm-tossed sea gradually softens to a stop. Focusing my eyes, I will my heart not to burst. There is a man standing before me, holding Wildfire’s reins. Blood trickles down his left forearm. Did I do that? I wonder, without remorse. He should not have attacked me in the first place. Oops.