You’re welcome, and me too. 
3 Likes
Thank you so much!
The night was darker, darker than it had ever been before. The creaking of Elias’ old chair filled the room, the meager fire slowly burning out until only crimson embers remained.
A book lay forgotten in his lap, the cover worn from years of fingers flipping the pages, and wisps of smoke curled away from the fireplace, thinning out in the cold air. Elias’ dark hair fell over his closed eyes, the untidy strands sticking out in all directions.
Lightning flashed.
The clouds turned a pale shade of violet for a fraction of a second before returning to their normal, menacing grey. The rain pelted the windows, streams of water running down the windows, and the vengeful winds rattled the house.
Another flash and Elias jerked awake, startled by the sudden noise.
He abruptly stood up, the book flopping onto the floor. Elias bent down, picking up the book, his hand caressing the old, yellowed pages that he had read so many times before. With a sigh, he placed the book back onto the shelf as he turned towards the window.
He stood in front of it for a minute, watching the angry dance of the wind with its victims; anything that the storm had picked up along the way. Raindrops continued to leap from the threatening clouds in a raging duet, landing on the windows in a grand finale as they ran down the windows, plummeting to the ground.
Elias was about to close the curtains, but for a light, far away, something that he would have believed a figment of his imagination if not for the physical, near-blinding sight of it.
He blinked rapidly, clearing the sunspots that had tried to conquer his vision, before staring out again, searching for the light once more.
It was smaller this time, farther away, and a tug of his gut seemed to draw him toward it, like a paperclip to a magnet. Elias shook his head, grabbing a coat as his feet tugged him out the door against his will.
Outside was chaos.
The winds ripped at his clothing, flinging objects around as if they were paper, the rain pummeled him as if it were getting revenge on him. Elias pulled his coat tighter around him, fighting the winds and the rain that roared around him.
The light stayed in the distance, and the longer Elias walked, the farther light seemed. But Elias pressed on, his feet caught in the trance of the moving light that held him on a leash; like a dog following its master.
The sounds around him seemed to slowly fade away, the furious rains and vehement winds continuing in their wrath silently.
The light was Elias’ only focus, his eyes drawn to it, something was there; something otherworldly.
Elias’ steps slowed and he came to a stop, his feet at the borders where the grass met the sands of the beach, beyond of which lay the ocean.
The ocean was calm, deathly calm.
The dark waters were still, as if frozen, and the sand dry as if the storm had went around the silent shorelines, like an impenetrable bubble protecting it from the violent storms that ravaged the lands beyond.
Elias blinked, turning around in wonder, all traces of the light gone from his mind. He stepped onto the white sands of the beach, curiosity prying at his mind. Elias walked to the water’s edge, the black sea lapping at his feet, seafoam condensing at the edges.
The silence was deafening.
Nothing could be heard, it was as if sound had ceased to exist, and an unnerving feeling settled inside Elias’ chest, telling him, no, begging him to run. Yet Elias stayed, curiosity keeping him deep within its dark confines.
Sorry for being a bit over the wordcount I just really like the last paragraph 
2 Likes
This is the starting part of a four or five part short story. It’s a retelling of Rapunzel x cinderella. It’s also a little below 600
Summary
“Sing.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Didn’t we do this just last week?”
“I think I’m aging faster,” Gothel replied, pulling the black gloves on her dainty hands.
“Funny,” Rachel said, raising an eyebrow, “because I’m not.”
“Okay, I just want to look young. Is that such a crime?”
Rachel frowned. “We haven’t done it this frequently anytime in the past. Are you sure that this will be alright?”
“I don’t see why not. Besides, I have a very important ball to attend today.”
Albeit unsure, Rachel clenched her fingers and summoned the golden threads. Her hair lengthened, the weight of the gilded strands making her head heavy. Gothel watched from her perch on the windowsill, her lips forever pinched in the thin line they always bore. Rachel willed her hair to spin and willed its gossamer strands to wrap themselves around her waiting hands. She closed her eyes, visualizing her young wife.
The melody poured out of her naturally, filling every crevice in the vintage tower. It hummed in her skin, vibrated in her bones and sang with the glow of her hair. The wind danced to her rhythm, lifting her feet off the ground. Rachel felt lighter than air as her hair floated in the tiny room at the tippy top of the tower.
She didn’t need to open her eyes to know that a halo surrounded Gothel and that she had been lifted off the window too. The wrinkles on her skin would disappear, a smooth, unblemished curtain replacing it. A shadow must have fallen over her hair by now, color returning to her hair.
As the song reached its crescendo, the wind would spin them both around, and set them down with a kiss as the tune descended. The golden glow faded with the melody, Rachel’s eyes opening with the grace of a princess. With the next breath, the long golden strands disappeared, fading into the ether. Gothel smiled at her, already raising the stairs down the tower.
Like always, Rachel was struck in awe with the beauty that was her wife. The fading her golden glow of her magic complimented Gothel’s coffee skin, and it made the black of her hair look brown. A fair hand reached out to touch Gothel’s cheeks, another one joining it behind Gothel’s long neck. Rachel raised herself to her tiptoes, locking her lips with her wife’s. Love struck her all over again, and it was like Rachel was viewing her future wife for the first time, through the bars of her cell in Salem. Their love had never faded since then, and it never would, not if they kept doing what they always had.
“I love you,” Rachel whispered as she looked at the woman who had rescued her all those years ago.
“I know,” Gothel replied. ‘And I love you too,’ was left unsaid.
Gothel was the one who broke free of their embrace first. “I must go if I’m to be on time.”
“M- May I join you?” Rachel blurted.
Gothel gave her a soft smile.
“Not today, my darling. Maybe next time? I’ll be sure to bring you some berries, though.”
“But the ball is today!” she whined.
“And that is why you must stay. We do not want the coven getting hold you, do we?”
Rachel frowned, but nodded. She understood Gothel was doing this to protect them both.
(also, please take your time getting to this. I know you’ve been working really hard on getting the forums back up)
2 Likes
Sweet! Here’s the roughly 600 words of Elegy of the Leaves.
First 600
They called themselves Leaves. And, like any other leaf, they soared on the winds of this world, crossing the Everblue sky from port to port. Few could remember a time when airships didn’t dot the Everblue. It was, after all, the advent of the airship that connected the I’l au Viceria, the Isles of the Sky.
The ecstatic trill of a doorbell rang behind Claire as she waved a farewell to the shopkeeper. She clutched a black case tied with silver cord under her arm before peering into the crowd of townsfolk that walked up and down the market street. She held for the smallest of moments, surveying those she’d sworn an oath to defend.
They dashed about in the latest fashions—petticoats drenched in bold colors with nothing but silver or gold thread embroidery accenting them. Stiff collars hid the lower halves of the men’s faces, but the women’s, those who didn’t take too cumbersome dresses, were turned down so as to keep their allure. Feathered hats with curled brims had been the newest addition to the men’s fashion, however. Claire thought they were a bit much, especially after having the feathers tickle her face by those unaware of their surroundings.
But fashion was little talked about these days. She didn’t need to hear any of their conversations to know that the whispers of war were all that rested upon their lips.
It had been all that was spoken of for the better part of the year. The Alliance had increased its patrols and taken a larger influx of recruits this year, her brother one of them. Every time she thought of him being a Leaf, her stomach churned. It was shielding him from the terrors of the world that Leaves keep at bay that drove her to become one herself. To have him follow her into that world tore at her.
She pulled her eyes from the crowd, now fixated on finding where her brother had gotten too. There, across the street, sat Evan at a café, sipping tea and reading a paper.
“Evan!” Claire called from beyond the crowd of people pulsing through the street.
Evan looked up from his cup. His mouth had just filled with the sweet bitter of elf flower tea. He placed the cream-colored cup, decorated with hand-painted ivy and flowers and a gold trim at its edge, back onto its sister dish on his table and sat straighter. He narrowed his sky-lit eyes into the crowd, searching for the origin of his caller.
Claire pushed herself into the crowd. Townspeople nudged and pushed passed her, twisting her to and fro. “Excuse me,” she spoke as she stuck her arm into the crowd, slicing a path across the street. “Evan!”
Evan’s face lit as he found Claire in the middle of the street, struggling to cross. “What’s wrong, sis? You can fly an airship through the gauntlet with your eyes closed, but a crowd is impenetrable to you?”
“Kiss my—” Claire was nearly knocked over by one of the townspeople as she stumbled to the other side of the street.
Evan snorted, which then erupted into a full-bellied roar of laughter. His sandstone hair fell in his face as he clenched his gut in his arms. It wasn’t until a glint of sunlight caught in his eye that he controlled his fit. It had shone off Claire’s polished breastplate.
Evan wiped a tear that had formed beneath his eye and brushed his hair from his face, rearing his head up to meet his sister’s glare. Her normally waved hair was in shambles from trenching across the busy way. It’s sandstone color and their sun-brushed skin were the only similarities that confirmed their relationship. For Claire’s eyes were a much deeper azure than Evan’s. And much colder as they stared at him.
2 Likes
A little under 600 words
Wonderland Excerpt
God did her dirty.
He did not listen. He did not care. He was no God himself, she thought.
No, they were wrong thoughts. Wrong, wrong thoughts. He gave her a shoulder to cry on. Told her to stand after every fall. His eye did not waver in her sight, the very eye that blessed her with the man called Burton, a love many could not call home—a love many could not come home to. He did not abandon her like the Royal Family abandoned the country.
But if she were honest with herself—God she had to be honest, realistic—could she see herself through another miscarriage? After three, she thought, had God lost my wishes? Could, and should, He stand between a mother and her child?
He can’t. He can’t. He can’t! He gave her this power. He had no right to take it away from her. No right to let her carry a blood disease. So, was it terrible of her to question Him? Doubt Him? He tested her one too many times. And for what? Was she to watch humanity die at the hands of the maddened? Wait until the Sona Festival chose her to participate?
She prayed for Him.
She served Him.
She loved Him.
Of all the godsend he brought her, this was His answer time and again? No.
“Let’s say we try again,” she said.
Burton paused. He caught a photo album in her hands. “Annaliese…”
The two started a book club five years ago. Every month was a new book and every night they read a chapter or two to each other. They snug in bed reading A Tale of Two, an adventuristic tale of two royal siblings.
“I know, I know. But—" She caressed a collage of baby pictures of herself, her little brother, her nephew, her cousins. “I can’t help but know I can do something alchemy can’t. I can play God just this once.”
“But we’ve tried. If He doesn’t want us to conceive then we must trust His Plan. He won’t stop us from adopting, maybe that’s what He wants from us. There are too many children out there without a good loving home.”
She scoffed. “Please. His Plan? Don’t be foolish. He shouldn’t, he can’t, rid me of a miracle so many have a right to experience. Maybe he’s nothing but a false prophet.”
“You don’t be so foolish. You know He is of no such thing.”
“So, what has He given us?”
“You know what He’s given us.”
“And where is our reward, Burton?” She bore an intensity in his wavering eyes. “Have we not lived enough for him? Have we not sacrificed enough for his plan? Have we not—” He mocked her surely. “We’ve prayed for him and still he has not given us enough. He gave us this life, this legacy, and we have no heir to it.”
He let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m done talking about this. I will not fight you and your misguided beliefs.” He turned from her, resting A Tale of Two on his nightstand. With the lamp off and his glasses atop his book, he rested on his side.
And this was her love’s answer?
“Remember when we bought this lot and rebuilt the home in anticipation and excitement over our firstborn? Remember all the clothes we bought, the toys we were showered in, the books you so carefully curated to read him one day? Don’t you remember?”
“Enough, Annaliese. I’m tired.”
2 Likes
It kinda like has a meaning for the whole book, but I can definitely move it and make it more relevant elsewhere!
Ooo I see what you mean! Definitely changing that!
I’m AWFUL for this, thank you!
ooof thanks! 
Ah I’ve had comments like this this week, definitely something I need to change, thank you!
That’s really interesting to know! I had no idea 
definitely!
Yeah they live together, in a student flat. I need to make that clearer!
Yeah I’ve had conflicting comments about that; some people say it doesn’t matter because it’s essentially on the same line. Some people say it’s confusing. I think when I edit I’ll separate it for readability
Yeah, I think it would make sense to move it 
Thank you! I didn’t want to quote the large block as it’s big but yeah. You make some really good points! It’s a prologue so it’s kind of that thing where I need to hook but some people might not read it so XD It’s also that difficult stage where the prologue has total relevance but it’s not relevant to the CURRENT plot if you know what I mean?
But yeah I’ll definitely do that lot of tweaking when I edit!!!
Thanks so much! <3
4 Likes
“Sing.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Didn’t we do this just last week?”
“I think I’m aging faster,” Gothel replied, pulling the black gloves on her dainty hands.
“Funny,” Rachel said, raising an eyebrow, “because I’m not.”
“Okay, I just want to look young. Is that such a crime?”
Rachel frowned. “We haven’t done it this frequently anytime in the past. Are you sure that this will be alright?”
“I don’t see why not. Besides, I have a very important ball to attend today.”
Albeit unsure, Rachel clenched her fingers and summoned the golden threads. Her hair lengthened, the weight of the gilded strands making her head heavy. Gothel watched from her perch on the windowsill, her lips forever pinched in the thin line they always bore. Rachel willed her hair to spin and willed its gossamer strands to wrap themselves around her waiting hands. She closed her eyes, visualizing her young wife.
Most of this is backstory and exposition. I know it’s a Rapunzel retelling, but the last paragraph doesn’t make much sense. What golden threads? Is her hair short usually, so it magically grows? Wrapped around her waiting hands? Is her hair alive? Why the wife visual, does that mean something? We don’t know enough about the story yet to understand any of this. Assume your readers haven’t seen the Disney version: it won’t make sense if they haven’t.
The melody poured out of her naturally, filling every crevice in the vintage tower. It hummed in her skin, vibrated in her bones and sang with the glow of her hair. The wind danced to her rhythm, lifting her feet off the ground. Rachel felt lighter than air as her hair floated in the tiny room at the tippy top of the tower.
So, yes, her hair is alive?
She didn’t need to open her eyes to know that a halo surrounded Gothel and that she had been lifted off the window too. The wrinkles on her skin would disappear, a smooth, unblemished curtain replacing it. A shadow must have fallen over her hair by now, color returning to her hair.
You can probably remove “She didn’t need to open her eyes to know that” since you’re in third person. Normally, “curtain” is used to describe hair if it’s used as a metaphor at all, so using it to describe skin is a little confusing. You also use “hair” twice in the last sentence. This is all very flowery, which in some cases is okay, but it doesn’t really move the story forward. You have time later in the book to expound on this.
As the song reached its crescendo, the wind would spin them both around, and set them down with a kiss as the tune descended. The golden glow faded with the melody, Rachel’s eyes opening with the grace of a princess. With the next breath, the long golden strands disappeared, fading into the ether. Gothel smiled at her, already raising the stairs down the tower.
Okay so yes, magic hair that isn’t actually tangible unless she calls it. This needs to be made clearer earlier, if you keep this intro.
Like always, Rachel was struck in awe with the beauty that was her wife.
Oh, Gothel is Rachel’s wife? That’s unclear too until this point. You might need to introduce her as “Gothel, Rachel’s wife…”
The fading her golden glow of her magic complimented Gothel’s coffee skin, and it made the black of her hair look brown. A fair hand reached out to touch Gothel’s cheeks, another one joining it behind Gothel’s long neck. Rachel raised herself to her tiptoes, locking her lips with her wife’s. Love struck her all over again, and it was like Rachel was viewing her future wife for the first time, through the bars of her cell in Salem. Their love had never faded since then, and it never would, not if they kept doing what they always had.
“Through the bars of her cell in Salem” needs more clarity about that being their first meeting, if that’s the case. I had to read it twice to understand that wasn’t happening now, that was when they first met.
“I love you,” Rachel whispered as she looked at the woman who had rescued her all those years ago.
“I know,” Gothel replied. ‘And I love you too,’ was left unsaid.
Why was it left unsaid? People in love usually respond “I love you too.” Is it supposed to indicate that Gothel isn’t quite as in love with Rachel as the other way around? If that’s the case, you should leave it out. Readers will wonder why she didn’t respond that way without you having to tell them so.
Gothel was the one who broke free of their embrace first. “I must go if I’m to be on time.”
“M- May I join you?” Rachel blurted.
Gothel gave her a soft smile.
“Not today, my darling. Maybe next time? I’ll be sure to bring you some berries, though.”
“But the ball is today!” she whined.
“And that is why you must stay. We do not want the coven getting hold you, do we?”
Rachel frowned, but nodded. She understood Gothel was doing this to protect them both.
My conclusion:
I’m not really sure what the story is here. Having seen Rapunzel multiple hundreds of times (my toddler loves it), I understand the parallels you’re trying to draw, but we don’t know enough about the characters themselves to understand or appreciate any kind of relationship between them, much less why your “retelling” is interesting. Her hair being magical is fine, but again, you have to assume your readers haven’t seen the Disney version. I think the Salem reference is maybe to indicate Gothel is a witch? But none of that is clear. Where are they? What’s the event that jumpstarts the rest of the story? Based on this, the story is that there’s a ball, which Rachel wants to go to, and her wife says no. I think you tried to introduce some intrigue with the “coven” bit, but at that point, we don’t have enough connection to your main characters to understand why that matters. You tried to squeeze a bunch of backstory into your first paragraphs which doesn’t connect us to your characters, especially your MC. What are the stakes? Rachel doesn’t get to go to the ball? I doubt it, but that seems to be the only thing indicated here, which will likely result in your readers closing the book and picking up something else. One of my FAVORITE authors who retells fairytales is Mercedes Lackey. She has a great spin on her stories, the first of which is Cinderella. I’ve included an excerpt of her first paragraphs below:
Excerpt
This is not the way to spend a beautiful spring morning, Elena Clovis thought as she peered around the pile of bandboxes in her arms.
They were full of hats, so they weren’t particularly heavy, unlike most of her stepmother’s luggage. But they were very awkward to carry. There was a lark serenading the morning somewhere overhead and Elena wished with all her heart she was him and not herself. Still, if nothing went wrong, in a few hours she just might be free. If not as free as a bird, at least better off than she was now.
She took a few more steps, feeling her way carefully with her bare toes and caught sight of the neighbors peering over the rose-covered walls as she passed by their perch. They must have been standing on boxes or a bench to do so, and even at that, all that could be seen of them was the tops of their caps, a few little graying curls escaping from beneath the lace, and two set of eyes. Blue, and bright with curiosity. Their curiosity would have to wait. She didn’t have time to satisfy it right now.
Elena felt her way on toward the carriage, the bandboxes swaying dangerously with each step. Madame Blanche and Madame Fleur knew better than to call out to her when she was in the middle of a task. And even if they hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have answered. Not now. Elena was not in the mood to take either her stepmother’s sharp tongue nor the blows of her cane. And if the carriage wasn’t packed soon, Madame Clovis would be delivering up both. She made a few more careful steps.
It would have been easier if she’d been properly shod instead of barefoot, but the only shoes she had were the wooden clogs she’d carved herself for winter, and the wooden pattens for rain. Last time she’d asked for shoes, her stepmother had flown into a rage and beaten her so hard that her back ached now at the memory. Sometimes she thought about what would happen if she snatched that cane away and struck back, and wondered if it would be worth what would follow.
This isn’t even 400 words, and we already know the stakes and the event that jumpstarts the story. If all goes well, Elena will be free, and it’s explained what she will be free of directly following. Beyond that, the author has the freedom to explore a lot. It sets up stakes immediately. If Elena’s stepmother doesn’t leave, she’ll continue to be mistreated. Even the bit about her shoes has impact because it leads up to the explanation of just how badly Madame Clovis mistreats Elena.
Especially with a retelling that may be familiar to many readers, it’s critical to show that YOUR version will be different off the bat. In this case, the big difference from the typical Cinderella story is that the stepmother is leaving, which of course doesn’t happen in the original tale. I know your version is a bit different with Rachel being married to Gothel, but other than that, we don’t really know even a hint at what obstacles may be coming.
If I had to guess, based on your provided explanation of what your story is (and not on the excerpt itself), it’s that Gothel doesn’t love Rachel, is just using her (like the Disney original), and Rachel eventually ends up with your story’s version of Cinderella. If I had to make a suggestion about where the story should start, it would be when Rachel starts to realize Gothel doesn’t love her, or whatever. Or maybe the lead-up to whatever event introduces her to Cinderella, which will help serve as a contrast to how Gothel feels about her. I’m just guessing about where your story is headed because again, I’m unsure what the plot is. Take some time to consider what the goal of the story is and what jumpstarts the plot to get there. Even in the original Disney version, the first song is about what Rapunzel does with her time but that it’s obviously mundane and “when will her life begin”? When does Rachel’s life truly begin?
6 Likes
Ooh, it’s my turn already
Hi! So this is the prologue to one of my stories. I wrote it back in eighth grade. Since then, though the rest of the story has been completely rewritten, the prologue for some reason has remained largely unchanged because I don’t know how to make it better 
Here it is. It’s 539 words long
It was a cold and dim November evening, somewhere in Southern Italy. The colored leaves were rustling; rainwater was dripping from the roofs; the autumn breeze was blowing its cold breath onto the world. In the old town of Oppidula, a dark-haired woman of her mid-30s hastily made her way to an abandoned building near the town’s outskirts. She stopped in front of the building, eerily quiet and empty, noticing the words written above the great pillars.
Old Port Warehouse
She crept beyond the pillars and halted in front of a metal door. The entrance. She pulled out a key from her leather bag and unlocked the metal door. Closing it behind her, she turned on the lights and the room came to life. The room was undead, rather. With her dark hazel eyes she saw metal crates and boxes, draped in white sheets and never to be opened nor shipped; dull grey walls with numerous cracks, with chips of paint falling off; an uneven, concrete floor; and the flickering, yellow lightbulbs, hanging from the weary ceiling. She took a white cloth from her bag. She then carried it in her arms, strolling past the rusting cuboids.
She descended to the basement. She searched for the great door, eyes darting ceiling-to-floor, and stood in front of it. A wooden door. It had exaggerated symbols carved intricately into it and had a black handprint pressed into the center. What was most remarkable was the odd alphabet that was written on it. Only the selected few could understand what was written.
Otrâlmondé
She covered the door with the white sheet and attached it to the ceiling with the aid of hooks and strings. She had screwed the hooks into the ceiling a few days before, and so she could finally put it to use. Then there was no more door; just a plain white sheet hanging in front of the wall. She walked away quickly and turned off the lights. She then closed the metal door behind her. Just one small problem, one small mistake she made.
She left the metal door unlocked.
The woman hurried out of the building. She looked at her silver charm bracelet, admiring it. The chain was very strong and was quite loose on her small wrist. In the middle of the silver bracelet was a single charm shaped like a four-pointed star, just the size of a child’s thumbnail. It was hers then, but not anymore. She admired it one last time before placing it in a red velvet box, keeping it in her leather bag.
She promised them that she would give it to her daughter if she had one. But she never had children, even more a husband! But she did have a niece. Her sister’s daughter. She had no choice but to pass it on to her. But could she trust her to keep it? It was probable. But her niece lived too far away from her home, and she could not just mail it in a package. She could give it to her later, during summer, a few years from now. Yes, she could.
The woman opened the door to her car, got in, drove home.
Thank you so much for doing this! 
4 Likes
Heh I’ve still got a few more before yours but I finished one so moved you off the waitlist
5 Likes
Thank you! That’s a lot of helpful feedback!
Hm not exactly. My version of the story is where Prince Charming mistreats and misleads both Gothel and Rachel and pretends to love them both. Rachel and Gothel’s relationship is the one they end up with. And the salem part is because Rachel was convicted and Gothel rescued her against the rules of their coven, so Rachel must stay hidden.
But I see what you mean that there’s no established stakes or characters. Thanks for the feedback, I’ll work on that!
4 Likes
Since my original 600 words got Thanos-snapped, lol, I thought it must be a sign or something, so I tried to come up with new ones from a different point in the story. It obviously didn’t work So I think that must also be a sign and that these should really be the beginning of my story 
Behold. 636 words so it doesn't end on a cliffhanger.
May, 2008
Dust motes danced in tendrils of moonlight, disturbed by a stream of smoke flowing from Filip’s cigarette. Ingrid sat up in bed and piled her sweat-streaked hair on top of her head. She needed some air that didn’t reek of tobacco.
Her damp locks dropped over her bare breasts as she fished for clothes on the carpet. They might have had the apartment to themselves, but it didn’t feel right to be walking around naked.
“Where you going?” Filip asked, exhaling more smoke.
Ingrid had opened the door and picked her way down the dark hall, towards the living-room. Furniture cluttered every spare centimetre of the place, even on the balcony – which seemed better suited to a botanical garden than an eighth-floor flat.
Clouds and eerie whistles floated on the breeze. Ingrid shuddered, crossing her arms over her chest. Her steam-glazed skin caught the chill through Filip’s thin T-shirt. As if summoned by her thoughts, the boy himself stepped through the balcony door with a blanket which he wrapped around her shoulders.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he whispered. “I never tire of this view.” He kissed her neck and tightened his embrace. “Just how I never tire of you.”
Ingrid rolled her eyes at the moon. “Don’t you get sappy on me.”
“It’s not sappiness, it’s sincerity.”
“Yeah, right.”
He chuckled, nibbling at her earlobe. “I’ll be right back.”
Ingrid found a stool to sit on after her boyfriend left. He returned with cold beers and joined her among the flowers, leaning against the wall, lighting another cigarette.
“Cheers,” she said.
They clinked their bottles. He took a quiet sip, puffed out some smoke and offered her a go. She shook her head and drank more beer. Silence grew, fragile, broken by a long, heavy sigh from the depths of Filip’s tortured lungs.
“What are we gonna do, Ingrid?” he wondered aloud.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… us.” He waved a hand between them. “What are we gonna do with us? Do you want to… do you wanna try long distance or… To be honest, I think it could work. I can – I could come home every other weekend, my mum would love it. And you could visit me. Then after you graduate – ”
“Filip – ”
“I mean, your degree takes only, like, three years, right? You could move up to Bucharest for a job after – ”
“Filip, listen – ”
“– and we could move in together! How awesome would that be? If only we can make the long-distance work for three years – ”
“Filip, I’m leaving the country.”
Ingrid didn’t look away from the moon, even though his eyes drilled holes into the side of her skull. A train screeched in the distance, its tracks hidden behind buildings. The smell of linden flowers wafted up with the wind.
“…What?” Filip’s voice was barely there.
Like a dormant giant, the city spread at their feet. Greenery had sprouted between the tired old blocks of communist flats. Most of them only numbered four storeys, with the occasional ten-floor building spiking up across the skyline. Further out, low hills rolled along the horizon, verdant in daytime, mere bumps and humps in the night.
She lowered her eyes to the concrete mosaic on the balcony floor. “I’m going to England. I… I got accepted at a university in London, I’m flying out in August – ”
“ What?! ”
“Look, Filip – ”
“So you wouldn’t come to Bucharest with me but you’re going all the way to fucking London? I can’t believe it!”
“Filip – ”
“And you’re telling me now ?”
Ingrid bolted upright. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you! I knew you’d be throwing a fucking tantrum and I’m not – ”
Filip smashed his bottle into the half-wall opposite him. The beer trickled to her toes.
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Here’s mine again 
Rounded up again so it didn’t stop in between some dialogue.
bloop
Working with parts as small as screws, one had to be careful to not break anything - lest you lose an entire project. Reaching around for one, I grasped the small rivet and twisted it straight into its spot. I only ever worked on inventions once, but after that, I either loved the creation or hated it. This project, though, had to work.
Yet, the screw refused to lie flat against the surface of the mahogany. With a flourish, I unscrewed the annoying hiccup and tossed it in the air. The screw floated above my head, swishing from left to right. I reached across my desk and examined a bowl of fasteners, such as screws and nails. I grabbed it and tossed the loose contents up into the air, scanning to find the correct screw as they danced above my head.
Here in Timekeep, nothing else existed. When I told time to stop, it listened.
Scanning dozens of different fasteners, the perfect screw hung in front of the unmoving flame of my oil lamp. I grabbed it, twisting it into the open slot. I swiped my hand across the smooth wood and squealed when everything laid flat as I planned.
Lifting my project, I sat it up and hummed. A mahogany rectangle kept the invention level with my workspace. A slab of the same wood held an inlaid circle of smoothed quartz that sparkled in the light. Two pieces of hammered iron, one longer than the other, were secured to the center with a smaller shard of hammered iron.
Excitement bubbled underneath my skin and overflowed in the form of a wide smile. Grasping the bowl, I scooped the air to gather everything, taking great care to catch all of them, then set the bowl down.
I had to show Lamai.
With a snap of my fingers, the sound of chirping birds resumed from behind my shuttered window and the oil-fueled fire flickered to life. A familiar clicking of hurried heels caught my attention and I swiveled around in my chair to face the door, smirking when it slammed open.
The first thing I always noticed about Lamai was the beauty mark that sat below her right eye - her mark mirrored mine. As I gazed up into her eyes, though, concern and worry riddled them, and my smirk melted from my lips.
“What’s going on, Lamai?” I sat up in my chair and picked up the tools that laid around on my desk, placing them back into their containers.
Lamai huffed. “I forgot to tell you, but Intelligence wants to speak with you before you continue on with your schedule today.”
I narrowed my brows. “What else am I doing today?”
“Ma’am,” Lamai strained, “I just told you five minutes ago that you had a full schedule today. You honestly don’t remember?” I looked at my invention in front of me and she groaned. “Of course not.” She motioned toward the item on the desk with a limp hand before placing it on her hip. “What’s it called this time?”
Familiar bubbles rubbed under my skin and I giggled. “I’m going to call it a clock.” I placed a hand over the top of the clock. “With magic, you can tell the time of day - all the way down to the very minute! Isn’t it marvelous?”
Glowing numbers popped up along the edge of the inlaid quartz. The number twelve appeared at the top, followed by a number one to the right of it, and increased in number value until it reached twelve. I giggled when it sparked to life; a thin sliver of blue magic ticked to the right and signaled the movement of the two hammered pieces to follow.
Lamai sighed. “You truly come up with the strangest things, Ma’am.”
“I will take that as a compliment, Lamai.” I glanced at my clock and sighed. “It appears that I can make it a few moments early to Intelligence before they start up their daily chores. So I’ll see you around, Lamai.”
“Wait, Ma’am!”
With a snap of my fingers, Lamai froze in her spot. I knew that she hated it when I did that, but sometimes her lectures took too long and I couldn’t risk wasting time like that.
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God did her dirty.
He did not listen. He did not care. He was no God himself, she thought.
No, they were wrong thoughts. Wrong, wrong thoughts. He gave her a shoulder to cry on. Told her to stand after every fall. His eye did not waver in her sight, the very eye that blessed her with the man called Burton, a love many could not call home —a love many could not come home to. He did not abandon her like the Royal Family abandoned the country.
Could not call “their own”? Instead of “home”? That line is confusing.
But if she were honest with herself— WITH God she had to be honest, realistic—could she see herself through another miscarriage? After three, she thought, had God lost my wishes? Could, and should, He stand between a mother and her child?
He can’t. He can’t. He can’t! He gave her this power. He had no right to take it away from her. No right to let her carry a blood disease. So, was it terrible of her to question Him? Doubt Him? He tested her one too many times. And for what? Was she to watch humanity die at the hands of the maddened? Wait until the Sona Festival chose her to participate?
If the Sona Festival is important, I wouldn’t mention it only to not explain what it is. The reader will forget you mentioned it by the time it becomes important.
She prayed for Him.
She served Him.
She loved Him.
Of all the godsend he brought her, this was His answer time and again? No.
At this point, most of this is repeating the previous paragraphs.
“Let’s say we try again,” she said.
Burton paused. He caught a photo album in her hands. “Annaliese…”
The two started a book club five years ago. Every month was a new book and every night they read a chapter or two to each other. They snuggled in bed reading A Tale of Two, an
adventuristictale of two royal siblings.
Adventurous. Also, is the book club relevant to the beginning of the plot and jumpstarting the story, or can it be brought in later?
“I know, I know. But—" She caressed a collage of baby pictures of herself, her little brother, her nephew, her cousins. “I can’t help but know I can do something alchemy can’t. I can play God just this once.”
Is the photo album important right now?
“But we’ve tried. If He doesn’t want us to conceive then we must trust His Plan. He won’t stop us from adopting, maybe that’s what He wants from us. There are too many children out there without a good loving home.”
She scoffed. “Please. His Plan? Don’t be foolish. He shouldn’t, he can’t, rid me of a miracle so many have a right to experience. Maybe he’s nothing but a false prophet.”
“You don’t be so foolish. You know He is of no such thing.”
This line does not read well. “Don’t be so foolish. He is no such thing.”
“So, what has He given us?”
“You know what He’s given us.”
This is another example of mentioning something only for it not to be explained.
“And where is our reward, Burton?” She bore an intensity in his wavering eyes. “Have we not lived enough for him? Have we not sacrificed enough for his plan? Have we not—” He mocked her surely. “We’ve prayed for him and still he has not given us enough. He gave us this life, this legacy, and we have no heir to it.”
He let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m done talking about this. I will not fight you and your misguided beliefs.” He turned from her, resting A Tale of Two on his nightstand. With the lamp off and his glasses atop his book, he rested on his side.
And this was her love’s answer?
“Remember when we bought this lot and rebuilt the home in anticipation and excitement over our firstborn? Remember all the clothes we bought, the toys we were showered in, the books you so carefully curated to read him one day? Don’t you remember?”
“Enough, Annaliese. I’m tired.”
My conclusion:
Your opening scene is about a woman blaming God for her miscarriages. Sad, yes, but not engaging to the reader. Ultimately it gets very repetitive, saying the same two things multiple ways: she wants a baby, and she blames God for not having one. The first paragraph is pretty good, I liked the opening lines, but after that, it gets a little lost. I think you could probably cut most of the rest of the following paragraphs and start with “Let’s say we try again”, if this scene is important to moving the plot forward.
You don’t need the part about the photo album, use that conversation to explain why she thinks they can’t have kids and what God has given them, and why Annaliese thinks it isn’t good enough. You can work in the part about the miscarriages via their dialogue instead of expositing about it.
The stakes here I guess are that she wants kids, but really, there’s not much more to it than that. You try to add intrigue by mentioning things that could potentially raise interest LATER, but in your first paragraphs, we don’t have enough knowledge of your story for that to matter. Right now, there’s no hook to keep your readers reading. They don’t have enough emotional investment in your characters or your story to pay attention to mentions of festivals or “what He’s given” your main characters. There’s no indication of plot beyond Annaliese wanting a baby.
I would try to keep Annaliese’s questioning God to a handful of sentences, at most. The rest can be brought in later. Spend some time figuring out what should hook your reader and why they should care about how your MC having a baby is important to the rest of the story. It may be that you need to choose a different starting point altogether.
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They called themselves Leaves. And, like any other leaf, they soared on the winds of this world, crossing the Everblue sky from port to port. Few could remember a time when airships didn’t dot the Everblue. It was, after all, the advent of the airship that connected the I’l au Viceria, the Isles of the Sky.
The ecstatic trill of a doorbell rang behind Claire as she waved a farewell to the shopkeeper. She clutched a black case tied with silver cord under her arm before peering into the crowd of townsfolk that walked up and down the market street. She held for the smallest of moments, surveying those she’d sworn an oath to defend.
They dashed about in the latest fashions—petticoats drenched in bold colors with nothing but silver or gold thread embroidery accenting them. Stiff collars hid the lower halves of the men’s faces, but the women’s, those who didn’t take too cumbersome dresses, were turned down so as to keep their allure. Feathered hats with curled brims had been the newest addition to the men’s fashion, however. Claire thought they were a bit much, especially after having the feathers tickle her face by those unaware of their surroundings.
Is this important to the opening scene right now? Or can it be woven in later?
But fashion was little talked about these days. She didn’t need to hear any of their conversations to know that the whispers of war were all that rested upon their lips.
If it wasn’t talked about much, it probably doesn’t need to be in your opening paragraphs. You can worldbuild with your descriptions later, once your reader is more invested.
It had been all that was spoken of for the better part of the year. The Alliance had increased its patrols and taken a larger influx of recruits this year, her brother one of them. Every time she thought of him being a Leaf, her stomach churned. It was shielding him from the terrors of the world that Leaves keep at bay that drove her to become one herself. To have him follow her into that world tore at her.
So the Leaves are soldiers? Not airships? Your first paragraph seems to indicate that the Leaves are airships.
She pulled her eyes from the crowd, now fixated on finding where her brother had gotten too. There, across the street, sat Evan at a café, sipping tea and reading a paper.
“Evan!” Claire called from beyond the crowd of people pulsing through the street.
Evan looked up from his cup. His mouth had just filled with the sweet bitter of elf flower tea. He placed the cream-colored cup, decorated with hand-painted ivy and flowers and a gold trim at its edge, back onto its sister dish on his table and sat straighter. He narrowed his sky-lit eyes into the crowd, searching for the origin of his caller.
More exposition here.
Claire pushed herself into the crowd. Townspeople nudged and pushed passed her, twisting her to and fro. “Excuse me,” she spoke as she stuck her arm into the crowd, slicing a path across the street. “Evan!”
Evan’s face lit as he found Claire in the middle of the street, struggling to cross. “What’s wrong, sis? You can fly an airship through the gauntlet with your eyes closed, but a crowd is impenetrable to you?”
“Kiss my—” Claire was nearly knocked over by one of the townspeople as she stumbled to the other side of the street.
You could condense her making her way through the crowd to maybe two to three sentences.
Evan snorted, which then erupted into a full-bellied roar of laughter. His sandstone hair fell in his face as he clenched his gut in his arms. It wasn’t until a glint of sunlight caught in his eye that he controlled his fit. It had shone off Claire’s polished breastplate.
Evan wiped a tear that had formed beneath his eye and brushed his hair from his face, rearing his head up to meet his sister’s glare. Her normally waved hair was in shambles from trenching across the busy way. It’s sandstone color and their sun-brushed skin were the only similarities that confirmed their relationship. For Claire’s eyes were a much deeper azure than Evan’s. And much colder as they stared at him.
My conclusion:
Based on your excerpt, your plot is that a brother and sister are soldiers who might go to war. There’s nothing indicating more than a war story, nothing that indicates intrigue. What makes your world interesting? What makes your story different than other war stories? Your opening pages are about your MC weaving through traffic to get to her brother and we don’t even get to know what their conversation was about. What is the event that changes the direction of the story? What happens that makes the plot move?
We don’t know enough about your world yet to care about why war may be important here, nor why we should want to follow your MC as she fights in it. What are her stakes if war happens in their land? Is the plot that they go to war and win/lose and come home? I imagine it’s not nearly as simple as that, so introduce us more to what makes your MC and your world unique, and weave in all the bits about fashion and war and teacups later.
I like your first paragraph, just reword it so it’s more clear that the Leaves are the soldiers, not the airships. If Evan and Claire’s conversation at the cafe is the event that jumpstarts the story, dive straight into it. If it’s not, pick the event that changes the direction of your characters’ lives and start there. That event may be that war is declared. It may be when Evan becomes one of the Leaves, before the war happens. It may be none of those, only you can tell us what event jumpstarts your story. Take some time to decide what you want your readers to learn in the first pages to “hook” them into continuing. What are the stakes? Why is this war important? What are your MC’s goals, and why is war getting in the way of that? What event establishes that goal? Get us invested enough to ask “Ooh, why did that happen?” or “What happened to MC that makes XYZ important?”
4 Likes
It was more in line with the saying “home is where the heart is,” but I can see why it can be confusing.
It’s mentioned later on, but I can see why it doesn’t add anything.
Figured. I just couldn’t actually ‘see’ that it was.
Now this, this was just a little tidbit in their life. But now that you pointed this out and the photo album, I can probably show (mostly through dialogue, I think) that her miscarriages have obviously taken a toll on her because she’s questioning her faith.
She can’t have a baby because of a blood disease and I had a longer explanation for it in a previous draft but thought it weird. May need to put that back in.
This story is pretty low stakes, personal. Definitely will take some of what you said into consideration, but the opening will probably stay relatively the same.
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This is stupid, but I cannot find a way to edit the wiki.
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Added to the waitlist!
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Thank you so much!
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Np!
2 Likes
It was a cold and dim November evening, somewhere in Southern Italy. The colored leaves were rustling; rainwater was dripping from the roofs; the autumn breeze was blowing its cold breath onto the world. In the old town of Oppidula, a dark-haired woman of her mid-30s hastily made her way to an abandoned building near the town’s outskirts. She stopped in front of the building, eerily quiet and empty, noticing the words written above the great pillars.
Old Port Warehouse
She crept beyond the pillars and halted in front of a metal door. The entrance. She pulled out a key from her leather bag and unlocked the metal door. Closing it behind her, she turned on the lights and the room came to life. The room was undead, rather. With her dark hazel eyes she saw metal crates and boxes, draped in white sheets and never to be opened nor shipped; dull grey walls with numerous cracks, with chips of paint falling off; an uneven, concrete floor; and the flickering, yellow lightbulbs, hanging from the weary ceiling. She took a white cloth from her bag. She then carried it in her arms, strolling past the rusting cuboids.
I think you could simplify all of this. A lot of this is exposition which tends to lead to skimming and doesn’t do much to draw the reader in. I’d recommend tightening this up a lot to something like this:
On a cold November night in the old town of Oppidula, a woman in her mid-30s unlocked the abandoned Old Port Warehouse and slipped inside. Closing the metal door behind her and letting out a relieved sigh, she flipped a switch. Cracks spiderwebbed across the chipping grey walls. Flickering yellow bulbs revealed a room full of crates and boxes draped with white sheets, never to be opened or shipped. Pulling a similar sheet from her bag, the dark-haired woman descended to the basement.
She descended to the basement. She searched for the great door, eyes darting ceiling-to-floor, and stood in front of it. A wooden door. It had exaggerated symbols carved intricately into it and had a black handprint pressed into the center. What was most remarkable was the odd alphabet that was written on it. Only the selected few could understand what was written.
Otrâlmondé
She covered the door with the white sheet and attached it to the ceiling with the aid of hooks and strings. She had screwed the hooks into the ceiling a few days before, and so she could finally put it to use. Then there was no more door; just a plain white sheet hanging in front of the wall. She walked away quickly and turned off the lights. She then closed the metal door behind her.
This is another couple of paragraphs you could probably tighten up.
In the basement, there was a wooden door. It was carved with intricate symbols and marked with a black handprint in the center. Only a handful of people could understand the runes.
Otrâlmondé, the woman read as she strung the sheet in her hand across the great door. Satisfied with her work, she turned off the lights again and slipped from the building the same way she’d come.
Just one small problem, one small mistake she made.
She left the metal door unlocked.
This should have a lot more impact, but we don’t know enough yet about your character or her world to understand why this matters. I imagine she’s trying to hide something, but we don’t know what bad things might happen if her enemies discover the hidden door. Is her hiding the door the event that changes the direction of your characters’ stories? Is she caught after, so someone knows she was there?
The woman hurried out of the building. She looked at her silver charm bracelet, admiring it. The chain was very strong and was quite loose on her small wrist. In the middle of the silver bracelet was a single charm shaped like a four-pointed star, just the size of a child’s thumbnail. It was hers then, but not anymore. She admired it one last time before placing it in a red velvet box, keeping it in her leather bag.
This object sounds like it’s supposed to have more impact, but unfortunately, making a note of it here and then having her put it in a box means your readers might forget about it before you get to the point where it’s important.
She promised them that she would give it to her daughter if she had one. But she never had children, even more a husband! But she did have a niece. Her sister’s daughter. She had no choice but to pass it on to her. But could she trust her to keep it? It was probable. But her niece lived too far away from her home, and she could not just mail it in a package. She could give it to her later, during summer, a few years from now. Yes, she could.
This is something you can weave in later. We don’t have any point of reference for how important this may or may not be yet.
The woman opened the door to her car, got in, drove home.
My conclusion:
In your first ~600 words, the character snuck into a building, hid a door inside the building, and then thought about her jewelry when she left. There are elements that sound like they could be interesting, but we don’t know anything about them. We don’t have any emotional connection to your character–we don’t even know who she is. But other than her leaving the door unlocked, there’s really no context for any kind of conflict or suspense. She could just as easily remember she’d left it unlocked and come back. Maybe she does and catches someone sneaking in and gets killed or kidnapped. That event might springboard the rest.
But as of right now, this doesn’t feel like the event that jumpstarts the rest of the plot. Someone discovering the door might be, something coming through the door might be, something happening to the woman might be, but realistically, if this piece of information is important, you could always skip to where the door becomes relevant and have her say: “But I hid it! I snuck in and hid it…they…they…”
Someone else: “You left the warehouse door unlocked, which undermined your effort.”
I imagine it’s some kind of magical society story if I had to guess, but I don’t know. Is the woman your main character? Or is it her niece? I, unfortunately, don’t have any idea what the story might be after this. We don’t have any context for any of her actions. Does she want it not to be destroyed? To be found? To be opened? By who? If the discovery, destruction, or opening of the door by enemies is what puts things in motion, make the discovery of that your opening scene.
“XYZ person found the door. They’ve done 123 with it.”
“But…I hid it!”
“Not well enough, apparently. This is a disaster, [character name]. You were supposed to keep it safe. Now XYZ has done 123 and we’re in a real pickle.”
I’m being a little facetious, but I think you’ll understand my point. Using that kind of narration, you’ll establish an enemy, stakes, and who the woman is within a single paragraph, thus making us more interested in finding out what the point of hiding it in the first place was. I’d spend some time deciding what will hook your reader. What will make them ask “Oh, this sounds intriguing, what are they going to do/why did this happen?” Reevaluate the event that changes the direction of your characters’ lives, thus jumpstarting the plot. It’s normal for most writers to jump in much earlier than we should, because we’re still developing the story in our minds and we think, “Okay, this thing had to happen for the plot to make sense, so obviously I should start with this.” But that’s not always true. Things like this can be explained after we have some stakes established like that something happened to the door, or the woman died, or the niece unexpectedly received the bracelet and all of a sudden weird things started happening to her.
You can also save a lot of your descriptions for later in the book, too. They’re nice, but opening with them makes it that much harder for the reader to get immersed, and therefore interested, in your story.
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