So far what we’ve learned is that no one knows where ideas come from, and that writers don’t enjoy talking about how much money they make (and it’s a rude question). This week, in part three of the writer’s FAQ, we get to explore a better question. When I tell people I’m a writer, I…
[et_pb_section bb_built=”1″][et_pb_row][et_pb_column type=”4_4″][et_pb_text] Violet’s worst fear is coming true before her eyes and she is powerless to stop it. The fear that she could die and it would mean nothing to the person she loves the most. If she lost this person, she would be devastated. How awful to find out this love is not…
“So what do we do when Grace City is clean?” “It’s never clean, John. They multiply like rats, move in where they want, and establish a new Conductor every time.” Sabine’s feet dangled off the edge of the building. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” John turned to take a long look at…
“Remember how I told you dawn could be worse than nightfall? More frightening?” Sabine sat at the end of the bed, towel wrapped around her, shower smells of floral and balsam a clinging aura. “Yeah, I do. Seems like a long time ago,” John was dressed, looking clean and neat in his sweats. He tried…
“You’ve got blood on your face.” John breathed a huff of laughter through his nose and wiped his face with one of the towels. The blood bags, as Sabine called them, had run off for home or wherever they’d come from. “This is something I could do every day,” he said, folding up the towel…
“I kind of wish holy water would work. What about garlic?” “Nope. Hang on to your wooden stakes and be sure to keep them in there when you cut off their heads. All else fails, use the flamethrowers.” Sabine pointed to their packs. John’s eyebrows raised. “Flamethrowers? Why don’t we just use these in the…
“I told you, don’t be stupid, John.” Sabine shook her head, dark eyes disapproving. “You don’t just waltz into a Rhapsody and start shoving stakes in hearts. Well, you do, but carefully.” She handed her flask to him, his hand folding over hers as he took it. “This holy water?” Sabine scoffed. “Vodka. Holy water…
“Dawn is far more frightening than nightfall if you think about it, John,” she said, flicking the ash of her cigarette onto the ground. “I mean, look around. The dark keeps our secrets. The dark lets us really be free. People say if you shed light on the monsters, the monsters aren’t so frightening. Maybe…
Some time ago, I put up a short story here called Left In The Cold, which was about a creature in the antarctic. Well, Jane Living, the main character, is still taking up quite a bit of space in my head. Her story isn’t finished, and while I’m fairly satisfied with that short story, I believe…
Can’t write a story from beginning to end? Here are a few tips that might help conquer your work.
