so my teacher gave me a paper to write a novel in 30 days, i only have 1 page so far @-@ uugghhhh here goes:

The skies overhead was of a deep purple, one of a king’s flowing robe; clouds scattered aflame traveling towards the setting sun as if struck by its magnetic force. Grass lay pleated under the bustling breeze, a salty tang like one from the beach wavered in the air. A rustle in the distance became known as the breath of a lone surviving creature. On the dirt of the ground lay a young beast, its green eyes glazed with pain and agony, tongue lolling and flanks heaving as every breath a struggle. Stricken with an anxiety for death, blood poured into a stream from its incised belly.
From the shadows a darkened shape appeared, the height of its being loomed over the dying animal. A mournful cry sputtered as the tune of a string-less violin broke the silence around them. The creature was a wolf, a tree tall, and a boulder thick. His black pelt was flecked with scars from previous nightmares. He touched his muzzle to the associate of the predestined battle. “ Nebaru, we appreciate your help,” he murmured to the flickering ear, “ and we bless your journey to the heavens.” The dark and shapeless figure stood motionless as more appeared. There was no certainty as to whose blood was whose, for the clearing was altogether scarlet. A slight drizzle of God’s tears sprinkled upon the grass, leaving behind a distinct fog. All creatures stood, eyes cast downward in fear of spotting the struggle for life inside of the young wolf’s eyes.
She laid, breath raspy, face contorted and hacked with the afflictions of persistence during battle. Furless patches torn from her body; skin shredded into dust with the single rip of claws. With the strength provided from the devil, she made a last effort to turn her head at the great leader. Her lips curled back in a smirk, “ Fight your own battles, and I will fight mine.” She scratched the ground, claws extended, carving into the mud of the earth. At first she hesitated, then managed a crude epitaph, a gateway to hell, in a crippling laugh, “ There is no heaven.”
Her head fell to the ground, eyes turned over into a glazed white, her body had stopped moving. The carvings in the ground filled with the crimson of her useless body. Every living thing had stopped breathing; fear lingered from their pelts, their eyes widened in a dismay of confusion. The drizzle had now become a storm, washing away every bit of evidence on the battlefield. Vigilant, mourning wolves began to scurry around, their bleeding, scraped paws infected by mud and puss, picking up the scattered remains of their loved ones. The crowd had dispersed as quickly as it had flocked. A silhouette of the alpha, stood shameless in grief for the reckless wolf below him. “ Father, forgive her.” His voice was scarce a whisper as thunder drove the scavenging pack into the shelter of the forests around them. He exhaled, blood dripping from his muzzle onto the white pelt of the she-wolf. Turning round, the wolf paused, trembling in fright. The attack was ceaseless; creatures of the unknown worlds had come looking and were determined. From the corner of his bronze eye, he peered once more at the body. The white wolf had come from nowhere, entered without life and left without it. So many possibilities of the foolish creature, it was eminent that she was one of G——, but how she had come about was impossible to comprehend. “ A messenger.” The alpha told himself, “ A messenger from God to save us.” There was a still peace that wavered about the clearing, but it did not wait long.

AND THIS IS WHY I AM THIS WAY:


It all started wen I was in…5th grade? It was wen my parents were paying more attention to my brother and could care less about me and my matters. Every day I would ask my parents to play with me, but they would always say: im too tired, or I don’t have time for you. My brother would just ignore me >_> so, I hung out with the some ppl who I thought were my frends but then in the end they just told all these rumors about me and everyone was just….UGH =_=” (thinks of ‘the oddgirl out’ movie) and then yeah, so I lost my trust in all humanity of ppl. Then I came onto a site called warriorcatchat.forummotion.com, that was cuz I loved reading the warrior cats series, and then I met some really nice ppl thar! xD they were just kids around the same age as me who didn’t like their parents either >_> strange? Anyways. So yeah, and then I got caught talking to them on the cb one time and so then my mom took my computer away and then I was a hatin’ and stuff. And then later took my computer back and kept talking to them anyways >._>” but yus…sadly, I am stuck in this inhumane personality of academical use and such >:O someone stop me cuz im getting mad… T^T I hate being the ‘smart kid’ Q-Q

Wow, your writing is extremely uncharacteristic of how you normally portray yourself in the chatroom.
I don't want that to sound like a bad thing - it's very good.
I lack the literary whatevers to give specifics, but good job.

As for the second thing you wrote, I don't see what the problem with being a "smart kid" is particularly - but if you want my advice, why don't you just act how you do in the chatroom, in public? It seems to be working out for you.

I've found that having a sort of dual persona, online and offline, or with different groups of friends, is quite bothersome. In person, I act much the same as I would in the chatroom minus better language usage.
To relate to you, people used to denote me as the "smart kid" of the class because I was a quiet Asian in honors courses. Over time, I believe I successfully proved them wrong >:D
I can also tell you that some of the "smart kids" I know are also really cool. So there isn't an issue with it, the way I see it.

tl;dr - derherp jus be urself 8B

Go to the library, borrow a light novel, change one word in every sentence and the characters' names.

It'd be best if it was a novel that was not very well known.

>>5 How else would one write a critically acclaimed novel?
You sure are redundant, enners.

oh gosh i was hoping this thread would die, but thank you misuto, and enni o-o ....uh... xDDDD

>>5 that reminds me what Cartman do in a episode of South park, he replaced love song words with "Jesus"

>>8 I Jesus you?

>>9 More like "I wanna get down on my knees and start pleasing Jesus, I wanna feel his salvation all over my face."

Whats the minimum number of required pages, or is there none? Tbh that seems like a good idea for an assignment. I'm really into writing yet I always enjoy it more when I'm writing for a reason - usually meaning I know somebody specifically is waiting to read it!

Alright, cue the editor. Sorry, I have trouble leaving things like that alone in writing.
First sentence should be,
"The skies overhead were a deep shade of purple, that of a King's flowing robe.."

>>10 LOL i remember that episode.

And yeah, is there a specific topic you have to write about, or did your teacher really go "write a novel, GO" and just leave you all to your own devices?

ah heres the thing im writing for or watever...and sorta my teacher too since he keeps saying he likes my writing or watever o-o so its called 'nanowrimo' = national novel writing month

http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/whatisnano

its for anyone who wants to write a story, the goal is to write 50,000 words! :DDD this should be interastin' xDDDD 49,999 words and i would write on the last page: FIN. xDDD hahaahaaa oh gosh...

>>6
By putting in effort. I am sure you have heard of Shakespeare.

>>15 You and your crazy schemes.

>>14 Ahh I know a couple people that do nanowrimo.
But they never let me read their stuff.

>>14 Hmm. 49,997 words and on the last page FIN. Do it. You HAVE to. That's Good Game right there.

>>17 But then she'd only have 49,998 words :<

In any case, good luck at that - it's about 1667 words a day :D
Just don't fall behind lol

i feel encouraged by that big number :D xDDDD oh gosh...

Hey, for every extra 30 words you write up a day it's 1 word less you have to write for the rest of the month, look at it that way.
Er. [Number of days left] words.
So if you do 1697 words on the first day, you only have to do 1666 words for the rest of the month :D

im still confused o-o oh and i wrote another page...i suppose i should post it but >_>

The dissent of sanity begins when one loses something precious. The fear of never receiving contact with it ever again, becomes the only thing on the mind. In the town of T——, there is much misery in a home that beholds the exact feelings of a human in pain and loneliness. One cannot exempt the feeling, for it holds the grip of a mother saving her child from a precipice.
A young at heart, not much older than ten years, having this feeling that should only be expressed by elders as they watch their life disappear, is a shame to the family of cause. Yet it is so possible for a family to lose their member to a cloak of depression when their love seems to fade from the life within. Fearful, poignant, narrowed eyes, alone. This is the feeling one receives when they begin the Dissent, and so it begins. The story, dear reader, is what one will find during the Dissent of sanity and hope, feel the anxiety, the pressure, as you read these simple words that mean too much for the mind to comprehend.
This young child, sitting on her bed, hair dark and long, folded over her dimpled, pale face, beheld the emotions of the heart as a lion hunting its prey. In her long, lithe fingers held the book of a fourth grader, pages kept in tact and clean, no folds or creases dare sprung upon the novel for fear its reader. She devoured the words in her mind, eyes widened in pleasure as she studied the book. Her pink lips mouthed the words silently, the heat of her sweaty palms bringing the pages to rise and stick.
The room was a shade of insipid gray, one wall painted a mournful morning’s aqua blue sky. A tall, heavy wooden door led to a closet filled with clothes thrown about in an array of disorganization. In one corner of the dwelling area was a narrow, white desk, shoved into the crevice of the walls. On the desk was piled multiple papers, clotted with gray drawings and writings. A warm computer, still in use, opened to tab on the internet. On the tab was a dark page, it was too dark to be read even by the author, but it was there, and running. A tablet attached to a wire on the computer, a freed, wireless mouse, these also were on the desk. Now, opposing the small desk was a bed too large for a child, one fit for a queen, layered with one lonesome, pink, flower-patterned sheet. Stuffed animals jammed into the gap between the wall and the bed, forming an alliance of protection while the child would sleep.

-only just saw this thread- kaori-chan you're amazing~! i dont think tht there's anything wrong wit being 'the smart kid' you should, if anything, be proud of who you are! there isnt anything wrong wit being smart... contrary to popular belief XP and i really love your writing~ i do writing from time to time too... but it's reeeaaallyyy bad DX i read it and think 'how the poo could anyone write anything ao incredibly boring" @_@ i think tht you're really gifted tht u can write so good~ and i hope tht you'll keep posting cuz i really liek reading wat u write <3 good luck, ne?

(~=3=)~

nice XD

>>22 Kaori...
You are extremely literate in several aspects.
I find it difficult to believe you are but a loli.

This was a compliment.

>>23 thank you gao *o* that makes me so happeh x3

>>24 NICE to you too :D ;)

>>25 thank you for that really...wordish compliment xD i likes

all the while, i made a lot of editing and rewriting o3o so:

I CAN SEE YES, ITS THE SAME ONE AS ABOVE,BUT THERES MORE TO IT TOO O-O SO ANYWAYS SORREH, AND YES I MADE THE READER THE MAIN CHARACTER xP-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dissent of sanity begins when one loses something precious. The fear of never receiving contact with it ever again, becomes the only thing on the mind. In the town of T——, there is much misery in a home that beholds the exact feelings of a human in pain and loneliness. One cannot exempt the feeling, for it holds the grip of a mother saving her child from a precipice.
A young at heart, not much older than ten years, having this feeling that should only be expressed by elders as they watch their life disappear, is a shame to the family of cause. Yet it is so possible for a family to lose their member to a cloak of depression when their love seems to fade from the life within. Fearful, poignant, narrowed eyes, alone. This is the feeling one receives when they begin the Dissent, and so it starts. The story, dear reader, is what one will find during the Dissent of sanity and hope, feel the anxiety, the pressure, as you read these simple words that mean too much for the mind to comprehend.
This young child, sitting on her bed, hair dark and long, folded over her dimpled, pale face, beheld the emotions of the heart as a lion hunting its prey. In her long, lithe fingers held the book of a fourth grader, pages kept in tact and clean, no folds or creases dare sprung upon the novel for fear of its reader. She devoured the words in her mind, eyes widened in pleasure as she studied the book. Her pink lips mouthed the words silently, the heat of her sweaty palms bringing the pages to rise and stick.
The room was a shade of insipid gray, one wall painted a mournful morning’s aqua blue sky. Only one large window lay planted in the middle of the room, where one would walk in and immediately see; this window was always closed. Upon the floors were two colorful rugs. A bright pink rug, set against the blue wall, and a bright green rug settled by the bed, or rather destined to warm toes in the morning of a cold winter. Flung about the floor were papers and wrappers, a rabbit printed, brown backpack half on the rug. A shoebox, empty to collect dust, a pair of shoes shoved under a stool for the effects of a stubborn child. There was a trashcan, filled with food wrappers as well, and a pair of roller-skates, laces untied, a charm bracelet still in the box of which the child’s grandmother gave to her, a simple set cell phone, and a notebook, all were on the ground.
A tall, heavy set, maple wooden door led to a closet filled with clothes thrown about in an array of disorganization. Beside this hideously arranged closet, was a maple nightstand, this too was shrouded in clothes; a digital alarm clock, covered over with a black clothe to prevent its rays of light to burst forth at night. Along the edge of this nightstand, was yet again, another maple furniture, it was a tall cabinet. The cabinet was covered with a frosty, clouded glass, which a person could only see through if pressed against it; two bottom drawers heavy with items of sorts. Simple sticky pads were taped onto the glass; a picture of two poorly drawn children standing next to each other was also taped on the glass, but from the inside of the door. The cabinet’s silver knobs were bound straight and closed shut, with a colorful piece of yarn, with which was strewn through a scrap of paper with the word ‘DREAM’ printed on it, and ‘BIG’ scratched in pen beneath it.
In one corner of the dwelling area was a narrow, white desk, shoved into the crevice of the walls. On the desk was piled multiple papers, clotted with gray drawings and writings. A warm computer, still in use, opened to a tab on the Internet. On the tab was a dark page, it was too dark to be read even by the author, but it was there, and running. A tablet attached to a wire on the computer, a freed, wireless mouse, an orange bag of chips, a pair of black wool gloves, a blue mechanical pencil, batteries, and a piece of paper with scribbles upon its front and back, these also were on the desk. Now, opposing the small desk was a bed too large for a child, one fit for a queen, layered with one lonesome, pink, flower-patterned sheet. Stuffed animals jammed into the gap between the wall and the bed, forming an alliance of protection while the child would sleep.
There were three bulletin boards upon the walls. One on the left wall of the window, and two above the bed on the right wall of the window, on the left was posted a calendar that marked the month of October, and a dark pink rabbit hat pinned and secured. The two on the right were parallel, but not put on the same invisible shelf. The one closer to the window had two pictures on it. A girl with black hair, and a boy with black hair, between them were written something in Japanese. The second picture was of a girl smiling, it was done in pencil, and this too had the similar symbols in Japanese. If one would see them, they would assume it was something of interest, or a name perhaps.
All and all, a person could walk into the room and say, ‘ This is the room of a spoiled, rich child, whose family would die without her.’ But the emotionless face of the child would show much less of what a person would indeed expect. It was a large room, spacious, but unkempt.
Now oh precious reader, do you see this girl? This child of which belies the glee of her room, her heart black and hardened.
But suddenly, her tiny face is pulled up. So swift a movement, almost like an apparition. Her small eyes, black with a hopeless despair, her hair combed straight to perfection against her little round head. She wore a white-gray shirt; her shoulders slumped giving her the appearance of a fuller child, though she hungered every day and only received the words of the book she held. Her black shorts were too short, swallowed up by the baggy shirt. Unless one could possibly appear to her and make her laugh, there was no sign of intrepidness or effort. She looks up, as if she sees you. Reader, it is as if she is the book, the writing, the words you see here, and she is looking at you, with great eyes of no emotion. You must flee, there is no hope here, and you will only get sucked into the pool of anguish that has already consumed the child.
The child! She stands; the book has fallen to her feet, and is walking towards you; pull away, reader. Thus the insanity begins, with her crooked smile, her hands extended pulling you towards her. You must enjoy this story with effort, for the grin she holds is that of an all-knowing observer. I feel compelled to mislead you, but how could I, seeing her miserable, pale arms wrap around you; the cold pressure of her fingers pressed into you skin, dying for me to help her; it is impossible. Dear reader, look away, as I lead you on, be aware of your surroundings, for there is such a thing as the Dissent of sanity and hope, and the first sign is————————

The begging.


Twigs underfoot, cracking. The undergrowth is marshy, filled with the dead leaves of autumn, yet the trees still remain full of green leaves. Mold spreads rapidly upon the floor, moss climbing with effort onto the smooth, slick, gray bark of the tall, skinny trees. The air is still here. A heavyset fog layered over the forest of Illusions. One could certainly understand why it was called so. There is a figure in the distance, a rather small frame, it appears as if it is looking at you, look down.
Reader, I will come to you and tell you, we are inside the mind of this child, her memories, everything that has happened to her, yet no one knows, remember this child. The one who is still pressing up against you, hoping to take the steady heart beat of your living body as hers. Push away every thought for a second, please.
The figure. It is her. Walk to the right and straight, as I lead you on. She is watching you from a distance, the place we stand in is a place called The Illusion Forest.

OH WAIT--- xD the part wher it says 'the begging.' is just like a title for a chapter..not really the 'first sign' >3>

bump