Ihavesomechickens
Crowing
Hey, that’s not bad. If I ever tried to write a book I would working on it till I was 128.
ATTENTION ALL WRITERS! C'MON!!!
- Thread starter clucky3255
- Start date
*me, sitting here, planning on at least 500 pages and two books total because I'm an overachiever even though I'll probably never write it*
...well you guys are doing a lot better then I am.
- Nov 12, 2018
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- 15,205
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My current WIP is 27,000 words. 17 chapters. Each chapter is about 6-7 pages. Planning on having 19 chapters and an epilogue.
Good luck Butterscotch!
Good luck Butterscotch!
Ihavesomechickens
Crowing
oh god. If I tried to write a book I would be on here till 2120. I would be 128 years old. An old lady. Hopefully I would’ve taken over BYC by then...
Thanks. I only started this about 2 months ago, actually closer to one month ago. I will write more if I have the patience.
Hey, I love it! I think the basis for it is great, I'll be happy to read it if you decide to publish it
Aw, thanks Butterscotch!
Alright, here's the first page of my book.
PROLOGUE
Life brings death.
Or maybe life is death. Either way, they seemed one and the same to River Fallyn.
The woods were alive and throbbing around her, but soon dusk would fall and she’d have to slam closed her sketch book and scurry back to her father’s— Misham’s— cabin. Even for someone who’d lived their entire seventeen years of life in Dunkel forest knew to never stay out late into the night. Half-breeds roamed free here, and most of the dangerous ones were nocturnal. That was part of the sadistic beauty of living in exile here— People didn’t follow in fear of their own accidental creations.
Still, the scrawny girl didn’t flinch when Strikers started flicking through the trees, the little blue birds’ wings sparkling with electricity. Their wingtips were to be avoided when they were alive, having the capability to stop your heart for a few moments if brushed against. Touch them longer and you’d never breath again. But luckily they never went near humans, so she was off the hook with the fluttering creatures.
Instead, River haunched over her sketch-in-progress, her metallic prosthetic hand gripping a pencil of charcoal. Black curls of shoulder length hair draped around her and stuck to particularly pale skin, while one bare foot hung loosely into the stream water beside her. A smile played at her lips, because even though— Ironically enough— She’d drowned in the lake that this stream emptied into, it still didn’t bother her to be near it. That’d been how her beloved twin brother, Thomas, found out his abilities included healing others. When their father fished her out and pumped the water out of her lungs, her seven year old body still didn’t come to, until Thomas stepped up and held a hand over each one of her lungs.
Also, yeah, she’d died too, but he’d revived her, so all was well.
But even if he could bring someone back from that, humanity would never welcome them, after all, they were Lastless. The bad guys from birth all because somewhere, hundreds of years up in their lines of genetics, some ancestor had been exposed to radioactive energy due to the nuclear weapons going off left and right.
Now, ten years after drowning, she sat on moss beside the stream’s edge as her hands were drawing dark patterns on the clean white sheet of paper. She’d shaped the stray lines into a human skull, moss growing from the mouth like a tongue and daisies growing from the eye sockets.
As she drummed along, a song began to hum from her lips. It was ridiculously old, some sort of twisted child’s song about the great plague of London in the 1660’s. She’d heard about it once and now it randomly decided to bounce around her head.
“Ring around the rosy
Pockets full of posy
Ashes
To ashes…
We all fall down!”
Life brings death.
Or maybe life is death. Either way, they seemed one and the same to River Fallyn.
The woods were alive and throbbing around her, but soon dusk would fall and she’d have to slam closed her sketch book and scurry back to her father’s— Misham’s— cabin. Even for someone who’d lived their entire seventeen years of life in Dunkel forest knew to never stay out late into the night. Half-breeds roamed free here, and most of the dangerous ones were nocturnal. That was part of the sadistic beauty of living in exile here— People didn’t follow in fear of their own accidental creations.
Still, the scrawny girl didn’t flinch when Strikers started flicking through the trees, the little blue birds’ wings sparkling with electricity. Their wingtips were to be avoided when they were alive, having the capability to stop your heart for a few moments if brushed against. Touch them longer and you’d never breath again. But luckily they never went near humans, so she was off the hook with the fluttering creatures.
Instead, River haunched over her sketch-in-progress, her metallic prosthetic hand gripping a pencil of charcoal. Black curls of shoulder length hair draped around her and stuck to particularly pale skin, while one bare foot hung loosely into the stream water beside her. A smile played at her lips, because even though— Ironically enough— She’d drowned in the lake that this stream emptied into, it still didn’t bother her to be near it. That’d been how her beloved twin brother, Thomas, found out his abilities included healing others. When their father fished her out and pumped the water out of her lungs, her seven year old body still didn’t come to, until Thomas stepped up and held a hand over each one of her lungs.
Also, yeah, she’d died too, but he’d revived her, so all was well.
But even if he could bring someone back from that, humanity would never welcome them, after all, they were Lastless. The bad guys from birth all because somewhere, hundreds of years up in their lines of genetics, some ancestor had been exposed to radioactive energy due to the nuclear weapons going off left and right.
Now, ten years after drowning, she sat on moss beside the stream’s edge as her hands were drawing dark patterns on the clean white sheet of paper. She’d shaped the stray lines into a human skull, moss growing from the mouth like a tongue and daisies growing from the eye sockets.
As she drummed along, a song began to hum from her lips. It was ridiculously old, some sort of twisted child’s song about the great plague of London in the 1660’s. She’d heard about it once and now it randomly decided to bounce around her head.
“Ring around the rosy
Pockets full of posy
Ashes
To ashes…
We all fall down!”
That’s fricken awesome!!!!! PUBLISH IT!!!!! I want to reeeeaaaadddd itHey, I love it! I think the basis for it is great, I'll be happy to read it if you decide to publish it
Aw, thanks Butterscotch!
Alright, here's the first page of my book.
PROLOGUE
Life brings death.
Or maybe life is death. Either way, they seemed one and the same to River Fallyn.
The woods were alive and throbbing around her, but soon dusk would fall and she’d have to slam closed her sketch book and scurry back to her father’s— Misham’s— cabin. Even for someone who’d lived their entire seventeen years of life in Dunkel forest knew to never stay out late into the night. Half-breeds roamed free here, and most of the dangerous ones were nocturnal. That was part of the sadistic beauty of living in exile here— People didn’t follow in fear of their own accidental creations.
Still, the scrawny girl didn’t flinch when Strikers started flicking through the trees, the little blue birds’ wings sparkling with electricity. Their wingtips were to be avoided when they were alive, having the capability to stop your heart for a few moments if brushed against. Touch them longer and you’d never breath again. But luckily they never went near humans, so she was off the hook with the fluttering creatures.
Instead, River haunched over her sketch-in-progress, her metallic prosthetic hand gripping a pencil of charcoal. Black curls of shoulder length hair draped around her and stuck to particularly pale skin, while one bare foot hung loosely into the stream water beside her. A smile played at her lips, because even though— Ironically enough— She’d drowned in the lake that this stream emptied into, it still didn’t bother her to be near it. That’d been how her beloved twin brother, Thomas, found out his abilities included healing others. When their father fished her out and pumped the water out of her lungs, her seven year old body still didn’t come to, until Thomas stepped up and held a hand over each one of her lungs.
Also, yeah, she’d died too, but he’d revived her, so all was well.
But even if he could bring someone back from that, humanity would never welcome them, after all, they were Lastless. The bad guys from birth all because somewhere, hundreds of years up in their lines of genetics, some ancestor had been exposed to radioactive energy due to the nuclear weapons going off left and right.
Now, ten years after drowning, she sat on moss beside the stream’s edge as her hands were drawing dark patterns on the clean white sheet of paper. She’d shaped the stray lines into a human skull, moss growing from the mouth like a tongue and daisies growing from the eye sockets.
As she drummed along, a song began to hum from her lips. It was ridiculously old, some sort of twisted child’s song about the great plague of London in the 1660’s. She’d heard about it once and now it randomly decided to bounce around her head.
“Ring around the rosy
Pockets full of posy
Ashes
To ashes…
We all fall down!”
- Nov 12, 2018
- 3,816
- 15,205
- 661
Hey, I love it! I think the basis for it is great, I'll be happy to read it if you decide to publish it
Aw, thanks Butterscotch!
Alright, here's the first page of my book.
PROLOGUE
Life brings death.
Or maybe life is death. Either way, they seemed one and the same to River Fallyn.
The woods were alive and throbbing around her, but soon dusk would fall and she’d have to slam closed her sketch book and scurry back to her father’s— Misham’s— cabin. Even for someone who’d lived their entire seventeen years of life in Dunkel forest knew to never stay out late into the night. Half-breeds roamed free here, and most of the dangerous ones were nocturnal. That was part of the sadistic beauty of living in exile here— People didn’t follow in fear of their own accidental creations.
Still, the scrawny girl didn’t flinch when Strikers started flicking through the trees, the little blue birds’ wings sparkling with electricity. Their wingtips were to be avoided when they were alive, having the capability to stop your heart for a few moments if brushed against. Touch them longer and you’d never breath again. But luckily they never went near humans, so she was off the hook with the fluttering creatures.
Instead, River haunched over her sketch-in-progress, her metallic prosthetic hand gripping a pencil of charcoal. Black curls of shoulder length hair draped around her and stuck to particularly pale skin, while one bare foot hung loosely into the stream water beside her. A smile played at her lips, because even though— Ironically enough— She’d drowned in the lake that this stream emptied into, it still didn’t bother her to be near it. That’d been how her beloved twin brother, Thomas, found out his abilities included healing others. When their father fished her out and pumped the water out of her lungs, her seven year old body still didn’t come to, until Thomas stepped up and held a hand over each one of her lungs.
Also, yeah, she’d died too, but he’d revived her, so all was well.
But even if he could bring someone back from that, humanity would never welcome them, after all, they were Lastless. The bad guys from birth all because somewhere, hundreds of years up in their lines of genetics, some ancestor had been exposed to radioactive energy due to the nuclear weapons going off left and right.
Now, ten years after drowning, she sat on moss beside the stream’s edge as her hands were drawing dark patterns on the clean white sheet of paper. She’d shaped the stray lines into a human skull, moss growing from the mouth like a tongue and daisies growing from the eye sockets.
As she drummed along, a song began to hum from her lips. It was ridiculously old, some sort of twisted child’s song about the great plague of London in the 1660’s. She’d heard about it once and now it randomly decided to bounce around her head.
“Ring around the rosy
Pockets full of posy
Ashes
To ashes…
We all fall down!”
LOVE IT. L-O-V-E IT.
I love all the books I have read on here!!!
But have some faith in yourselves! Everyone can finish a book, if they have good mindset!
But have some faith in yourselves! Everyone can finish a book, if they have good mindset!
Awww thanks that’s so niceI love all the books I have read on here!!!
But have some faith in yourselves! Everyone can finish a book, if they have good mindset!
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