r/FictionWriting

It seems like a lot of short stories and novels are in first-person now, regardless of genre.

Centuries have now passed since the sun was the sole spectacle we could observe when we saw at the skies. A long forgotten time when night and day were not separate blocks of time in our minds, but organized as one big play of lights and shadows, all conducted and held by the sun herself. Ancestors of ours were never quite familiar with the dark, in fact some could lead entire lives without having experienced it at all. That was the sun's fault. She could never sum up enough will to bring herself down, bring herself away from the beautiful rollercoaster view that was us. 

Season after season, she would hover over us like a child who hangs their head over water to watch the fish. Watch the fish swim, eat, and swim into one another. The chaos and contradictory nature of man had made for great captivation, and it had her there. Being particularly enthralled by families and groups, she would occasionally dim her sunshine because she knew that the little creatures below would conjure meaning to the change of light, thus gather for celebration. Each time she would manipulate us in this manner, her head would fill with notions of herself as sovereign, notions that would quickly shatter for she would be reminded of her limitations in rule, that is full ones. She could never quite reach us as she so desperately wanted. Converse with us, or even give hints that she was more conscious than we believed her to be. Frustrated and hopeless. These were the same emotions she had time and time again seen in the lives of the little people, and although she did not feast when she saw man in a state of misery, it did deepen her love for us.
With each and every awakening of the people the sun was there. She was there all until the very last man went into his cover and there stayed until the time for awakening came again. Of course no man’s schedule was the same as the other, and so naturally someone was always out for the sun to watch. But even if there had not been, she would not have moved. Through hoarding her spot this way, resentment grew in the only other that knew man and still loved him. 

The affection had grown overtime from the far away seat behind the sun herself, by sole glimpses of human life that had escaped the sun but been fetched by this character. They reprised these few for a long time, looking forward to the time when the sun would share her seat with them so they together could for the rest of time admire humankind. A foolish hope to hold, and eventually that would be realized. After having lived off of the fractioned memories of generations long gone, this character could no longer suffer in the absence of us, and so a plan that would undo the old world and begin ours, had to be formed.

I've been told that if a romance story ends tragically, not necessarily with a protagonist's death, as long as the two don't have a happily ever after, it's not romance. I feel sad about this, 'cause tragedies are memorable, conventional happy endings are forgettable. Think about Titanic, La La Land, If Only, Great Gatsby, various Nicholas Spark adaptations, just to name a few. They're really profound.

And I wonder if you guys have read any, other than the classics. It could be that one lover sacrificed for the other; one willingly left for the benefit of the other; one or both traded their relationship for career, duty or other callings.

Some authors spend more time researching their worldbuilding than they do building the words of the stories themselves, and some just sit down with a vague idea and let their characters take the wheel; both are valid, but there are tradeoffs we might not always consider when we're eager to get a story from the brain to the page.

For example, plenty of fiction (both written word and film) treats waking from a coma like waking from a nap; that's simply not the reality, even if it can be a handy plot device. Research can help immensely with suspension of disbelief, especially if the reader is more familiar with the particulars of some scenario you're writing; even if the exact details aren't spelled out in black and white, their implications still matter to those who know enough to look for them.

I'm writing a scene in which a man who had all four limbs broken in a previous chapter gets the casts off; there was no chance of surgical repair and the underequipped doctor has done his best, but the reality of four weeks of complete immobility and scarce food is not a pretty one. Even if the injured man were airlifted out of my story directly to the best rehabilitation facility in the world it would take days to regain most of the movement in the joints, weeks to walk without help, and months of intensive therapy to recover enough strength to call it good enough; the fellow will likely never be as strong, quick, or full of stamina as he was before.

If I were a reader and had never known anyone who was seriously injured, I wouldn't care. I'd be fine with him fighting his way out of the building, outrunning anyone searching for him, or climbing a fence to escape. But having known someone who was bedridden for weeks and took months to bounce back, that would take me right out of the story and add it to my DNF pile on the bottom shelf.

What fraction of potential readers are you willing to turn off to keep from having to do some homework? If you're doing a series, how many sequel sales would it take for you to feel like the extra time is worth it?

I’m writing a sort of outline for a story I might upload online, and I’m stuck on a character the MC meets. Right now he’s talking to himself and being anxious about whether or not my main character is real. Now the problem here is, I don’t know whether or not that’s accurate to how Schizophrenia actually works. I’m not going like “AHH UR NOT REAL, I HEAR VOICES!!!”, but at the same time I don’t if I’m under exaggerating his condition. Help me!!!

Hi, my name is Ethan Scott, and I’m the author of Requiem! A new horror novel I self-published, Requiem is the story of Jean Deschamps, a French friar, during the Plague of 1348.

Sent by The Church to the town of Weymouth, Dorset to investigate the beginnings of The Black Plague, Requiem follows Jean as he interviews the families victimized by The Plague, meets new acquaintances, makes new friends, and as he uncovers darker secrets than the history of the outbreak’s mysterious appearance.

Romance, monsters, mystery, and horror await in this brand new story: available on Amazon in E-Book and paperback formats!

I really just need some cheerleaders! I'm 55,000 words into the first draft of my first novel (historical fiction), and I'm so bored of writing 'the shitty first draft'. I know it needs to get done, I need the bones before I can make it good. I'm worried about how much effort it's going to take to make it make sense as currently names, timelines, and characters still aren't fully formed.

So feel free to tell me how shitty your first draft was and remind me Im not alone and this is how it gets done.

Thanks!!!

First post of the story I'm writing, hoping to get some help with it

DAY 1

I was scrolling through TikTok when I came across a video about zombies and the apocalypse, with what looked like evidence. I went to Google and began to research it, and what I found was alarming: zombies were rapidly spreading across the United States and the world, so I started learning new skills and practicing swordsmanship, while also ordering a full set of iron knight armor and an anvil to begin forging.

A month later, zombies began to appear in my neighborhood. As everyone was driving out of the neighborhood, I moved my family to the hill where the large, empty water silo sat, breaking down the door to get inside and cleaning it up, telling them to start building four floors. While they did that, I went back into the neighborhood to begin collecting supplies and killing the zombies that I found. They all fell one by one. They seemed to be weak zombies.

Going back to my house, I grabbed the chickens and put them into a sled so I could carry them all up the hill, and grabbed an axe from another house to chop down the trees on the way up. Each tree fell one by one. It had been almost 4 hours since I went down from the hill. I had carved a path in the forest to get up and down easily. I kept walking towards the silo to drop off the chickens.

When I got there, they were hard at work building the four floors. They had almost finished the first floor's frame by the time I got there. I dropped off the chickens, and with the sled, I went back down to collect all of the tree trunks that I had chopped down. It took nearly 3 hours, even with breaks, to collect the trees and chop down more for the wood we needed for the base.

By the end of the day, the first floor was finished. There was about an hour before the sun went down, so I went back to the house and grabbed the mattresses for everyone to sleep on. The sun had gone down by the time I got back. I had also grabbed a few flashlights, and with the stone I had collected throughout the day, I began to build a forge outside of the building while also breaking down a small portion of the wall to let air in and out so we don’t overheat during the night.

I had just finished building the new forge when they called me in to eat dinner. I took off my armor and propped up my sword on the wall and began to eat next to everyone else. After dinner, we went to sleep. The night went by fast and without any problems.

I've always struggled with writing. I can imagine wonderful worlds, stories, love, loss, you name it... but when it comes to sitting down and writing, well, i dont know, I have a hard time writing the first word. The second, even the thousandth is easy, but the first...

Anyway, I've finally decided on a novella to write that explores all the wonders of belonging, family, love, etc. My wife is working this weekend, so I settle in and decide I'm going to write. And there it is: paralysis.

I decide instead I'll read a little. The book is horrible, of course (and I've since dropped it because it was a tropefest - thanks again Instagram, your recommendations suck), but a single line in it inspires me. I sit down, and over the course of 2 days I write 12,000 words. I'm pumped! There's only one problem: its the wrong book. No, worse! Its book 2 of a planned trilogy and I haven't even started book 1.

Anyway, how's everyone's weekend?