This is my first book. I am trying to write. It will mainly follow the gameplay of pressure, but I might add some unique stuff or a different ending. This is what I have so far for my book I will take constructive criticism. And it would be pretty nice to see how my book is going to other people besides my parents.
My beta reader told me this. So I did a search. 88 of them in 3,500 words. If you don't mind, could you please look at one of your sets of 3.5k and see how many "ands" there are? I want to see how much of an outlier I am.
I hate choppy writing with a passion, so there's no way I'm going to reduce the length of sentences, but I can try other methods. I don't think it's a crazy amount though, so I want proof that it is.
I need a personal developmental editor* (Cant change post title at this point in time) Im interested in non fiction writing. I love writing personal essays.
I dont even know how to phrase this. I just want someone to read a ~700 word piece Im very proud of. Keeps getting removed by automods on other subs.
Posted on medium and substack (tried just posting the link but still got removed(cant post self promo or something i guess?)) No views at all on both platforms.
I just want opinions. Cant share with friends its quite intimate.
The piece is about demonisation of insecurity(i view this as a response to hyper individualism)and the role of narrative in ego architecture (this is just background not really the content but im not really getting responses so hopefully this gives some idea)
I can picture the scene clearly in my head, but when I try to write it down everything suddenly feels flat. I either describe too little and the settings feels empty or too much and it starts sounding forced. Dialogue and characters come easier to me but settings always slow me down.
https://apps.apple.com/us/app/humanize-ai-text-rewriter/id6738139751 only on App Store
I’m going to personally review it after I use it. Used once so far so good!
I, many times before, have been complacent.
I've given into conformity and sucked society's dick. I've done what everyone has told me to do.
For what?
I've shut up so that it wouldn't offend others.
Nobody fucking cares about YOU. They care about their goddamn selves.
Even Mother Fucking Theresa had her own damn plan and she didn't give a fuck what other people thought about it.
Honestly, what is it that we claim Jesus did for others in order to abolish our sins?
Oh yeah, he was fucking crucified.
I mange år følte jeg mig bagud i livet.
Jeg voksede op med stress, dårlige miljøer og meget kaos omkring mig. Jeg gemte mig bag computeren, spillede hele dagen og troede ærligt talt ikke rigtigt på mig selv.
Jeg er ordblind, havde svært ved skolen og følte ofte, at jeg stod udenfor, mens alle andre fulgte den “normale” vej.
På et tidspunkt begyndte jeg at træne kampsport, og det ændrede mit mindset fuldstændigt.
Langsomt begyndte jeg at tage ansvar for mit liv, træne hver dag og arbejde på mig selv mentalt.
Jeg ville egentlig bare høre,
hvad har været et vendepunkt i jeres eget liv?
Stærkere end undskyldninger.
Findes på. Madsandreasen.com
im writing a story, My horror story revolves around a scary school. Pretty cliche. BUT, here's the thing, throughout the story, many students perish. But the school still stands, how on earth is that possible? the obvious answer is that these deaths are often hidden by the main character. Now, there is a cult behind this character, and my previous stance was that this cult takes charge of hiding these deaths. mainly because these are caused by the supernatural being they brought to this space. However, it just doesnt feel realistic: I get it, stories shouldnt always feel realistic but this just does not feel grounded in the context of a story that is almost entirely set in the real world. Even if the deaths remain hidden, the characters still dissapear, and the families should search, the school should close temporarily if all the characters dying belong to it.
how do i get around this?
this is specially difficult because this story advances in my discord server through roleplay, so im trying to get around the fact that people will question me and will want to make some of their characters die too.
Lysander is one of millions of players entering a newly released full-dive VR LitRPG developed by a major company. On the surface, it presents itself as a vast open-world game built around leveling, exploration, and combat, with players spawning randomly across a network of cities. One of its most noticeable mechanics is the city boundary system: when players walk into the edges of a city, they don’t pass through normally—they are instantly teleported to the opposite side of the mapped region. It feels strange, but most players accept it as just another design choice.
Lysander, however, doesn’t treat the world that way. He approaches the game less like a fantasy experience and more like something that can be tested and understood. While other players focus on quests and progression, he begins noticing small inconsistencies that don’t fit the idea of a stable system. One of the earliest is a repeating phenomenon at exactly 2:14 AM in-game time, where parts of the environment briefly flicker or disappear for fractions of a second. It’s subtle enough that most players never notice it, but it repeats often enough that Lysander begins documenting it.
As he expands his observations, another pattern emerges. Across multiple districts in his starting city, seemingly unrelated structures—especially light poles—share a subtle but consistent directional bias. When he maps these angles carefully, they converge toward a single point deep within the city. There is no explanation for this in-game, and searching for answers online leads nowhere useful. The forums contain fragments of strange reports, but nothing consistent enough to form a conclusion. It’s as if no one has ever managed to hold onto the information long enough for it to matter.
Following this convergence leads Lysander to a run-down building that appears long abandoned, likely once a laboratory or maintenance facility. Inside, the truth of the city begins to shift. The entire city is, in effect, controlled by a Border Master—a hidden entity operating as a maintenance force for the city’s boundary system. It is not presented as a boss or named as anything important; to the game world, it is simply part of how the city functions. But within this facility, it is physically present: a small, unsettling figure in a mechanical suit, silently maintaining unknown systems as if the city itself depends on its work.
Lysander’s presence breaks its silence. A single misstep onto a loose metal sheet produces a sound that triggers immediate detection. Without hesitation or warning, the Border Master turns and throws an electric wrench at extreme speed. Lysander is killed instantly.
When he respawns, the system no longer treats his death normally. Instead of the standard one-hour respawn timer, he is locked into a twenty-four-hour delay. No explanation is provided. Alongside this change, he receives a status: Marked by Border Authority. It has no description, no tutorial, and no visible effects, but it registers as something that places him differently within the game’s internal rules.
After returning, Lysander resumes his investigation rather than abandoning it. He continues refining his mapping of the 2:14 anomaly and confirms that the pattern is consistent and structured rather than random. His leveling progresses naturally through repeated travel and exploration rather than focused grinding. Eventually, another irregularity appears in a different part of the city—one that behaves more unstable than anything he has seen before. It reinforces the suspicion that what he encountered is not isolated to a single location, but part of a broader system operating beneath normal gameplay.
He eventually teams up with a crafter-type player who understands materials, construction, and environmental behavior far better than combat. Together, they begin testing unstable zones using crafted devices and controlled environmental disturbances, slowly building a working understanding of how certain areas react when disrupted. One consistent observation stands out: specific zones appear to revolve around a central structural point that the system actively protects.
That leads them back into the Border Master’s domain. The city they are in is not just influenced by the Border Master—it is fully controlled by it. At the center of its maintenance zone is a strange crystal embedded into the structure of the environment. Neither of them understands what it is, only that the Border Master consistently prioritizes anything that disturbs its vicinity. Using that behavior, they set up noise traps and controlled environmental triggers around and directly on the crystal itself, not as weapons, but as a way to force its attention and manipulate its response patterns.
The Border Master reacts exactly as expected. It begins prioritizing the disturbances around the crystal, throwing its electric wrench at extreme speed toward each triggered point. Under sustained pressure, the crystal is eventually struck and cracks. At that moment, something begins to leak from it—not magic, but a shifting spatial distortion, as though the structure of the world itself is briefly destabilizing and misaligning in that area.
As the situation escalates, the Border Master’s behavior becomes less precise, as if the system it relies on is degrading alongside the crystal. Lysander and his partner barely survive as the environment collapses into instability. Eventually, through accumulated disruption, structural failure, and environmental collapse triggered by their traps and the weakened support around the crystal, it breaks completely. With it, the Border Master ceases functioning.
Immediately afterward, a system message appears:
Border Master of (City Name) defeated.
The borders of (City Name) have dropped.
There is no explanation, no clarification, and no indication of what “dropped” actually means—only the unmistakable implication that the structure of the city itself has fundamentally changed.
Hey all! I’ve been working on this for about a week and would love some feedback! It’s not super polished since I’m just trying to get the flow of ideas down on the page. I’m not a seasoned writer by any means so please tell me if I should find a new hobby! 😂
Chapter 1
Does it always have to be black and white? What about all the colors in between? Scarlet Reds, Royal Blues, Purple Mountain Majesty. Shades of white are often tainted cream or grey, and blacks are almost never truly black, but some shade of blue or green. Is anything ever truly black and white?
A pen twirls between my fingers. My eyes glaze over my essay. The flow of thoughts halts. I look back up at my title, “More Than Black and White” by artist Jana Hues. I’ve only just begun filling in my outline but I’m already lost in thought visualizing every stroke I’m going to add to my painting when I get home. I squirm in my seat. I don’t feel anything writing this essay. Memories of times past fill my head. The irony of how Dad hung my work in the entryway for any passerby to see; only to become a stranger to me. Mom kept me safe from him and now that he’s gone, she doesn’t need to anymore. I shake my head. I need to go home. I need to get out of my head. I close my laptop and open my desk drawer to put away my things. I pause. A sticky note is stuck to the inside of my drawer.
Go with the flow.
Was someone in my office? I close the drawer shut.
A knock on the door interrupts. I can see through the glass that it’s Wallace, my ex fiance and co-worker. I signal to come in.
“HR wanted me to relay the message, your mom called, She came in from her flight safely.”
“Thank you Wallace. I’m actually about to leave for the day… Did anyone come to my office while I was on break?”
Wallace curls his lip and shakes his head. He could have put it here… but how insensitive would that be after the week I’ve had. I broke up with him for many reasons but insensitivity was not one of them.
“The workload got to be too much for you eh?” He teases, eyeing the only assignment I’ve had for a week: my essay.
I grimace. “Right, like you know anything about how to handle a workload?” Despite our ex status we enjoy poking at each other as if we were siblings. “Goodbye Wallace.” I wave. He rolls his eyes and goes back to his business. I pack up my things and head to the garage.
Just before I make it to my exit the shining face of my little sister catches my eye. She chats with a stranger who leans against the building’s welcoming desk; he appears to be in his early thirties. My sister breaks eye contact with him and welcomes me with a smile. I’d really rather keep on my route home, but my sister is hard to escape.
“Oh my gosh! You have to meet this guy! He’s our new,” she turns to him, “sorry what did you say your job is?”
“It’s a pleasure, I’m your new exterior design specialist.” His focus shifts back and forth between us.
I tilt my head. I know everyone who works here, no one has mentioned an incoming “exterior design specialist.”
“Oh, welcome to the Art Institute!” I force a smile. His eyes narrow, almost microscopically. His looks are charming, but something about his expression makes me squirm.
I turn to my sister, “I’m going to get going early today.”
“Are you ok? Is it about your Dad? Because I can totally come by later and bring you some company,” she mutters. I exhale a little more forcefully than necessary. “No, it’s ok Shay. I’m going to get lost in my painting tonight and forget the world.”
“Okay. Call me tonight!” She pulls me in for a hug. I can still feel the man watching me as I pass and finally exit the building; but I do not allow myself to glance back.
I will be taking my sister up on that phone call. And he will be the main subject.
My phone is clutched between my ear and my shoulder as I fumble around my purse for my house key.
My mom answers, “Hey Jana! I came home safely!”
“I know mom. Wallace let me know.” I clasp my lips shut, I should really help mom tonight, “I decided to leave work early today. Do you want me to come that way in a little while to help you unpack?”
“Yes, please! Reah was going to come help too but she had to cancel at the last minute. Anyway, how is that young man!?”
“How should I know, Mom?” I shuffle my weight, “ You know, it really isn’t any of my business anymore.”
“I know, but could you find out for me? He’s a good kid. I miss having him around.”
“Alright Mom, I’ll do that” I chuckle. Sometimes she’s more like a nosy grandma than a mother. I pause ready to switch to a more somber subject, “how was the funeral?”
“Ummm,” my mom hesitates,“it’s a lot to talk about over the phone. I’ll tell you when you get here?”
“Sure. I’ll see you soon Mom.”
I finally retrieve the keys from my purse and walk up the drive way of my Italian style town home. It looks like one of my paintings, which is why I did not hesitate to say yes when the real estate agent offered it.
I dump my things in my entry way where I’m greeted by my maine coon cat, Cumbs. He rubs his soft cheeks all over my baggy overalls. He’s more like a dog than a cat, which is why I love him. I shuffle to round the corner where I am welcomed by the sight of my art studio. Blue lights line the room and the best kind of clutter fills every surface. My shoulders rest. This is my sanctuary. My painting sits just how I left it this morning: A black and white woman whose color lies in her hazel, gold speckled eyes. I make some green tea for a late afternoon pick me up and go straight to work on La Donna di Colore. The harsh memories of my childhood fade away. A couple hours go by before I decide it's time to go to my Mom’s house. My stomach grumbles. I’m sure mon will have food ready for me.
I dial up Mom to let her know I’m on my way. No answer. Well, I hope she’ll have dinner.
My car pulls in next to her brand new 2026 bright pink mustang… at least she moved into a pretty house. Its style is much like my own town home, but on a far grander scale. Columns and architecture frame each window and door with extravagance. Outside, it feels more like a wedding venue than a home.
I open the front door which Mom always leaves unlocked for me and call out. No response. “Mom, I’m here!” I repeat. Still nothing. It's not unlike her to begin something and lose track of time, and reality, as she focuses. She must be gardening or working on her book. I check the garden and her library office. In both I was equally met with silence.
Strange.
I call her. No answer. I try again as I breeze through every room in the house. Nothing. I pause in the living room. A book sits halfway open on the couch. Mom never leaves anything sitting out. She sits with it until it's done or she puts it away in its spot. As small a detail as it is, it's enough to spike my blood pressure. I close my eyes hard and grab my face.
Mom, where are you?
My thoughts are blurred from adrenaline. I decide to call Wallace. When he answers I immediately jump to asking questions. “When my mom called the office did she mention anything else?”
“N-no? You good you never c…,” I hang up and dial my sister. No response. Seriously, Shay pick up! I try again. Still no response. I send her a text.
I can’t find mom. Call me!
For now I have no one else to call… except 911.
The sun nearly passes beneath the horizon. Red and blue lights are backed up to the street. I sit on the steps beneath the front door folding myself into my Mom’s brown cardigan which I took to keep the evening chill off my shoulders. An officer questions me. I recall the entire day. I explain I have not been in contact with her at all today, until I called her when I got home from work.
“You haven’t been able to get in touch with your half sister either, it’s half sister right?” The officer asks.
“No I haven’t and yes she is.”
“We’ll send an officer to locate her and update her on the situation.”
If she hasn’t gone missing too, “Thank you.”
“This funeral your mother went to, who was it for?”
“My father. Her ex husband.”
The officer’s expression towards me changes," I see. Why weren’t you and your sister there as well?”
“He wasn’t much of a father.” I explain,“Not one worth putting my job on hold to fly across the country for. And my sister, she had no connection to him. She lived with her dad when we were kids.”
The officer nods, “Has your mother been around anyone suspicious or complained about any suspicious activity?”
“Not that I know of. I don’t really know her friends. Though she has mentioned a friend named Reah a time or two. That’s really all the information I have on her social life.”
The officer thanks me and goes to his colleagues to consult with them before returning to me. “ Usually in adult cases we wait it out until the individual shows up. But since her car is still here, we agreed it would be best if we do an extensive investigation until she turns up. Does she have any cameras?”
I shake my head “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”
Dammit Mom, why don’t I know these things?
The officer nods, “We’ll do all we can to find your mother. In the meantime we have everything we need from you. You’re free to go. We’ll give you a call if anything turns up.”
“I can’t stay here?”
“I’m sorry but until we know for sure whether or not this is a crime scene, it would be best if you do not interfere.”
I nod then go to my car and sit. Frozen. I remember that sticky note.
Go with the flow.
No. I shake my head. That had to be one of Wallace’s jokes.
My phone vibrates. My sister's goofy face illuminates the screen. Thank God she’s safe! My finger dashes to the right of the screen.
“Mom’s missing???”
“I don’t know, Shay. I - I came over to help her unpack and she’s just, not here. Can you meet me at mom’s house now?”
“Yeah. Stay there, I'm coming!” She hangs up.
The glow of the red and blue lights becomes more saturated as the night grows darker. Shay pulls in. I stand in the driveway waiting while the police question her. My eyes stare at mom’s house but my mind is not in sync with them.
I find myself remembering everything I’ve pushed down all week. One parent disappeared from my life with little explanation as to why. And now, so has mom. But this time, it was not a choice. It couldn’t have been…
Shay walks towards me. She’s hugging herself, and holding back tears.
“How could this happen?” She cries. I fold my arms around her.
“We’ll find her, I promise.” I release the embrace, “did the police tell you anything else?”
Shay shakes her head, “There’s got to be something we can do.”
“I know. I just don’t know, Shay. I search every room! I can’t imagine what might have happened. I don’t want to get in the way of the police!”
Shay focuses her eyes, the same way she does every time her mind is determined, “Have you talked to Wallace about all this?”
“Not exactly. I-”
Shay pulls out her phone and dials Wallace. I offset my jaw. I don’t want him involved in this. Today is already complicated . Before I have a chance to protest, she explains the entire situation to him.
She gets off the phone. “Wallace wants to meet us. He’s gonna help us find her.”
I take a deep inhale, “Okay.” if it has to be him, it has to be him.
My stomach now feels like it's eating itself. I still have not eaten dinner. “Could you ask him to meet us at La Cantina? I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
Shay agrees. I get in my car and start it but I cannot bring myself to pull out of the driveway just yet. I have to call her. Just one more time.
It tones. It tones. It tones …. No answer. Now that the adrenaline has worn off I can feel the full weight of the situation. Mom isn’t standing in the doorway waving goodbye as I prepare to leave.
She isn’t here.
My eyes fight to stay fixed on the scene, but eventually I bring myself to pull out of the driveway.
I pull into a parking lot tucked tightly between two buildings in the downtown area. I exit the vehicle and make my way inside to one of mine and my mom’s favorite hang out spots, La Cantina. I go inside and am greeted by my sister and Wallace. We all sit down at a booth. We fill him in on every detail.
“Do you think you can do it?” I ask Wallace. He is a private investigator, though he doesn’t look the part. His job at the art institute is only part time.
“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I’ll do my best. And don’t worry, I won’t change you.” He winks. I roll my eyes. He’s always been so ridiculously cheeky.
“So what’s the plan?” Shay asks.
“Well, I definitely don’t have one yet, but I’ll be up all night thinking, I’m sure.”
We all talk about the good times we’ve had with Mom. Even Wallace. Sometimes I think he loved her more than me. When we finished our meals, Shay and I decide that I should stay at her place tonight. If someone did take mom, it’s best that neither of us are alone.
We go our separate way to our vehicle. I load my left overs into the passenger seat.
“Miss!” I hear a voice call out. Before I even have time to fully turn around a force yanks me and pins me between their body and my car.
I scream.
A cloth covers my mouth and nose bringing with it a burning sensation. I fight their grip but the more I fight it the tighter their hold around my small frame becomes. I try to hold my breath so as not to breathe in any more of the burning compound, but soon I grow weak and succumb to the darkness.
Chapter 2
The workings of an engine and the sound of wind beating against the sides of a vehicle are all I hear. I lay half awake. I don’t remember falling asleep. I continue in this half awake state for a moment before it hits me… I don’t remember falling asleep in a car! I jolt upwards. My eyes bounce in every direction. I don’t recognize this place. It looks like I’m in the back of an empty van. I try to scurry to my feet but my wrists catch around a pole. I am chained and surrounded by nothing but metal walls. I slide my wrists up the pole to stand then pound on the barrier between me and where the driver should be, though I cannot see them. “HEY! WHAT IS THIS ABOUT?!” No response. “HEY!” I keep pounding. “HEY!!!”
They just keep driving. I slide back down to sit.
I feel around my pockets to see if my kidnappers left my phone or anything in my pockets. They did not. I reach up to feel my hair, it's still up in bobby pins! I bring my hands to my head and pull one out of my hair and try my best to use it to pick the lock. Dammit! It won’t fit!
I shrivel up, tremors overcome me. I remember, Mom…. Am I about to find out first hand where mom is? It can’t be a coincidence. Mom goes missing, now this. I can’t help but wonder, if somehow, someway, Dad is involved. What feels like hours go by. I do not sleep. I just sit thinking. I can’t get stuck in my head right now; yet I find myself there. Wondering if mom is alive, and when this is all over, will I be?
Eventually the van slows to a stop. A clunky step leaps out of the van. The doors on the other end of the vehicle finally swing open. Blinding sunlight floods the van. I’ve been in here all night at least.
A large figure steps in. When my eyes come into focus, I see a familiar unsettling glare. He is the man from the Hallway. The “exterior design specialist.”
“You!” My chest tightens. He steps closer. “GET BACK!” I scream. He keeps coming. I kick at him with all the strength I have, though it is next to none. He doesn’t react but reaches down and begins to unlock my chains.
“Shhh, Just go with it. You’ll be okay.”
I cock my head, “YOU KIDNAPPED ME!”
He grimaces.
The chains come undone. I could escape. He doesn’t have a weapon and now my hands are free. But I’m so weak. The man reaches down and firmly grabs me by the arm. He hurdles me to my feet and carries me out of the van. My feet hit the ground. He is no longer blocking my path. I try to run but I lose my footing after a couple steps. I push myself up but don’t get far before those same arms that grabbed me last night grab me again and carry me the opposite direction of where I was trying to run. I kick and scream, but it does nothing. He brings me inside a house and sits me down on a couch in a large, open family room.
“You’re not going to outrun me.” He says, pulling back. He backs away several feet, to my surprise, giving a reasonable amount of space between us. I catch my breath.
He’s right. He is lean and strong, I am just an artist who does pilates a few times a week. If I am going to get away, I will have to outsmart him.
I scan my surroundings. The room is modern and luxurious. Grey and white overtake nearly every surface. Small pops of color are brought in through decorative accents. A loft overlooks the family room and large pointed windows cover the entire north face of the home. I turn my eyes to the window. I’m in a desert, far different from the lush hills and valleys of Virginia that I grew up in.
“Where are we?” I ask
“Albuquerque, New Mexico,” He states.
“Albuquerque? How long was I out?”
“Long enough.”
Albuquerque. I haven’t been here since the last time I saw Dad. Looks like I was going on that trip whether I wanted to or not.
The man shifts his weight, “Let’s get you settled.”
“No! I want answers!”
A hint of impatience flashes across his expression,“Not now.”
I look at him, now with more confidence than I had in the hallway knowing for certainty that he is a snake. “Did you know my father? Is that why I’m here?”
His eyes narrow,“In a way. I knew of him.”
“What does that mean?” I scoff.
He holds his breath for a moment, then a long exhale. He does not speak.
“Where’s my Mom?”
His eyes look deeper into mine. “Your mom hasn’t been honest with you.”
I glare at him as though he’s not just a snake, but Satan himself, “Are you accusing her of something?”
He draws closer to me, kneels down on my level and grabs my shoulder. He holds my gaze, “How do you think she was able to afford that house and that brand new car?” He raises his eyebrows.
I stare blank. I can’t think about this right now.
He shakes his head,“Come with me. You should sleep.” He pulls me off the couch and leads me down a hallway with a hand hovering behind my back and a firm hold around my arm.
“Can you at least tell me if my sister is safe?” I ask as we walk.
“I can’t make any promises.” He states.
I instinctively pull away but his grip combats my movement.
Shay, please be alright.
We stop at the entrance of a bedroom. I peek inside. Its tones are warm. Silk bedding and a private bathroom add a layer of luxury to the room but bars cover the window, bringing the whole room down a notch. He guides me across the threshold. I am too exhausted to fight him, though I am unsure of when I will cross over it again. The door closes behind me and the lock immediately clicks. For the moment I ignore the fact that I am in captivity. I just want to sleep. I curl up on the welcoming mattress and before thoughts have a chance to overtake me, slip into the deepest sleep of my life.
My eyes flutter open. I breathe deeply taking in my new reality. Slowly, I rise from my heavy slumber and turn my head to the window. It is sunrise. A desk sitting on the narrow side of the room across from the foot of the bed catches my attention. A small canvas sitting on an easel and a jar full of brushes clutter the surface. I inch my sore, stiff body to the desk and explore its drawers. There is a full spectrum of paints and paint palettes. I have a number of questions for that man when he comes back. Why does he want me to paint? Will he get something out of it? None of this makes any sense. I ignore the paint supplies for now and resolve to take a warm shower.
When I get out of the shower I wrap myself in the soft plushy robe hanging in the bathroom closet and tie my hair up in the towel. I hear a knock on the door. My heart stops. Could now be the time to escape? Or at least, get some questions answered?
“Hello?” I call
The voice of a woman responds, “Hello Jana. The Big Man wanted me to bring you some things. May I enter?”
Dammit. It's not him.
I sigh, “Yes.”
The sound of keys fumbling and scraping the inside of the lock brings me hope. The door opens and the woman enters. She wears a brown leather jacket over black clothing. I recognize the jacket as being one commonly worn by those who conceal cary. I can only assume she has a gun. Maybe I can get my hands on that jacket somehow.
Her arms are loaded with a tray of breakfast foods, and numerous outfits. I eye these things confused. These are the people who kidnapped me?
“Would you please tell me what’s going on?” I demand.
The woman stares for a moment, “What has he told you?”
“Nothing.”
The woman gulps down hard, “I’m terribly sorry. I know this is scary for you. Please take comfort in knowing we will give you everything you need while you are here.”
“Yeah? And why am I here?” I blurt.
She sighs,“I know it's hard for you to believe right now, but it is better that you are here than in Virginia.” The woman hands over the things.
I look down at my breakfast. Two pieces of bacon and two waffles topped with whipped cream - real whipped cream - and homemade strawberry puree. This is lovely. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. I can’t be sure of how long it's been since I’ve had a meal.
Mr. “Big Man,” kidnapped me before I had a chance to eat my dinner.
“When can I talk with that man again?”
“He plans to check on you this afternoon. I can’t promise he’ll tell you much though. Again, I’m so sorry.” She leaves, relocking the door. Heavy footed steps echo down the hallway.
I plop the items she gave me down on the bed then yank the towel off my head, nearly pulling out my hair.
I’M SICK OF BEING LEFT IN THE DARK.
I close my eyes and let out a sharp exhale. I need to calm down, or I’ll never escape.
I look at the clock just above the desk. It reads nearly eight. I have at least four hours to kill. I glance down at the art supplies. I wasn’t going to paint. Not until I knew these people’s motives, but I can’t stop myself.
I pick a paint brush and begin mixing paint colors. My breathing and heart rate slows. My thoughts become clear. I need that woman to come back in here.
I pull back from the painting and find myself satisfied with the result for now. Blurred splotches of lighter and darker greys fill the canvas. There are no clear lines. No clear perspective. Only uncertainty. Water droplets accent the painting. They are the only clear focus. I lean back in my chair and exhale. Now the clock reads just past noon.
He’s supposed to come see me soon. I’ll have to be quick.
I pull down the shower curtain rod and remove its curtain then position myself by the door. Confirming what I am about to do by letting out the biggest scream I could conjure, “HELP!” I yell, “HELP!!!” I keep yelling until I hear the woman run to the door and open it. Instantly, I give her the biggest blow to the head I can muster. She falls to the floor but is not unconscious. She leaps up and tackles me to the ground. We struggle but I have the edge and give her another good hit to the head with the rod. She is still conscious but disoriented. I take her jacket and her keys, run out of the room and lock her inside. I quickly feel inside the concealed pocket.
Bingo!
I run from the room towards the home’s front door before taking any time to think.
I need to hide until I know where he is.
There is a staircase in the entry way. I take cover behind it then peer out a window to see the driveway. There are two cars.
He could be here.
I think through my options. I can’t go through the hallway behind me. There are too many rooms. I could be cornered. The living room past the entryway is too open. My best bet is to leave through the front door. I run and try to open it. It doesn’t open. My eyes scramble. There’s a padlock.
I spin in circles trying to plan my next move, but before I take another step, I see him. He’s walking towards me from the family room. I pull out the gun and point it straight at him.
My eyes widen, I’ve never shot before.
“STOP!” I demand, “Give me the code or I will shoot you!”
He does not stop. He keeps walking towards me. There is no fear in his eyes.
“Jana, you are here for protection. Let me protect you.”
“Really? You sure have a funny way of ‘protecting’ me!”
“Put the gun down. I will explain everything. I think once I do you will choose to stay here.”
“Why didn’t you explain before?”
“There was no time!” His voice escalates. He is still walking towards me. Now he is under the door frame of the entryway.
“Stop! Explain now!”
He does not stop, he keeps coming closer. He’s too close.
I pull the trigger.
Snap.
DAMMIT THE SAFETY!
He moves. The gun shifts from my hands to his.
“YOU BASTARD!” I yell out as he wraps his arms around me. I struggle, again to no avail before he whisks me to the other side of the house.
Hi!
I’ve been working on a story since December called HotSpot.
I’m not very experienced with writing and figured I would come into some spaces to ask for some criticism and what I can work on, maybe grammer mistakes or anything of the sort. I do want it to be longer because I want to post this online eventually and this doesn’t even crack 2k characters but I don’t know what else to add for the first chapter.
I’ve made 2 tabs in this google document of the same premise but there’s two different intros. Please tell me which one you prefer
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-FO\_\_8PHA12ucMN8dyiphjb3Cys1kQsGfOsUYfeB6xQ/edit?usp=drivesdk
Our love is divine,heart and soul,body And mind,you are the music to my rhythm, I am the poet to your rhyme,no place is
Too far as long as we are together don't you know,take it to
Sweden with the winter rose or on over to Siberia with the ice
And snow,well, I'd follow you wherever you go,even in the
Shadow of the pyramids down in Cairo or down off the shores
Of Rio de janario where the warm,warm winds blow,well,I love
You with all my heart and soul and so where you go,I will
Follow,I will follow,I will follow wherever you go...
Come hail or high water our aim is true, passion like an ocean
Crashing,Venus in pieces and love everlasting,could be we
Were written in the stars and destined to be,maybe but all I
Know for sure is that I love you and you love me and
Wherever you go I will follow,right up the edge of the wide
Cliffs of dover,then over to the congo for wild hot summer,oh
Well I'd follow you wherever you go,up this road and down
That road,all the way from kilamounjara to Timbuktu because
I love you with all my heart and soul so wherever you go,I will
Follow,I will follow,I will follow wherever you go...
Come hurricanes or blizzards with gale force winds,we are in
This together through thick and thin,love of my life and my best
Friend,here we go again, watching the sunrise over a snow
Covered mountain in the Himalayan outback,high above the
City below,well, I'd follow you up this road and down that road,
Don't you know because I love you with all my heart and soul
And so, wherever you go I will follow,I will follow,I will follow,
Wherever you go!
14 from the songbook collection "Eyes Of Love"
Pathetic? Pathetic, he called me? That scab. Who does he think he is. He just sits behind his keyboard—probably in a pair of stretched out yoga pants that he stuffs a lifetime of defeat into. The cellulite started to look like a chessboard.
He didn’t understand me. How could he? He couldn’t. Why would he? He’s the Mac n cheese king. I’m just a peasant. A fool. But, he doesn’t know anything outside of a square screen. All he knows is the steady sound of buttons clicking. He didn’t even pay rent.
In the basement of his mother’s house, he hides in the dark with the flicker of a candle. When he’s not checking profiles, he’s making macaroni string necklaces. I hope he chokes on a dry noodle**.** That bastard. How dare he talk to me the way he did.
Did I retaliate? I did, I said with a smirk. I deserve respect. I demand respect. No. I command respect. Damn bullies. They’re everywhere.
Tomorrow I’ll wake up and forget he existed.
As for today, I’ll just simulate in my head every now and then, and write him as a character who plays goalie without any equipment and constantly takes slap shots to the groin.
I had to apologize. I had to. Not that I wanted to. And he still kept breathing down my neck. Believe that? The audacity. Damn coward. Damn. I’m the coward. I just sat there and took it, it sucks being a puppet.
Maybe he just wanted someone to give him a hug. I would have. Of course I would. I’m sure I would. Aside from the bacon grease sweating down his cheeks and the fungus stench radiating from under his rolls, he could be a good guy. For instance, there was this one time. There was a guy, he needed help, and buddy sat there for hours with him. Actually, now that I think about it, that was someone else.
I just launched a small writing platform built for writers who want freedom, not algorithms.
I'm opening 3 more spots and giving away free Writer Pro accounts (normally paid).
If you want a place to publish, grow, and connect with readers directly, let me know.
Happy to answer questions in the comments.
l've dedicated over two years to working hard on this platform and the book l've written for it. I've already dropped the prologue and chapter 1, and I'm currently writing chapter 2.
I've chosen four people to give free pro accounts to. I want us to come together and build something beautiful and safe for everyone, regardless of their background. I pay a fee for the site, domain, and other features that
'il be adding soon.
l've added many features that people love, but if there's a feature you'd like to see added, please let me know, and I'll do my best to make it happen. I'm just a young guy trying to help people find a way and make money while doing it. All I ask is that you give me a chance.
Reach
So I’ve been writing my first novel a few weeks , I’ve had it in my mind for years but with work and family I never found time till now.
So I’ve took the plunge and documented all my notes for the story , everything I can think of.
I’ve now written the first 9 chapters about 20k words.
I haven’t told anyone I have written I’d like to let them know but I’m scared they will tell me they don’t like it to be honest or lie to me and says it’s good or not read it
How do you guys deal with this?
Hi, my name is Amber and I like to set myself up for failure and then complain like a victim 🤡
Apologies in advance for the incoming rant! Feel like I am writing this mainly to get it out of my system, but would be very happy to hear your thoughts or advice.
My 150k word writing project is:
Either of those may be considered problematic, and together I have learned that they are basically radioactive.
The irony of utilizing AI in an Anti-AI piece is not lost on me. I did label this is "performance art" on the cover and even credit the AI as a co-author to be as upfront as I could. That said, this post is NOT to discuss whether or not this constitutes acceptable use. As per the rules, this is not the intended focus of this post, just for context. AI SUCKS, and I fully understand why any mention/use gives most writers the immediate ick... Because that is mostly how I tend to react myself, believe it or not!
The bulk of this project was created during a multi-day manic fever dream burst of inspiration, and initially I had absolutely no idea what to do with it. As something that served as an outlet for me, the first draft was very raw and personal. I was writing way outside my comfort zone and extremely divided on whether this artifact should be allowed to exist, let alone shared. My curiosity got the better of me, so floated it with a small number of beta readers. Maybe a negative reaction was what I needed to "let go" and move on, as the story had occupied my mind 24/7 for a week.
To my great surprise, people were intrigued and feedback was largely positive.
And it felt really validating.
I have been writing (yes "writing" not "generating" for those wondering) short stories for years, mostly dark fantasy, sharing on reddit now-and-again. A piece might get maybe 5 comments, 3 of them positive if I am lucky, and I could ride that high for the whole week. There is just something completely intoxicating about feeling seen and connected in that way when someone engages with and "understands" my writing. I am sure most if not all writers relate...
A few people with experiences similar or adjacent to the sexual abuse the project focuses on also got back to me, appreciated the take and encouraged me to share more widely. That was huge to me, as my main concern was that I wasn't treating that with enough sensitivity/responsibility despite the content warnings and the "transgressive horror" genre.
I posted a few places on reddit, asking for beta readers, but it didn't really take off. Until I posted on one of the larger subs including the first 20-page preview.
That blew up! Got like 400 upvotes and 100 requests to beta read. Again as someone who struggled to get eyes on my writing in the past I was thrilled. 150k words or 600ish pages is no small ask.
The first couple of beta readers binged it in a day. A several even wrote 1000+ word essay length responses.
Wow! The gratitude and high I felt was unreal.
Is this really working? Is this a viable thing that would maybe be read by 1000s is I was to release it? I started looking into maybe hiring a professional editor and self-publishing. What I had was just a lightly edited first draft, still pretty rough.
But then I was discouraged to learn that the subject matter around incest and the sexual content basically made it unpublishable on all platforms that exist. Knowing works like Days of Sodom and Lolita are sold on amazon, I just presumed that wouldn't be the case, but guess those were grandfathered in...
In the end I decided just to put out the full thing for free on AO3, apparently the only platform capable of hosting this level of depravity.
As a non-fanfic, I didn't really expect it to get any visibility, but slowly I have been watching the kudos and comments, and by any measure it seems to be doing quite well for an Original Work on there...
Still, rereading the feedback and recounting the strong reception of the preview/beta reader request post (40k views of preview on reddit in 2 days vs 2k views for full story on AO3 after 1 week), a perhaps delusional part of me believes it has potential to reach and be appreciated by more people.
So self-inflected frustration is brewing:
At this point I am thinking, maybe I should just try to get this up on good reads, to at least make it self-discoverable? Maybe the reviews will speak for themselves, and it might reach a few hundred more people?
Maybe I could spend a few thousand dollars to get spots in a few extreme horror newsletters, or maybe get a few booktubers to talk about it? idk...
I am not looking to monetize this in anyway, just getting a lot of joy from being read. You know...
So what am I asking here? also idk. As writers, do anyone here relate? What would you do in my situation? Am I delulu?
And perhaps more actionable. Are you aware of any options I might have for getting this out there? Any experiences with alternative channels for transgressive writing?
I included excerpts from every piece of feedback I received so far. Below. Am I crazy to think that this is pretty promising feedback for a transgressive horror piece? Or am I living inside a self-selecting echo chamber?
Not a person that goes outside a comfort as often. I randomly started writing something last night and this is what I have. The writing is still fresh and needs editing and the plot needs much development. I’d love to know what you guys think.
Here’s what I have:
I woke up this morning in a really bad way. My eyes were tired and crusty. My head was throbbing, and I could hear my heartbeat in my eardrums for some odd reason. It gives me anxiety to think of my heart naturally, because it makes me think of my organs, and when I think of my own organs and my own internal body, them just sitting there soaking up like a big heaping soup of something, I start to go crazy. Not really at the thought of others, just my own.
Maybe I’m crazy. I don’t think so honestly. I used to think I was, but not so much anymore. I think it’s natural to think of your red, bloody organs as disturbing, but I’m not disturbed by them, rather just weirded out I have these organic pieces of technology powering my body.
Anyways, I got up from bed after laying down for an hour and some change and walked over to the bathroom and took a leak. It’s been annoying me going to the restroom lately, especially in the morning right when I wake up. Mainly because I’m getting older and it’s becoming more difficult to piss. It’s really something, to watch me piss. I just stand there for half a fucking minute before anything comes out, holding my cock and doing helicopters and shit. It’s really something, especially when my balls slap and make a funny noise.
I turn twenty-seven this year, and I feel it for sure. I know what you’re thinking: “Twenty-seven is young and kinda a sexy year.” Granted, twenty-seven is kinda a sexy sounding number. It even has a nice ring to it. Twenty-seven. But I definitely feel it, especially when I’m trying to take a piss.
I was already behind in the day, it felt. I also had piss dribble dried on my underwear. I went to look for some clean underwear in my drawer in my room, but there wasn’t any left. I’ve been way behind on a lot of stuff lately, especially laundry for that matter. Worst fucking thing to ever do in your life is laundry.
I went into my roommate Derrick’s room to look for some underwear to borrow. I knew he wouldn’t be in there because the fucker goes to work at five in the morning for some fucked reason. He’s a glassblower and naturally a morning person. His room is also covered in power metal band posters. He doesn’t even listen to cool metal, just bad Euro-trash that calls itself metal. It makes me kinda hate the guy, to be completely honest with you.
Derrick, he’s kind of an oddball to say the least. I mean, I know I’m kind of an odd guy myself, going into my roommate Derrick’s room to steal his underwear to put on my body, for which will cup me as it did him, but that doesn’t matter. He’s still more of an oddball. He listens to European power metal, for fuck’s sake.
There was this one time back in high school, in the tenth grade. Derrick and I had a class together because me and him go way back actually. We’ve known each other just about our whole lives, it seems.
Once class was over, we walked over to the restrooms in the common area. We both started to piss. Also mind you, this was when I was only sixteen, so my piss was a straight garden hose with no delay. I fucking miss that feeling, to tell you the truth.
Anyways, I got done pissing, but I noticed Mr. Oddball Derrick still pissing. He had this very… let’s say… effeminate stream to his piss. It sounded like a fucking kitchen sink in the winter or some shit so the pipes wouldn’t freeze. Yeah, he was tinkling that shit out like a ninety-year-old fucking man.
Derrick was also the type of guy to pull his pants all the way down to his ankles when he pissed. His underwear and everything. It’s crazy, but it’s kinda funny, especially when a random kid walks in and just sees Derrick’s pimple ass. It shocked the hell out of me when I first saw it, but it’s just Derrick being Derrick.
Once this kid, James Tran — a real prick. I mean, he wasn’t the worst kid in the world, but he was an honors kid, and he didn’t like regular kids at all. Me and Derrick were definitely regular kids in school. James wouldn’t sit with regular kids or even be seen talking to one. It’s fucked up, but regular kids are regular kids for a reason.
Anyways, one day, as I was waiting for Derrick to finish his four-hour piss session, James Tran walked in and immediately came face to face with pimple-ass Derrick in all its glory. It’s bony, raw-chicken-ass glory.
I remember James just standing there, holding his black Five Star branded notebook binder with the fucking colored dividers and everything. Remember: honors kid.
James was just staring at his ass in utter shock and disbelief.
Then Derrick finished up his piss and pulled up his pants from his ankles. He looked right over at James Tran and said, “You can jerk off next time.”
James didn’t know what the fuck to say. He dropped his black notebook binder along with a pack of fresh unsharpened pencils that spilled from the binder. I know for sure the fucker never shared those pencils when someone asked. I just know.
James picked up his pencils, or at least attempted to. He was a real clumsy guy, James was. I would’ve helped him pick them up, but I wasn’t gonna touch the floor most definitely covered in piss and shit. Plus I felt sort of sorry for him. It was kinda sad seeing him struggle so much with picking them up. I mean, they went to every corner of the school bathroom for fuck’s sake.
Then he kept dropping them because he was sweaty and nervous naturally. His wire-rimmed glasses fell on the floor as he was putting his head down toward the pencils on the ground. He seemed really nervous and just wanted to get the hell out of there. That, mixed with the questionable bodily fluids on the aging bathroom floor, made the pencils sticky.
I really don’t even know why James stuck around in the first place. They’re only pencils, for God’s sake.
Derrick’s bare pimpled ass really threw that guy off, it seemed.
He finally got all the pencils from the piss-and-shit-covered chipped tile floor and left without using the bathroom, but before he left, I turned and said to him, “You forgot your glasses.”
He froze in the doorway and
quickly turned around and picked them up and said, “Disgusting.”
He said it like he meant it too, with true disgust for your existence. His eyes really cut deep into you as he said it. They really fucking did too.
That really hurt me for some reason, and I felt like bawling and screaming, slashing his stupid twig neck a hundred times over or ripping his throat out with my hands. Some wild shit of that nature. But I’m not gonna do that. I’m too much of a coward, to be perfectly clear.
I’m the type of guy to stab you in the heart or nipple, or ankle, I don’t fucking know. I’d probably go crazy in that situation, then immediately apologize.
I always show a fraction of what I actually feel in most interactions with people I’m not the most familiar with. That was one of them.
If I showed my true emotions to how James actually made me feel in that second, then I wouldn’t know how to handle all of it. I’d probably literally explode all over the fucking school bathroom. Then my guts and blood would be all over the bathroom along with the piss and shit.
James left the school bathroom and me and Derrick just looked at each other and laughed.
Real charming guy, that James was.
I’m pretty sure he’s dead now, anyways.
I had a long day ahead of me, and I was not feeling it at all, man.
I finally got Derrick’s underwear on me and went back to my room to put on some clothes. I never know what the fuck to put on, if you want the truth. I always hate that I’ll look like one of those idiots who color-match their outfit, you know? With the red socks, and red shirt, and red shoes. Just… red.
I put on a grey long-sleeve shirt with black stripes and a pair of blue jeans. It was freezing outside since it’s the middle of fucking February. The kind of freezing that’ll make your piss turn into glass. You’d probably start bleeding from your cock hole if you tried to piss outside.
Since it was freezing, I grabbed a coat that was also in the closet. My grandfather’s old coat. My dad gave it to me a while back, before he was dying, but I’ll get into that a little later.
The coat was a navy blue WWII sailor’s peacoat. It had these big fat lapels on it that made you feel like a mobster wise guy.
You should see me and Derrick wearing it. We do these impressions when we’re all fucked up, going, “I want some gabagool up my ass,” or some other sentence with no coherence.
Derrick would turn to me with his eyes bloodshot and spit flying everywhere, trying to do his best wise guy impression, as I’m just shoving cold cuts in my mouth, yelling I’m gonna shove it up my asshole or something.
The coat was also very warm since it was made of kersey wool. It always smelled like cinnamon candies for some odd reason, but I love it. It makes me grin.
I was almost ready to head out the front door. I had a job interview to get to — it's my fifth job in the last eight months. I owed money to Derrick for rent, and I was behind about five hundred bucks. He said it's okay and to just take my time. I knew he didn't mean it; he's not exactly a rich guy. He spends money on bullshit, mostly just booze and beer.
I only had eighty-nine dollars in my bank account, along with thirty-two dollars in cash in my wallet. I was surely fucked if I didn't get a new job and get my shit together soon.
I finally unwillingly walked out the door. As soon as I did, the freezing wind immediately stabbed my fucking guts open.
* I was born in 1992 in a sunny October morning.
* I wasnt supposed to walk but defying the odds I later became a Junior Pro Athlete.
* I fell in love when I was 14...and I lost her because of my foolishness… I miss her every day..
* My mother got assassinated when i was 16 and my dad found a new family soon after… my hands are shaking to this day…
* I quit sports because of physical and mental injuries…
* I drank alcohol heavily up until when i was 22 after the previous event..
* I went to Greece when I was 19 and almost got kidnapped by human traffickers but managed to escape…
* I lost multiple jobs and had to leave the country… I didnt have any other way out…
* I became homeless in the UK when I was 21 but worked myself out of it by hard work and dedication
* I came to Spain at 22 for a vacation and decided to stay…
* At 25 my childhood friend died from overdose…
* I stopped my friends father from trying to kill us on multiple occasions…
* I married a woman to save her from her country and help her and her family…
* I helped my friend and comrade earn his first 100k $ but we lost it all..
* During Covid I had no options.. I worked as a delivery driver on a motorcycle without knowing how to drive it and I got hurt quite a bit..
* I have been a singer on the streets…
* At 29 I moved to Scotland for love and got my heart broken in shatters soon after…
* At 30 I went to Iceland to earn a living for a better future…
* When 31 another one of my childhood friends died in a fire accident…
* When 32 I earned my first 100k$ and my earlier mentioned friend and mentor got diagnosed with cancer and we lost it all in the fight..
* We made a project to ask for help and people helped us.. as well as we managed to help many people and charities out there..
* My friend died after a year long fight… and soon after the funds i used to help his family and others including myself were gone…
* Friends dad came back to haunt us and wanted to kill us again…but we managed to protect ourselves and he got sent back home..
* Having nowhere to go or no other solution for now we built a house out of wooden pallets in a little community..
Not sure what future holds but Im sure it will be an adventure…
Should I write a book?
Hi, I’m just here to share 2 poems that I wrote. I have no experience in writing poems but I hope people appreciate this. I wrote them when I was on a low.
————————
Souls unveiling,
warm blanket of the day-star
encased our fleshy-prison.
Further sailing, drifting,
out on the whale-path.
The feeling of earth’s breath
tickling my fingers.
The beat of drums building,
thunders and echoes.
————————
Dark eyes, starry-eyed.
my phone, a source of light.
If eyes are windows to the soul,
Souls are like stars.
Pure, gleaming with light.
Phone so bright yet a void.
A void deep and dark,
A black hole eating stars.
