ThatGreenWriter
New Member
Hi, I'm new to Mythic Scribes and, as a young author, I am trying to write my first novel. Genre: Fantasy. I have always really enjoyed reading fantasy novels, and would love to know if anyone has written a fantasy novel before?
Anya Calhorn woke with a start, a throbbing pain growing in her head. She had been to ‘The Ultimate Party of the Century’ hosted by the local youth club that her parents made her attend weekly. Last night the club supervisors proved just how foolish they were. The party began at 7pm and the adults made the under 15s leave around 10pm, but as soon as they’d left, that’s when the real ‘ultimate’ party had started. The adults moved to the corridor to give them space, with regular quick checks, and it failed. By the first quick check, half the teens disappeared, and the remaining kids shattered many, many windows in practically every place in the rented town hall. Things just went downhill from there. Where else could they go? By the time the adults sent them all stumbling home, they were almost tripping over each other as they fell through the door of Peter’s (one of the many suspects of the broken windows) flat, where the loud rock music remained dominant through the rest of the morning. She agreed to let loose and go to an afterparty. Anya had drained a few too many.
She sat perched on her bed and gazed at the wall. Last time something similar happened, only last month, she’d promised herself to never get drunk again, and promised to never do so much as look at a bottle of ale. So much for commitment. She slipped her feet into the slippers her mum bought her last Christmas; they were a shabby shade of yellow and, like most of her wardrobe, looked like they hadn’t seen clean water since 1995. After standing, she walked towards the door of her bedroom and felt her way towards the stairs. Anya, better than anyone else, knew how to cure a hangover at 5:05 in the morning. Coffee. But, to her surprise, she saw her mum sitting on a stool at the kitchen table, muttering to herself.
Yulia Calhorn was a woman who would shout at you for flossing your teeth with a piece of floss too long. She spoke with a heavy, thick Russian accent, and black hair - always pulled into a high, neat bun. That morning, she was wearing her cotton pyjamas with blue polka dots. She wasn’t much of a variety person, more of someone who enjoyed leading a life of organisation and structure. It was unheard of for her to be without her planner or glasses and was someone who most people think didn’t understand fun. Anya’s mother did in fact understand the word ‘fun’, as she did with the rest of the 171,146 words in the English language, that was another thing about her, she loved dictionaries. She had a kind, but not friendly smile and was tall for a woman. That morning, this Yulia Calhorn was not at the kitchen table. Instead, a woman with a stressed face and deep creases in her forehead took her place.
“Mum?”
Yulia looked up and struggled to cover whatever it was she was reading at. Whatever it was, Anya was unaware of it. “What are you doing? You’ve got work today.” As she spoke, Anya could taste the stale alcohol in her mouth.
“Nothing, nothing. I could ask the same of you, what are you doing at this time of morning?” Her daughter could practically chew the lies as they bounced off of her mother’s tongue.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Well, try counting sheep then.” She waved her hand, as though she was dismissing her like a tired school teacher. She knew this was pointless, but just wanted Anya to leave the room and forget this.
“Fine. Goodnight.” Anya said, with a slight tinge of annoyance in her voice.
“Good morning.” Her mother called after her, as she made her way back towards the stairs. Anya let out a grunt, typical of her mother. She just had to correct everyone and everything, all the time. As she maneuvered herself back round the stairs empty-handed, she could hear her mother fingering the paper she had tried to hide so desperately, well whatever it was it would have to wait, without coffee she had no hope of making it through the morning. She glanced at her antique watch. 5:13am. She’d just have to hope that sleep would somehow find her in her hungover state.
She woke up an hour later with worse pain than before. She had snatched an hour’s sleep. It would have to do. After crawling her way out of the room, she found her way to the kitchen.
I'm really enjoying the process so far, but I'm not sure I'm doing it right. I'd love any tips on writing fantasy (specifically novels) or critique on my first page, which I have pasted down below. I would appreciate any feedback! Have a nice day!
The Demon I've become:
Anya Calhorn woke with a start, a throbbing pain growing in her head. She had been to ‘The Ultimate Party of the Century’ hosted by the local youth club that her parents made her attend weekly. Last night the club supervisors proved just how foolish they were. The party began at 7pm and the adults made the under 15s leave around 10pm, but as soon as they’d left, that’s when the real ‘ultimate’ party had started. The adults moved to the corridor to give them space, with regular quick checks, and it failed. By the first quick check, half the teens disappeared, and the remaining kids shattered many, many windows in practically every place in the rented town hall. Things just went downhill from there. Where else could they go? By the time the adults sent them all stumbling home, they were almost tripping over each other as they fell through the door of Peter’s (one of the many suspects of the broken windows) flat, where the loud rock music remained dominant through the rest of the morning. She agreed to let loose and go to an afterparty. Anya had drained a few too many.
She sat perched on her bed and gazed at the wall. Last time something similar happened, only last month, she’d promised herself to never get drunk again, and promised to never do so much as look at a bottle of ale. So much for commitment. She slipped her feet into the slippers her mum bought her last Christmas; they were a shabby shade of yellow and, like most of her wardrobe, looked like they hadn’t seen clean water since 1995. After standing, she walked towards the door of her bedroom and felt her way towards the stairs. Anya, better than anyone else, knew how to cure a hangover at 5:05 in the morning. Coffee. But, to her surprise, she saw her mum sitting on a stool at the kitchen table, muttering to herself.
Yulia Calhorn was a woman who would shout at you for flossing your teeth with a piece of floss too long. She spoke with a heavy, thick Russian accent, and black hair - always pulled into a high, neat bun. That morning, she was wearing her cotton pyjamas with blue polka dots. She wasn’t much of a variety person, more of someone who enjoyed leading a life of organisation and structure. It was unheard of for her to be without her planner or glasses and was someone who most people think didn’t understand fun. Anya’s mother did in fact understand the word ‘fun’, as she did with the rest of the 171,146 words in the English language, that was another thing about her, she loved dictionaries. She had a kind, but not friendly smile and was tall for a woman. That morning, this Yulia Calhorn was not at the kitchen table. Instead, a woman with a stressed face and deep creases in her forehead took her place.
“Mum?”
Yulia looked up and struggled to cover whatever it was she was reading at. Whatever it was, Anya was unaware of it. “What are you doing? You’ve got work today.” As she spoke, Anya could taste the stale alcohol in her mouth.
“Nothing, nothing. I could ask the same of you, what are you doing at this time of morning?” Her daughter could practically chew the lies as they bounced off of her mother’s tongue.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Well, try counting sheep then.” She waved her hand, as though she was dismissing her like a tired school teacher. She knew this was pointless, but just wanted Anya to leave the room and forget this.
“Fine. Goodnight.” Anya said, with a slight tinge of annoyance in her voice.
“Good morning.” Her mother called after her, as she made her way back towards the stairs. Anya let out a grunt, typical of her mother. She just had to correct everyone and everything, all the time. As she maneuvered herself back round the stairs empty-handed, she could hear her mother fingering the paper she had tried to hide so desperately, well whatever it was it would have to wait, without coffee she had no hope of making it through the morning. She glanced at her antique watch. 5:13am. She’d just have to hope that sleep would somehow find her in her hungover state.
She woke up an hour later with worse pain than before. She had snatched an hour’s sleep. It would have to do. After crawling her way out of the room, she found her way to the kitchen.