Ireth
Myth Weaver
Well, now I want to start a new thread titled "Post Your Second Paragraph"!
I'd be down for one that's "Post Your First ~250 Words". ^^
Well, now I want to start a new thread titled "Post Your Second Paragraph"!
I'd be down for one that's "Post Your First ~250 Words". ^^
OK that would be cool and all but what makes that a challenge??? Would that not just get filed/moved to the showcase?
The wind stirred, leaves rustled in the undergrowth, and the smell of charred wood and alcohol coursed through the air. Randall sat, undisturbed, wondering where the fire was coming from. Leaves hung suspended from imaginary ropes in the blackness, lit with flames. Widow maker rested at his side. He loosened the sword in its sheath, tightened his belt, and began creeping lightly in the direction of the petroleum odor. The leaves made no noise under his soft feet and light pace. He was an elf after all; experts in the art of subtlety. His woodland attire was covered in dirt and blood, from the light green tunic all the way down to his brown pants and ranger’s boots. He had spent much longer in this wretched forest than he had anticipated. He was a scout, albeit, a scout without a company of warriors to return to.
This is just something "fun" but it is not IMHO a challenge... Then again I might just be nitpicky?
Price wished she could fly. She also wished for super strength, and X-ray vision, and maybe some decent cleavage (a superpower few of her fictional inspirations were without), but flight would have made it ten times easier to patrol the streets for crime. It was largely to compensate for this lack that she had stacked cardboard boxes atop a dumpster, and had spent the past half-hour practicing how to land from a fall.
but flight would have made it ten times easier to patrol the streets for crime
I awoke to find myself laying upon a table which I know I hadn’t passed out on. Strangely, I didn't seem to be as dead as I should have been. A thick, sterile “doctor” smell occupied the room, you now the one - gauze, bandages, antiseptic, ointments. Across the room, a blob sitting at a workbench came into focus: it's a man, I think. Yeah, definitely a man. Older - much older than me, white smock, white hair. OK I must be in a hospital or some kind of - "lab, Ark. Yes, you are in a lab,” the blob explained without looking up from his work, “my lab."
It had stopped snowing. After days, the white darkness had withdrawn behind the ridge and now Eidungruve shivered in the frosty blue of the polar night. The watchman on top of the tower leaned on his spear and gazed down at the settlement. It was near the end of his tour and the cold was gnawing at his brain. He swore a little, and started pacing again, six foot up, six foot down, the length of his little kingdom.
However Reaver, it is a good motivator to get someone to finally put words to screen, or pen to paper if you will.I agree with BL here. Looking back at the beginning post, a challenge is never really given or implied. This is actually very much akin to the This or That? thread in Chit Chat, so that's where I'm moving it.
However Reaver, it is a good motivator to get someone to finally put words to screen, or pen to paper if you will.
When I first caught sight of him, I knew he would be the one, even though he was a stranger here. He was but a lad with fiery red hair and bright eyes. He had the look of a lost kitten, but he had the makings of a finer helmsman then Jerrold, may he rest in peace. ----Inzl Kett.
Matthew Ketchings found himself gazing into an enormous eye with moss green lashes. The eye itself was the same shade of green as a stop light. It was so big it was like gazing into a window. He standing in some kind of basket suspended under a creaking wood deck before that eye.
From a novel I am currently writing.
I'm totally cheating here by posting twice but I'm allowed if it's a different story, right?
Xaysai, I'd say this paragraph goes on too long and is very commonplace opening in stories (for further evidence of this, look to my first post in this thread with another character at a bar which I'm planing on changing a little). You go from a personal scene with this guy to balls of fire in the streets which should probably feature in a new paragraph. Another minor thing, you start three sentences in this paragraph with 'He' which is a little nitpick from me.
Now, this isn't a paragraph but I'll the first three lines from another story I'm tinkering with:
‘I really do hate the French.’ Croaked Henry.
‘Hey! My dad’s half French.’ Arthur said, taking his seat around the candlelit table.
‘Means I hate twenty-five per-cent of you.’ Henry chin jiggled as he chided Arthur.
I'm going to rewrite it with Baltz at a blood orgy. There's no way anyone has cornered the market on opening scenes with blood orgies.
‘I really do hate the French.’ Croaked Henry.
‘Hey! My dad’s half French.’ Arthur said, taking his seat around the candlelit table.
‘Means I hate twenty-five per-cent of you.’ Henry chin jiggled as he chided Arthur.
I think you should read this: Punctuating Dialogue -- How to Punctuate Dialogue Correctly
To my taste, you have little more than a pair of talking heads. I think it needs more.
When I first caught sight of him, I knew he would be the one, even though he was a stranger here. He was but a lad with fiery red hair and bright eyes. He had the look of a lost kitten, but he had the makings of a finer helmsman then Jerrold, may he rest in peace. ----Inzl Kett.
Matthew Ketchings found himself gazing into an enormous eye with moss green lashes. The eye itself was the same shade of green as a stop light. It was so big it was like gazing into a window. He standing in some kind of basket suspended under a creaking wood deck before that eye.