Shop Forum More Submit  Join Login
About Literature / Student CharlieFemale/United States Groups :iconwriters-kingdom: Writers-Kingdom
Our words create worlds
Recent Activity
Deviant for 8 Months
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 56 Deviations 1,740 Comments 3,754 Pageviews
×

Newest Deviations

Literature
Dream
let me dream
please, I want
to be alone
with my thoughts, those
fascinating
works of art that revolve
inside my mind and seldom
escape the bounds they so
desperately
try to break, the ones
that were created through
fear
fear of pain and rejection,
it’s to protect me, I don’t want
to show my
innermost
breakthroughs and have them
trampled with ignorant feet,
you understand, but
I yearn
so
for the warm embrace of
acceptance, for the
eccentric works that
exist because of
my love for knowledge
to live and
breathe through others,
to slither through their perceptions and
alter views, to
change the world, but
alas, I am too scared, and
the dreams inside
my head shall never
crawl out as
words, no matter how
much they
fight 
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 5 0
Literature
The Night Sky
I like to see my mind as the night sky.
When I withdraw into myself, I enter an expanse of black. It’s peppered with pinpricks of light. There is no up or down, just my mind. 
My thoughts are like shooting stars.
My thoughts take flight inside there with shining wings, taking shape as comets and meteors. They flit about, lighting a shaky path. Too easily they slip through my fingers. The ones who stay, they turn into stars, joining the others in an endless pattern of constellations.
What’s outside is like the sun. 
It outshines every thought in my head, fills me with the sense of the outside, an anchor to reality. It’s too bright, too powerful, greater than me in my entirety. Reality is so huge, so heavy, it crushes my frail stars if the sun rises too early. 
The dark is the unknown. 
It’s the space between stars, the black. It’s skipped over in favour of the beautiful stars. Yet, it’s integral to the night sky. Without the dark,
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 5 8
Literature
Human Concepts
Happiness is
as fleeting
as a w h i s p e r
on the wind
 Mortality is
as fragile
as a s i l e n c e
none can hear

Sadness is
as heavy
as a h u n d r e d
loves to rescind
Hope is
as stubborn
as a p e o p l e
without fear
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 6 5
Literature
Untitled
James Bond blinked. Where was he? The world around him felt somewhat... virtual, the colours too bright, the structures square and pixelated. In front of him stood a huge robot, looking equally confused. Perhaps one of Bond's gadgets had landed him in this strange dimension. Yet try as he might, he couldn't recall a spectacular accident, nor ever even seeing this type of landscape before. Slightly miffed at his inability to decipher the situation, but seeming calm and composed as ever, he regarded the monstrous automaton with a quirked eyebrow.
"May I ask who you may be?" Bond asked.
"'M a robot. Don't really 'ave a name, 'cept for what the freedom fighters call me," the robot seemed unused to speaking.
"And what do the 'freedom fighters' call you?" Bond prompted, feeling slightly curious despite himself.
"Oh, they call me Lord o' Evil or somethin' like that." A pause. "What's yer name?"
Bond let slip a charming smile. "Bond. James Bond."
"Nice name ye've got."
"Why, thank you."
There
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 2 7
Literature
The Last Moments of Aaron Cren
A small group of people, clad in black, stand before the door. 
"Are you sure you can do this, Madalyn?" the young man asks.
A sniff from my - the old woman, wispy grey hair in a bun. "Of course I can, he is - was my husband." 
"Is everybody ready?" a worn-out woman asks, holding a baby wrapped in a dark blanket. 
"Yes, yes, Cathy, let's get this over with." Madalyn grumbles.
I drift behind them, sending a nostalgic look around the old house. It's soon to be sold, my family to move into a newer home in the suburbs. It's full of memories, reminders of - him. Maybe that's why they're moving in the first place. 
The bell rings, the merry tune at odds with the melancholy atmosphere. The hearse has arrived. My - no, the family carefully set various flowers in the car, next to the coffin. They were adamant that they wanted to do this, even though they could barely look at the coffin. 
"He - he always loved flowers." Madalyn sadly states. 
"Lilies, especia
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 3 4
Literature
Morals-of-Stories and Other Things
One thing people like to believe is that the world is made of black-and-white, right-and-wrong, good-and-evil. A demon on one shoulder, an angel on the other. A view as simple as it is narrow. 
Of course, that is not the case. We shall pretend it is so, for the sake of an idea and the moral-of-the-story (that shan't be told yet). You will find out in due time, dear reader, but for now, let's return to the fantasy of a black-and-white world. 
There's the demon (on the left shoulder of course. It can't be on the right, because evil-is-never-right. Simple as a dimple on a pimple, which is to say, not simple at all). 
Then, of course, there's the angel (cue the hallelujah). 
Good-is-always-right, and evil-is-always-wrong. Don't listen to the demon, listen to the angel (if you don't, why, you'll turn up just like those horrible criminals. Tut tut, dear, don't question why things are the way they are. Think of the gossip!). 
Of course, I listen to the demon far more
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 7 3
Literature
Ghost
They thought I'd forget. But I remembered. 
Everything. 
Life is… duller, after it happened. The illusion is as fragile as a piece of paper. Colours are muted, sounds are muffled, but my mind is sharper, more powerful, ever since I went ther. My "hallucinations", quick to pass, are brighter and stronger than anything else here. The memories from before give me hope. 
The asylum is easy to walk through, I muse, stepping into a room.
"Wha- how did you get in here?!" a young guard sputters, shaking.
I smile at her sadly. I remember her in the other place. Happier, much happier than the one trembling in front of me. Although, maybe I am the cause of that. I probably shouldn't have suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the break room. That was tactless. Still, I want coffee. 
I sweep past her. She's still petrified. I turn to hide an amused smirk. I daintily reach for a mug, and fill it to the brim with boiling coffee. I start to stride back, towards the
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 12 24
Literature
A touch of nightshade
Half of her herb garden was for cooking. The other half would kill you. Sometimes she used both in the same dish. 
At least, that's what the rumours said.
He stared out the window at the large garden, glad there was a wall between him and the plants, deadly or not. A tall, slim girl swept into the room, her presence almost overpowering his senses.
Clyde internally shivered as he saw her smirk. Long, navy blue nails that he could easily picture digging into his throat. A serpentine kind of grace that came with her movements. Tight fitting clothes that showed off her impressive muscles. Inky black hair in a loose braid. And those eyes. Those piercing eyes, a cold shade of bluebell. 
"Anyone home?" she asked, still smiling that smile. 
"Huh?" 
She threw back her head and laughed. "You zoned out there for a bit, Clyde." 
He frowned. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Bluebell." 
Bluebell's mouth still twisted in that amused curve, she asked, "Do you want something to eat?
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 7 15
Literature
Eclectic Inspiration
Soothing blue waves coming and going on golden sand. 
Twilight painting the sky, the clouds illuminated. 
The soft whisper of a book's pages. 
Flames dancing, flickering as they lick the air. 
Bright leaves running on a breeze. 
A quick ghost of a touch, leaving shivers. 
Clouded eyes, mind far away, dreaming. 
Fire in the heart and hope in the soul. 
Sheltered blossoms blooming. 
Raindrops pitter-pattering, a lullaby in the night. 
Flowing ripples, distorting light. 
Feet tapping, an endless rhythm. 
Puffs of white drifting across the sky. 
Freefall, heart-stopping adrenaline. 
Sunlight cutting through fog, through mist. 
Salty tears falling, coursing a path. 
Boundless energy, running and skipping. 
The soft swish of fabric, sighing and rustling. 
True inspiration. 
Eclectic.
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 36 17
Literature
Reflection
Looking back, nostalgia permeating my core. Mistakes made, friendships grown, epiphanies and realizations dotted through the course of time. Sitting wrapped in blankets, running as the wind tried to push me back, exploring whole worlds through the words of another, learning, forever learning. Trying to keep up with the pace of life, only to fail miserably. Getting up and dusting myself off, sprinting to catch up, laughter lost on the breeze. Wounds and injuries and scratches and pain inside my very soul, now healed and patched up with only the echo of a scar to remind me. 
Laughter and and smiles freely given out to the world, tears and sobs shown and judged. Heartbreak, heartache, heart lifted up to the sky on the wind of a thousand whispers. True colours being shown and flown up high. Forgiveness and betrayal come in the same package. Thoughts and ideas appearing, disappearing, breakthroughs can come to me any minute.
So much past, mistakes, regrets, weighing me down. Let them f
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 11 15
Literature
Colours
I sit on a plush chair. It's one of those with wheels on the bottom that I used to love spinning on when I was a child. Now I just idly move myself. The room is bare, just a dresser, and a bed, and the desk I'm supposed to be facing on my slowly turning chair. I twirl a strand of hair around my finger and absentmindedly chew it. 
My fingers twitch. My mind drifts lazily from thought to thought. Images that I quickly push away. Stray stanzas, scarcely remembered sayings, my mind drifts aimlessly like a cloud, feeling content, and... a bit fuzzy.
Suddenly, like harsh sunlight cutting through mist, my thoughts dissipate, and are replaced with another, sharper, feeling.
Inspiration. 
The colours and sounds and ideas come rushing in. I grope for something, anything, to write down my thoughts. There's nothing there, only the smooth feel of my wooden desk. I run my fingers over it. It's spotless, as always. 
I'd honestly prefer it to be covered in knickknacks and objects, for i
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 12 16
Literature
My Bleeding Heart
It starts with a deep pain in my chest and a sting in my eyes. 
My mind working overtime to process so much hurt. 
You don't seem to care. 
The second step is to confront you. 
Screamed hate and softly spoken daggers. 
You think I'm being foolish. 
Next, I bury it all deep down. 
My heart, still bleeding, in denial about the injury. 
You say I can just fix it up. 
Later, we "talk it out". 
I am in tears, and you sit coolly and point out my flaws. 
You can't wait to be rid of me. 
Now I spit insults and spite at your feet. 
The hate covers it all up, makes everything better. 
You wish I wasn't such a problem. 
We sit there and forgive each other. 
I admit I miss you, and the bullet hole is bandaged. 
You found an easy way to fix the problem. 
It happens again. 
I sob, wondering how I could be so gullible. 
You claim it's my fault... again. 
This time, I tell no one. 
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 13 11
Literature
A Supernatural Encounter (a True Story)
I relaxed on my sofa, happily lost in my daydreaming. Well, it was less of a sofa, and more of an armchair for two. It was comfy, though, and I wasn't complaining. It wasn't like anyone other than me actually sat on it, apart from when my sister would come barging in on some random whim of hers, but that didn't happen much.
A strange, eerie creaking sound woke me from my reverie. As I watched, the doorknob on my door slowly turned, and the door creaked and swung inward. My eyes widened slightly, and I raised my eyebrows.
"... What?" I asked the door. Chuckling at myself and my tendency to talk to inanimate objects, I walked over and inspected it. 
No gust of wind, no fallen object, no snickering brother or sister, nothing that would even hint at what had moved it. It was just a half-opened door. I swung around, and cast my eyes around my room. The window was open, but, if anything, if there had been a wind originating from there, it would have closed my door, not open it. This had
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 8 12
Literature
Before, Now, and Forever After
"Damn it!" Samuel swore. 
No matter how many times he rubbed at it, the tattoo imprinted on his skin wouldn't disappear. It taunted him, reminding him of the mystery that had lurked in the shadows of his mind every day of his life. He didn't know what it meant, nor how it could be possible. All he knew was that it wasn't normal, and so could possibly screw up his life forever. 
He glared determinedly at the mark, but it didn't burst into flames or correct itself into straight tally marks, much to his dismay. 
"Damn it..." This time, it was more of a disappointed sigh than a furious outburst. 
With an ease born of familiarity, he put a layer of powder on his inner wrist, hoping that there wasn't any water-related activities he had to do today. After he had brushed his teeth, he forced a smile on his face, and strode out, grabbing his backpack to go to school. 
The walk to the bus ride was fairly uneventful, and he was glad. He was a little more sensitive today t
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 7 15
Literature
The Wall
Fingers just an inch away from the keyboard,
Pen just an inch away from the paper. 
Mind just an inch away from breaking through,
Heart just an inch away from feeling. 
Blank.
White. 
Nothingness. 
That is the wall. 
Blank. 
White.
Nothingness. 
I know what is beyond. 
Blank.
White. 
Nothingness.
Yet I cannot reach it. 
Purpose just an inch away from making sense,
Meaning just an inch away from discovery. 
Imagination just an inch away from creating worlds,
Soul just an inch away from coming to life. 
An inch away. 
An inch of wall.
An inch of denial. 
An inch of white. 
An inch of nothing.
An inch of everything.
Break
THROUGH
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 15 18
Literature
The Train
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine." 
"Then stop looking." 
Mary sighed. She reached over to pat Katherine in what she hoped was a reassuring way. Katherine just scowled and shook her hand off, scooching a bit farther away from her concerned mother. The train compartment was small and cramped, so she didn't get far. That just made her scowl harder. 
"Kathy..." Mary said sadly. "It's bad for all of us. You just have to make the best of it." 
"Make the best of it?" Katherine fumed. "I have had to uproot my life, say farewell to my friends forever, move to some uncivilized corner of the world for some job, and you ask me to 'make the best of it'?!" The teenager groaned in frustration.
"Look," Mary hesitated, seeing the look on her daughter's face. "Look, all you have to do is to try to look on the bright side. I'm sure everything will sort itself out eventually. A lot's going to change, that's true, but change isn't always bad. Things weren't perfect
:iconLittleMissWriter7:LittleMissWriter7
:iconlittlemisswriter7:LittleMissWriter7 16 17

Favourites

A Witch Lives Here by right2bearcharms A Witch Lives Here :iconright2bearcharms:right2bearcharms 3 2
Literature
not a second glance
you act like 'us' is ancient history,
broken & bruised -
gone like misty breaths in cold winter air,
the memory of our fire-stoked, raw-skinned
emotion gathers dust in your head
quietly
while my mind still
reels with our past-
and i see deeper now,
into the caverns of your mahogany eyes;
i still feel you in
my bones,
carving out your name with firm strokes,
and imprinting your scent, touch, taste - the sound
of your breathing
sends drunken butterflies to my stomach,
skips to my beating heart
and pain deep in my chest,
beneath my ribcage where the metal glints.
when i hear your muted, red-velvet
voice in my ear i feel a million
colours
and i know that
for you
there is nothing but hands in your pockets, sheepish smiles
& a gaze that wont look past the reflection in my eyes.
:iconquixoi:quixoi
:iconquixoi:quixoi 11 15
Literature
craving
there's a rage in your eyes
and a smile at the corners of your lips
as you scream and shout your hurt at me.
you've alwyas enjoyed letting your
feelings run rampant in your body,
but now the only one you can't control is anger- my only ally.
forgive me,
it's been so long since i've seen even a flicker of the
flame in your eyes
i long to feel your fire
and scald myself on your skin
because i've grown tired of the frozen ice wasteland of
your gaze and your embrace is as soft as
snow and so reluctant to share even a curve of your body.
your love died for me in a night - creeping in under
your ribcage and settling within your chest
and now i'm left feeding you with white lies and cruelty
just to see the passion that we once had
because you may have moved on, but i'm left struggling
with this feeling that makes me want to give up my soul
just to see your blazing heart
:iconquixoi:quixoi
:iconquixoi:quixoi 13 4
Take Flight by Kiyo-Poetry Take Flight :iconkiyo-poetry:Kiyo-Poetry 6 6 Autumn Leaves by Kiyo-Poetry Autumn Leaves :iconkiyo-poetry:Kiyo-Poetry 8 4 Walk With Me by Kiyo-Poetry Walk With Me :iconkiyo-poetry:Kiyo-Poetry 7 10 Migration by Kiyo-Poetry Migration :iconkiyo-poetry:Kiyo-Poetry 6 2 One Day by Kiyo-Poetry One Day :iconkiyo-poetry:Kiyo-Poetry 4 7 Music Magic by Kiyo-Poetry Music Magic :iconkiyo-poetry:Kiyo-Poetry 6 7 Fallen Heart by Kiyo-Poetry Fallen Heart :iconkiyo-poetry:Kiyo-Poetry 7 8 Witching Hour by Kiyo-Poetry Witching Hour :iconkiyo-poetry:Kiyo-Poetry 3 9 Spirit Devotion by Kiyo-Poetry Spirit Devotion :iconkiyo-poetry:Kiyo-Poetry 4 6 Path of Life by Kiyo-Poetry Path of Life :iconkiyo-poetry:Kiyo-Poetry 10 8
Literature
Ever Hear Of...Wu Zetian?
If you’re reading this, it’s already too late to turn back! Welcome once again to yet another adrenaline-crazed edition of Ever Hear Of, the only weekly periodical here on Deviantart that makes history awesome again by telling you all about the crazy, kooky, badass or downright terrifying historical figures your high school history textbook never even fucking mentioned. Now, we’ve covered a lot of pretty exceptional people in this series so far; whether it’s Raden Wijaya taking on the Mongol Horde and kicking its ass, Tycho Brahe shattering two thousand years of scientific theory, or Daniel Montbars stomping Spanish ballsacks across the Caribbean, the halls of Ever Hear Of are proudly filled with people whose lives would actually make great Hollywood movies if Hollywood gave a damn about history anymore.
But today, we’re going to talk about someone truly exceptional. A person who defied every convention of her time, clawed her w
:iconAgawaer:Agawaer
:iconagawaer:Agawaer 5 6
You'll Float Too by LooneyDreamer You'll Float Too :iconlooneydreamer:LooneyDreamer 18 8
Literature
some things to know about me:
1. i am going to say the wrong thing.
i will stumble over my words,
awkward and too loud or too soft
but never just right,
because i can't really do anything right.
in my defense, i'm human.
2. i will worry you.
i do my best to be okay
but sometimes my best isn't enough,
mostly when i feel like
i'm not enough,
and there's not much
i can do about that.
i can't promise you
that i'll always be okay,
but i can promise you
that i will always
find my way back to it
eventually.
3. i'm not always pretty.
sometimes, people are ugly,
like when they're crying
or mad at you
for all the wrong reasons.
sometimes, you will look at me
and wonder why
you thought i was beautiful.
that doesn't mean
you won't remember again.
4. i might go weeks
or even months
without cracking,
i might not cry 
or write
or remember how to breathe
because the air will taste stale
and the world will be greyscale
and i will be numb.
it's hard to explain 
what feeling colourblind is like
when it's all in yo
:iconinthespacebetween:inthespacebetween
:iconinthespacebetween:inthespacebetween 105 72

Activity


You probably already know I have taken quite a long break from this website and my account here. Yes, I am overwhelmed with schoolwork, but I have also started showing my writing to people I know in real life. It has been a huge success. I’ve gotten so much more confident, and even entered an actual writing contest (I got an Honourable Mention)! My friends on DA have given me confidence in myself and my writing, and I will be forever grateful to you guys for that.

However, now that I’ve shown people I know my stories, I don’t really need to post them online anymore. My account has become neglected, and I don’t want to just leave my friends here hanging. So here’s an official proclamation: I’m not going to use this account anymore.

Thank you so much for all your support, I appreciate it so much. My time here may have been brief, but it was truly rewarding.

Parting is such sweet sorrow. - Romeo and Juliet
let me dream
please, I want
to be alone

with my thoughts, those
fascinating
works of art that revolve

inside my mind and seldom
escape the bounds they so
desperately
try to break, the ones
that were created through

fear
fear of pain and rejection,
it’s to protect me, I don’t want
to show my
innermost
breakthroughs and have them

trampled with ignorant feet,
you understand, but
I yearn
so

for the warm embrace of
acceptance, for the
eccentric works that
exist because of

my love for knowledge
to live and
breathe through others,

to slither through their perceptions and
alter views, to
change the world, but
alas, I am too scared, and

the dreams inside
my head shall never
crawl out as
words, no matter how
much they
fight 
I like to see my mind as the night sky.

When I withdraw into myself, I enter an expanse of black. It’s peppered with pinpricks of light. There is no up or down, just my mind. 

My thoughts are like shooting stars.

My thoughts take flight inside there with shining wings, taking shape as comets and meteors. They flit about, lighting a shaky path. Too easily they slip through my fingers. The ones who stay, they turn into stars, joining the others in an endless pattern of constellations.

What’s outside is like the sun. 

It outshines every thought in my head, fills me with the sense of the outside, an anchor to reality. It’s too bright, too powerful, greater than me in my entirety. Reality is so huge, so heavy, it crushes my frail stars if the sun rises too early. 

The dark is the unknown. 

It’s the space between stars, the black. It’s skipped over in favour of the beautiful stars. Yet, it’s integral to the night sky. Without the dark, the stars would be useless, a light in an endless pool of lights. The black is what makes the light worthwhile.

I like to see myself as the moon. 

I glow with the light of the sun, but gentler. I give my stars shadows instead of burning them up. I wax and wane, the extent of my wondering limited to how contemplative I feel. There are permanent scars and marks on me. I wander across my sky, observing the ever-still stars, and the fleeting meteors. 

The morning always comes too soon. 

Someday, I think, the sun won’t rise. It will simply be dark. The life outside of myself will be inconsequential. I don’t think I’ll mind that much. I’ll simply float along in the black, looking at meteor showers and memorising constellations. 

Without light from the sun, the moon will turn dark. The stars will burn out eventually, and there will be nothing to replace them. All that will be left is the black. 

I like to believe that someday, long after all my stars have been extinguished, a single pinprick of light will appear.
The Night Sky
Sometimes, the only way I know how to explain is through metaphors. 
Loading...
I would like to say, that the first reaction I had was to say a very eloquent and profound “WHAT.” I leave DA for a few days (due to school and stuff), and THIS happens?! Then I proceeded to flail for a few minutes. I’m honestly just really surprised. And happy. The work featured was “Eclectic Inspiration”, a poem about what I thought was inspiration, and honestly it took a pretty long time to write it (I found things that inspired me, and wrote them down. Needless to say, it was difficult.) I would like to thank BeccaJS for choosing my deviation! 

Thank you for reading. I’m off to eat victory ice cream! (I was going to eat ice cream anyway, but now it’s special)
  • Listening to: Warriors by Imagine Dragons
First, I’m sorry to say, I’ll have even less time to go on DeviantArt. There’s a good reason behind it, though! (Apart from being bogged down with tests).

Today, an award-winning author named Sharon Cameron came to the school. She told us how to plan a novel. We had to answer questions about the settings, main character, etc. She chose a few people to share their stories with the crowd in the gym (half of the school was gathered there, and let me tell you, it was very uncomfortable). As luck would have it, I was selected as one. 

I thank my lucky stars for that.

I told my story idea, and she was quite surprised. She said no one had ever thought of having death as a main character before (I like to think that that means she thought it was original). 

After that, a lot of people complimented me on my story, and I was pleased. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t encountered before (thanks to you wonderful people on DA!). When I was getting my lunch, I encountered Sharon Cameron again, just as she was leaving. 

To my surprise and delight, she called out to me and said she really liked my story, and I should get to writing it. I became flustered, and told her that I would, and also buy and read her books (they’re called The Knowing and The Forgetting, if you’re interested). 

I’m thinking of making it an actual novel. Scratch that, I’m determined to make it an actual novel. I have a plan, unlike with WildHeart, so I’m sure it won’t flop! Plus, when an award-winning author says you should write a book, you better write it. 

I should probably tell you what the story’s about. We made an outline, a skeleton of what the actual story could be. We answered important questions about the story, and that helped shape it. I recommend this method, it’s very effective. 

This is is the third (?) draft of the outline of my story.

Where? When? (meaning the setting)

Death is a place outside time. It is not dark, there is simply nothingness. It is not cold, it is simply numb. Some find it gratifying, others disappointing. Death doesn’t care.

Who? (the main character) 

Death was always alone. It envied life, so it stole life’s creations to live with it in its’ world. Death welcomes all in, all are equal in the nothingness. 

What? (does the main character want?)

Goal: death wants what life has. It wants to be cherished, for its’ inhabitants to appreciate it, and the absolute equality there is in death. 

Why? (can’t they get it?) 

Conflict: the more lives death takes, the more life is cherished. 

What if? (they tried to get it?) 

Plot: 

I won’t tell you the plot, since I don’t want to spoil it for people. 

My writing method is usually me typing furiously in a fit of inspiration, but I think planning ahead is the only thing that’s going to work when working on a long-term writing project. 

I have a feeling that when she said get to writing it, she didn’t think I was actually going to write a novel. But you know what? I’m damn stubborn, and I have decided I am going to do this, whether I like it or not.

Pride

I AM PROUD

Made with pride by the DeviantArt community BROWSE ALL ART

deviantID

LittleMissWriter7's Profile Picture
LittleMissWriter7
Charlie
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
Hello, peoples! I am Charlie, the (amateur) writer. I live in California, but am Swedish, and have an English accent (in English. I know, it's stupid, but it's how Americans work). I love cuddly things, and books, and writing, and sleeping, and video games, and climbing up cliffs.

My bestie lives in England, but is Russian, and also happens to be on DeviantArt, too. She's got two accounts now, so... yeah. She is PoliticsQueen and TimeDimension. Go check her out! We also have a shared account (with nothing on it... yet), which is called DragonBornFantasyInc, and is based off of a dimension-thingy we made together.

The best way to describe my artwork is "miscellaneous", aka not actual art. I'm pretty good at origami, and I can use some computer effects for stuff. I don't do that very often, though. I also write good stories! At least, I hope so. If you have any good stories or dragons (I'm kinda a geek that way), please tell me!
Interests

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconjcsolis01:
JCSolis01 Featured By Owner Oct 7, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much for the fave!
I hope you enjoyed my poem. :D
Reply
:iconlittlemisswriter7:
LittleMissWriter7 Featured By Owner Oct 7, 2017  Student Writer
I definitely did.
Reply
:iconlittlemisswriter7:
LittleMissWriter7 Featured By Owner Oct 7, 2017  Student Writer
Thanks for the watch!
Reply
:iconfatefulbrawl:
Fatefulbrawl Featured By Owner Oct 7, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
No prob!
Reply
:iconquixoi:
quixoi Featured By Owner Oct 6, 2017
thank you for the watch!
Lovely Shoujo (Heart for you) [V3] 
Reply
:iconlittlemisswriter7:
LittleMissWriter7 Featured By Owner Oct 6, 2017  Student Writer
You’re welcome :) (Smile) 
Reply
:iconjustanother-me:
JustAnother-Me Featured By Owner Oct 3, 2017
Thank you so much for the watch and the fav!! It's really appreciated!❤️❤️❤️
Reply
:iconlittlemisswriter7:
LittleMissWriter7 Featured By Owner Oct 4, 2017  Student Writer
You’re very welcome Heart 
Reply
Add a Comment: