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...or at least get to the submission stage. It's hard to believe it, but I have a complete novel sitting on my computer. I like to think the hard part is over, but I'm sure it's only beginning.

Editing. Oof. So far it's been easy, but I know for a fact that this first passthrough isn't going to get my novel down to the 120K word target I'm shooting for. Before I even consider submitting my novel, and probably before I share the story with beta readers (is that what they're called?), ...

The title of an old Doors track, and the theme of this round of Literary Maneuvers.
I admit that I have a small problem with the 650-word requirement. It's too many words. So my compromise this time around is to create a themed collection of short-shorts, like knickers on a clothesline, based on a couple of premises brought up by the late great Fredric Brown, author of "Knock".
I've already begun to sketch out the dozen or so shorts I'll need, allowing for plot arcs, character ...

One ordinary summer night of April, I was supposed to sleep on my bed when suddenly cold breeze entered my window causing me to shiver. I didn't mind it and I closed the window. I went to my bed and closed my eyes. When I was about to enter Dreamland, I heard footsteps coming to me. I opened my eyes and to my surprise, a silhouette of a guy flashed to my face. He closed my mouth with his cold hand which deter me from shouting.

He opened the lights. I was flabbergasted when the guy ...

Tags: edward cullen, fiction

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WritingForums.com , Fiction

Part 3:

Chapter 7: The History of the Autumn people
“The girl turns around looking surprised
Her expression could not be disguised.
“The old woman who died in the abbey was my mother,”
my son said, as his wife was to be in anger.
And then he lightly kissed her lips
As he was on his way to get a cup to have a sip
Of wine
“What would be supper for us to dine?”
asks my son as he sat down
and drinking the wine, as he

...

Part 2:

Chapter 4: Knowing the Old Woman
Knowing where I want to be
As I stand at the mantle looking at the pictures.
But then I turn around, as the door swings open.
I grab my pipe and walk towards the door.
A soft autumn breeze has come into the cottage.
I walk out the door and slam it shut,
Making it tightly shut so it won’t swing open.
I sit down onto the log that fell last winter
In front of my cottage and I made it into a bench.

...