My personal blog where I follow and reblog all things video games, anime, writing, crafting, flight rising, food, and whatever else I like. For just my writing projects, head on over to this blog.
As a response to Gay Talese’s failure to name any inspirational female writers, we asked our readers to explain why and how these authors changed their lives
They blocked me and deleted my reblogs so we’re gonna make sure this at least STAYS on the internet. We never outright called you a terrible human being, but I’m not gonna let you just try to cover this up either.
Because a friend of mine’s dealing with character theft, I feel this is appropriate for a writing blog.
Please, if you have a problem with someone, act civil and mature about handling it? If you truly want to turn the other cheek and let the past be the past, actually ignore the situation.
Don’t broadcast it and then claim to be above it through obfuscation of fact. Give them access to the character, Ani.
We'd like your feedback in order to help our club this year. We may make changes, we may not. We're about as noncommittal as Shinji at this moment in time. We're also highly aversive to all manner of mechanical things, sooooo....
This is also a formal statement to say the club blog pages are now back on their regular programming!
To start things off simple, people like me do exist.
And I don't mean that extra special something I have that puts me above the others in my field.
To get into those nitty gritty details, I first killed a man when I was thirteen. The gun is the great equalizing tool of mankind. It almost makes things fair for my targets. Almost.
Cause I always carry the big guns, and there's only a few moments between me having all of yours, see?
That first man I killed, by the way, was my father. That was a momentous day for me, since it was also the first time I activated my mind, could propel myself and break Einstein's theories. He didn't know what I did, of course, that time and space aren't one in the same.
My father couldn't do it either, given the look of surprise etched into his dying face, his mind catching up to the reality that his body had several new holes put in it.
Now, in my line of work, you always hear those folk stories, the unimaginable moments where people narrowly escape with their lives due to some freak accident. There are those who actually are gifted, minor things, nothing quite like what I can do.
So it wasn't too far-fetched from my mind when I found her, though I was surprised, I'll be man enough to admit that.
I mean, I'd faced off against men who could spark fires with their mind, resist extreme cold, bounce back inhumanly from gunshots and wounds that would fell lesser men.
Never against someone who could stop time like I could though.
I leaned up against the wall, going back to my scope in disbelief. In a world full of still figures, perfect targets to scope – easy, boring, safe targets to scope – there she was turning about in circles. Her eyes were scanning the crowd, getting up on her tiptoes to search over the heads of pedestrians. But she never left her spot where she was standing.
I zoomed in on her face, watched as she frowned and resigned herself to waiting.
I watched her just a few moments more, then decided to relieve her of her waiting. I leveled the scope on the building across from mine where the man was – some drug lord who had gotten a little too big for his britches and thought he could blackmail a Chinese diplomat – and pulled the trigger.
He remained standing until I eased up on the trigger, relaxed the hold my mind had, and then he swayed and dropped, crumpled to the floor. I swung down, found her in the crowd. I held my breath, freezing up under her intense, dark gaze as she looked up at my building. She hadn't found me, she couldn't have since I was what? Twelve stories up? More importantly, I needed to move and clear out of here. I began to pack up, folding up my equipment, but kept my eyes on her the whole time.
She had her hands in her coat pockets, still looking skyward as mindless pedestrians brushed past her. I hesitated because she was smiling.
"Hey, when we get home, somebody has to let that dog out." Since it was only me and my father in the car, I assumed he meant me
"Yup," I replied, staring out the window, closing my eyes against the harsh daylight. I let the car's momentum carry me off into sleep, a sort of deadness where the headaches were lesser, where I could breathe past the flighty sensations of panic and dread when I started to think about It.
In high school, I was the girl who always appeared on top of her game. And who wouldn't be, with a power like mine? I was on time for the bus looking like a vision born from the pages of a modeling magazine. I was never late for class or appointments with advisors. I always received top marks on my tests and could finish intricate projects when everyone else was asking for extensions. Friends joked I was a Time Lord, and despite my paranoia that people might suspect the supernatural, this was played off by my fascination with a certain show.
With an inhale I could bend the world to my will, make it freeze, make it all stop. I was Queen of the Dimensions, Master of Time, Lord of Getting Shit Done. It felt like a buzzing in my brain, starting in the back near the top of my spine and spreading to the front, just before the crown. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, but lately that's where the headaches had started. Where the migraines began to bloom, spreading tendrils of pain to root into the backs of my eyes.
I was a Goddess before the pain started.
In my third year of college is when it got really bad, when I started to wean myself off of the ability. I realized it was like a crutch, that I had never learned proper time management like normal people. My grades started to slip. People started to become concerned. A promising career path as a lawyer was dashed against the rocks as I took more and more pills to keep the buzzing at bay.
"Hey. What are we doing for your 21st?" Dad asked.
I stirred a bit. I didn't look 21. I looked almost 30. It was a symptom, they said. Quite rare, they explained.
I always thought it had something to do with my perception. There is no such thing as true magic, magic with no scientific basing. I had considered the notion of being a doctor for that purpose, for divining the secrets of time and the universe. There was a lot I could have done with it, actually, either cruel or beneficial. I didn't want to take an MRI at first, didn't want to be examined in case someone else found the secrets, the inner workings of life.
They had found something much more mundane, more average, and much more sinister. They found It.
The car rolled to a stop, jarring me a bit from my dozing. We were at a red light, and I closed my eyes again.
The doctor fired up the x-ray light, putting the slide into place. I sat on the skin gripping patient seat, the paper crinkling as I shifted. It was a human skull, outlined in light blue. The doctor was an older male, white, with a grey beard. "As you can see here, there is in fact a mass behind your prefontal lobe, here." He circled an area of greyness with his finger, looking at me. "I'm sorry, but you do have options."
The car started rolling forward.
The screech of tires had my eyes fly wide open and I bolted upright. The crunch of metal sounded over my father's cursing as the car lurched to a stop. Someone had run the red light, and the car next to us had surged forward.
I took a sharp intake of breath, and all sounds faded behind the wall of buzzing and intense pain. I hadn't thought before I did it. I wasn't even in jeopardy; it was all happening in front of us. As I crumpled forward with a whimper, in the moment where everything was meant to be still, at my beck and call and will, when there was only stillness, there was movement.
I shot upright, leaning forward to peer out the windshield, at the car that was speeding through the intersection, into the car to see a young girl in the car seat fidgeting, crying.
I held my breath, watching for just a moment longer, before I was unbuckling, throwing the car door open. The pain intensified as I moved, ran to the car, finding it unlocked. I pulled the child out, feeling sick to my stomach, feeling the sudden weight of her in my arms. I stumbled back, to the medium, or I think it was the medium, I couldn't see anymore. I fell back, and the girl cried harder. I let out my breath, the back of my head resting against something hard while the soft human squirmed in my arms. The crunch of metal rushed back, and the pain became unbearable, reaching a pinpoint crescendo in the back of my head…
Looking for some dystopian genre novels to spend your gift money on after the holidays? Well, this thread generated some titles I'd never heard of before.
If you’re planning on one day turning your manuscript in to literary agents and publishing houses, you need to make sure it’s formatted correctly. In many cases, your manuscript will be skipped over if it isn’t done to industry standard, so here’s the basics that you’ll need if you don’t want to be ignored. Before I get started, please know that this is aimed specifically at fiction manuscripts. If you’re writing non-fiction or a memoir, the expectations will be different, so it would be wise to Google what you need.
The Basics
Make sure your font is 12 point Times New Roman, Courier New, or Arial. These are the only three fonts you are allowed to pick from.
Your spacing should be 1 inch on all sides of the text. This is the default on most word processors, but double check your settings just to be sure.
Your text should be double spaced.
All of your indentations must be a half inch. Do not press indent. Instead, drag over the top arrow on the ruler to have every new paragraph automatically indent.
The Title Page
The top left-hand corner of your title page will have all your personal information. They want to see your name, address, phone number, e-mail address, the novel’s genre, and word count.
Your novel’s title is allowed to be between 20-24 point font if you want. Bold is also an option, but not necessary.
The title will appear halfway down the title page.
“A novel by [your name]” will be about three quarters of the way down the page.
The Next Pages
If you have a dedication, it will be on its own page.
If you have some sort of verse or quote, those will also need their own pages.
Do not include a page for acknowledgements.
The Chapters
Chapter titles will be 12 point font. No bolding or italics.
Chapters will start from one quarter to halfway down the page.
An easy way to format chapter headings is to press enter five or six times
Make sure you always start your chapters the same way every time.
When you start a new chapter, make sure you use a page break to bump the new chapter onto a new page. This will keep it in place so that it will never budge, no matter how much you cut out or add to the previous chapter.
Page Numbers
Page numbers will start with 1 on Chapter 1 of your manuscript. Page numbers will not appear on the title page or dedication page.
Page 1 will be labeled in the footer of Chapter 1. It should be centered.
Page 2 will be in the header of the next page.
From page 2 onward, your headers will be labeled like this:
If you insert a section break after the title and dedication pages, it will make it easier to insert the page numbers.
For the most part, this is the most important of what you’ll need to know for formatting your manuscript. I used this video as reference, so I’m trusting everything it says is true because it was made by an author who has several novels published, and because it was uploaded this year, it should be up to date.
But just remember, whenever you go to turn in a manuscript, make sure you check the website of the agent or publisher you’re trying to contact. They might have specifications that differ with the ones stated in this video, and you should always do whatever you can to abide by what they want.
The point of this ten week stretch is for you to get as many words down on the page as you can, to build up the material for your book, without censoring yourself and without any anxiety about how, or even if, those words will fit into the finished article.
jacobvanloon
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