Hunting Bear - from TO BECOME WHOLE - unpublished

Despite the darkness, he spotted the charging mountain of blackness instantly as it contrasted stardly with the whiteness of the snow all around the clearing.  He knew that its enraged speed would never be stopped, just as he knew that the arrow in his hand was a pitiful weapon against such a mountain of rage.
If he were going to die here, at least he too would go down fighting.  In the seconds that he knew were all that remained of his life, he loosed the arrow at a glint a fraction to the right of the center of the black mountain, then he drew his sword; it felt like a toothpick in his hand.  He knew that the other hunters had fanned out around him and were firing arrows as well.  In a replay of a scene that had already failed once, the wolves were closing in, ready to pull the bear's attention away from its charge to give the hunters vital time to continue the attach.  Rrusharr was at his side, ready to throw hirself at the bear's face at the last moment.
All of their efforts were unnecessary; without a sound, the massive beast was dead long before it ceased to move.  It careened to a sliding halt less than a foot from where Canis stood transfixed.

As soon as his numb mind could comprehend the fact that the mountain of bear that lay in front of him was never going to move again, he saw the red-fletched arrow; the glint he had targeted had been the bear's left eye.  The poison hadn't even had time to act; the arrow had penetrated the brain bringing its agony and rage to an abrupt end.

How can paper build a town? - from KING BY RIGHT OF BLOOD AND MIGHT

“You need to find someone who can make paper,” said Harris. “You’ll need to keep track of the whole district from now on. There are farms to plant, stock to round up and mark and fish to catch - plus a multitude of other services to keep track of. I advise you to select a town site and develop it into a central marketplace where a blacksmith, candle shop, paper shop, baker, butcher and anyone else can set up shop and sell what they have for what they want in return.”

The poor man looked daunted, and his son was beginning to fidget. “You’re asking too much,” blurted Trent.

His father rounded on the boy to silence him, but Harris stopped him. “Anyone can speak. I will hear what anyone has to say. I don’t think you would have brought him in here if you didn’t respect his opinion.”

“We have nothing,” the boy continued boldly, “and you’re talking about building a town with a thriving marketplace.”

“You’re right,” agreed Harris. “Right now, all you have are the shirts on your backs and the places you’ve called your homes. Now, let’s say your father announces to the people out there that this spot will be the site of the new district trading center, and he pitches a tent. Then he says he needs someone to make paper, so someone else sets up a tent and they start making paper. Then he gets the farmers together and they consolidate their seed grain, pool their muscle and plant whatever they can. The fishermen do the same, building boats if they don’t already have something hidden away, catching and preserving their fish. The ranchers also get together and round up as much wild stock as they can find; then they divide it up however they want, and suddenly you have farmers, fishermen and ranchers all with something to bring to town and trade for something else. Suddenly, you’ll have a butcher and maybe his wife will start baking bread and pies. As with any gathering, someone starts making beer and then there’s an inn. And hopefully by winter, and certainly by next year, there will be trading caravans bringing things to market you haven’t seen in years. Furs and lumber from the mountains, grains and produce from other places, jewelry and carvings, leather goods and stone goods. Everyone builds a shop to live in and sell their goods from; suddenly there is a town, and along with it a manor house for the man who started it all because the people thought he could.” Harris watched the two try to digest the evolution he was trying to describe.

Bringing his description back to the present day, Harris continued, “Along with the manor house goes a garrison house, because all this wealth will need to be protected. That brings us back to the need for paper. If your father is going to support the garrison, road crews and building crews, he needs to collect a certain amount from everyone in the district and then pass a portion of that on to me for the same reasons. The only way to keep track of it all is on paper.”

From LORD OF THE LAND - unpublished

Monk saw the smoke from the farmer’s barn and spread the alarm, but they didn’t have much time to do anything but be present when Braska and his men rode into their yard. Marston happened to be rich enough to be able to pay the price he asked for, but he didn’t have the manpower to stop him from taking as much of his herds as he could drive off, despite having been able to meet the lord’s unrealistic demands. He was broke now in more ways than one. He had no more money to buy more cattle and no breeding stock to fall back on. He couldn’t even pay his hands for their hard work. He was otherwise unharmed, but he was helpless to meet the demands next time, and next time would come all too soon.

Stunned at the audacity of the demands and the threats of destruction if the demands were not met, Monk turned away from the fading dust trail and spotted yet another smoke smudge on the horizon, this one was somewhat closer and smaller. With horror, he grabbed the nearest horse and rode it as hard as he could to his home. He dismounted to silence and smoke. Ashes drifted in the breeze. There was little left of his small house. There was no happy greeting from his wife. No squeals of delight from his daughter or coos from his son. There was nothing but the wind, and now his wail of agony and loss.

As he stood there and blindly read the signature on the notice left on a post in his front yard, a memory surfaced in his mind, an old memory, a memory of a man walking up behind his mother and sliding his knife into her back while her home burned. It was the same man who had come by today; he hadn’t recognized him. Lord Braska was a man long overdue for judgment. Lord Braska had taken too much from him.

Marston and most of his hands rode up as Monk was placing the remains of his babies into the blackened arms of his wife as she lay in her grave. “Monk, I’m so sorry,” he said with feelings so deep he was unable to say anything else.

“Monk is dead,” replied Daniel with a flat voice.

“No, Monk, you can’t mean that. It’s not right.”

“No, you don’t understand,” said Daniel as he paused after placing the remains of his son in the grave. “I’m not going to kill myself. I have been foolish. I thought I could just hide here as Monk. I deluded myself that I could continue to hide here and be happy for the rest of my life, that anything would be better than claiming the crown. But now I know that that is not possible and a certain cousin of mine has a lot to answer for. He has made a fatal mistake. He has taken too much from me. He owes me.” The last words were uttered with venom lacing every word and it left his audience speechless.

Up and Coming Authors from Ambitious Writers Group on Goodreads.com

In my short time on the Internet, I have selfishly searched for anything and everything that would help me become a better writer and sell my book. As I bulled around, I came across many places, some I followed for a time and then dropped, and some I still participate in or follow – that process continues and I see no end in site. I’ve also met ‘virtually’ many wonderful people. Amazingly, I’ve not met anyone I wished I hadn’t, though I’ve crossed paths with many that were simply on a different path than mine, so we parted ways, likely never to cross again.

Worthy of extra mention is a rapidly growing group on Goodreads.com named Ambitious Writers. Started by SweetSacrifice, these young writers take the craft seriously and are eager to learn to become better. The atmosphere at times is like standing in a school hallway, but why not? These girls are in school, some not even in high school yet. It is a pleasure and a joy to participate. I love sharing the things I have learned and learning from the things they have shared as they explore this craft called writing.

This group lightens my heart when I think of the future. If this is a sample of what our young people are like, I know we are in good hands. Read what some of them have to say about themselves and about their passion for writing.

SweetSacrifice
My name is Amani, although I’m usually known as SweetSacrifice (Sweets for short). I am currently fourteen years old, but will be fifteen August 29th of this year. I live in Southern California, a few hours away from Los Angeles and Hollywood. I have one younger sister, and live with both of my parents. We are all of Arabian descent.

My earliest memory of writing something with more than a few sentences is when I was in the sixth grade. That was when, during school, there were writing contests. I participated in a contest that consisted of all the elementary schools’ in the district. There were, of course, different types of contests for each type of writing. I had done a persuasive essay on teachers giving students two hours worth of homework (lame topic, I know!), and I had won first place. However, when I started writing stories for peoples’ entertainment was around the time I was beginning the eighth grade in middle school. I can’t remember how I got the idea for my first story, but I remember that when I did, I couldn’t stop thinking about the story, and what I could make happen. Then, when I actually began to write, I couldn’t stop. It was such a great feeling, to write. The way I knew everything that was going to happen, how I was in control of my characters and what they did and how they acted was an epic feeling. I loved the power that I held in the tips of my fingers. After that, I’ve been a writer ever since.

My favorite genres to write are fantasy, action, adventure, thriller/horror, and mystery. They are also my best points in writing. The reason I write such stories is because I feel that in order for something to be great, it has to be mind-blowing. Whenever I write, I’m always thinking of how what I write will look on the big screen (if it ever comes to that). And what I love to watch on the big screen are actions and adventures, horrors and mysteries. I feel that those types of stories are the most fun to read, write, and watch. That, and my mind is always coming up with crazy ideas that wouldn’t exactly fit with something normal.

My least favorite genre to write would be romance. What I mean is: romance is fine and all, but only as a back-story. Give me the kick-butt scenes first, and the kissing later. I find almost no thrill in romance, which is why I don’t write it much. My characters may be in love, but it won’t be the main point of the story - especially when these people are in life-threatening situations. I just can’t see them going out on a date together in the midst of all that.

I get ideas for my stories from anything. I could be reading something, and then all of a sudden what one character said would give me an idea for a full-out novel, or, sometimes, a short story. Many times, I might also be watching a movie, or TV and it would give me the idea for a story. Even a picture will get me thinking – I might wonder, Why does that person seem this way? Or, The setting is beautiful. A great scene could take place here. To me, everything has its own story, and I plan on telling them.

I love my writing, so of course, I want it to be read by many people. So, when I went looking for a group that posted writing, and found one, I was very excited. However, I soon came to find that this group didn’t write at all, but instead gossiped all day. In fact, they weren’t very hospitable to newcomers either. I was greatly disappointed, so I went looking for other groups, better ones. And yet, each time I found one, there was something wrong with the group: no one posted anymore, no one would read anything of mine, they didn’t read or write at all, or there wasn’t any place to put my writing. So, of course, I was upset. I wanted the perfect writing group – one that had it all: specific places to put your writing, people to read your writing, and people who posted up their own good writing. So, that is how Ambitious Writers came about. I thought of all the flaws the other groups had, and decided I could make a better writing group. Now, a few months later, the group has greatly progressed and grown, and I am happy with what I’ve got: friends, people who read my stories, and great writers who have awesome stories of their own.
That is a little about me and my group, Ambitious Writers.
~Amani aka SweetSacrifice


Rose
How old am I? I am 15 years of age but on February 26th I shall turn sixteen.
Dear Lord, I'm ancient!!! DX

Where do I live? I live in Southern California. If you don't mind, I'd rather not say specifically, but I can say that it is in the Greater Los Angeles area.
Other than my mum and papa, I have an older sister and two brothers, one who's younger and one who's older.

I enjoy very nerdy things such as Sci-Fi movies, comic books, and myths from all cultures (especially Aztec, Egyptian, Norse, Greek, and pretty much anything) and these things are very reflected in my writing. My favorite pastime is using the internet and watching television from which I draw inspiration from.

I started writing...I believe when I was twelve...? Yes, I was twelve, it was for an October writing contest on the Marvel.com forums. Yes, yes, I remember now. October 2006, I began writing my first actual story that I cared for and edited and such. I had written before that, of course, and actually won a few awards but I never cared for them quite like I did with this first story that was actually fanfiction. As I recall, I thought the first half of the story was quite lame and took it back for editing...the editing process took forever and I never got to finish in time for the contest. In fact, I still have yet to finish.

The feeling of being in complete control over something made me happy, and control was something I desperately strived for then as uh, certain familial problems were occurring at the time and that feeling of disarray hit me harder than I originally thought it did, I suppose, and writing was not only an outlet for whatever emotions I tend to bottle up but also gave me a sense of control that I didn't have.

But, of course, that is why I started writing. Why I continued writing is something else entirely. I continue to write because of how I get to breathe life into my creations. I am exceptionally good at dialogue, I am told, and communication is what truly makes us human. No other such animal has such complicated forms of talking and to be able to make a character seem real is a gift I do not intend to let go to waste.

I have a very odd and pretty cool niche for writing Sci-Fi/Fantasy separately and together. Whether it be dragons or alternate universes, I tend to do well in both. I excel, however, in dialogue, as I've already mentioned, and creating backstories for every little thing. That feeling of control and gift of giving life is put to good use when I write backstories because it can make something seem actually real. I'm also not too bad at writing Humour because when I write, I already tend to make thousands of jokes, but actually just letting my mind drift into such a mindset makes the most hilarious of outcomes come to life. However, this does not mean I have no flaws when it comes to writing. I tend to get get a few spelling and grammatical errors and I just can't write...romance. Because I hate romance with a burning passion I try my hardest to keep romance from my stories and replace it with witty dialogue and action sequences, and when the time finally comes that I need to put romance in there, I don't know what the hell to write...that I really want to write it, it would just seem forced, but I'm getting better at it, thought it's still my weak point.

The other problem I have when writing is the fact that I just HAVE to get everything perfectly right. No exceptions. Every little detail has to fit and make sense that's why I do an immense amount of research whenever I write anything that has a backdrop of actual events in history or of an actual place. I want everything to be as authentic as possible and that takes up a lot of my time.

And that's a quick summary of me, Rose, or my pen name, R.C. Fontana.
But I prefer Rose. ~.o


Delia
Hmm so me, who am I?
I’m 15 years old but turning 16 in hmm about 17 days I’m turning 16. Yup you heard me on the 19 of January I’m hitting the big number 16...actually I’m still trying to figure out what to do.

Where am I from? Canada, originally born in Quebec but then moved Alberta and back. Now I’m back in Alberta.

I’m born as a natural rooster, I am a natural blond with hazel or green eyes; you can never tell. I’m about 5’5 and I wish I was 5’7 at least. I just recently figured out that my mother was part Russian, my father’s family originally started out as British and that are actual last name is O’Neal. We’re also part of the Three masons family. **chuckles**

I have a little brother who just turned 11 years old, my mom and my step dad, who thankfully is full of patience. My dad lives back home with the family in Montreal ((Quebec)). Oh and let’s not forget my very loyal kitten, she’s a 4 year old cat but she’s quite small so I call her a kitten, Emma or Mimi...she has various names that oddly enough she answers to all of them...except her full name which is Emmanuella; it’s far too long.

If you guys haven’t already noticed my speech pattern can vary between one from the 1900’s or a normal teenagers; I call it a sophisticated 25 year old but that’s just my opinion. I love to read, some fan fiction is okai but it’s not my favourite, unless it’s that well done. I love romance novels but they have to have action or some type of adventure; honestly the cheesy romance novel urgh nope can’t even get close to that stuff. I like novels that have a purpose. I like to go for walks and a bunch of random things like that. Actually last year I read Shakespeare’s entire script collection---which if I do say so myself was pretty good. I love urban legends and just history in general, I love studying cultural aspects, actually I find it fascinating how one culture can do and be so unique. I’m also a dancer; I’ve been in ballet, ballet jazz, highland-dancing, and many others. And I like to say my Okay’s with an “i” instead of a “y”.

I draw my inspiration from everything, if it’s an old picture from the late 1500’s or a movie that is projecting a vision of the future. I started seriously writing roughly around three years ago. Other than that it was all for school and even then they were just stories to me a way to let out. Before that I wrote rough poetry and only recently with the help of an old class mate start to take my poetry more seriously. In the past two years about I guess you could say I really tried the writing a story but nothing came to me. It all seemed like jumbled ideas to start stories but I never finished them or given them life. I’ve written a couple starting stories, and had several good ideas. But I think my weak point is the editing and detail, also putting things in the wrong place, because when I write I like to get into the characters mind and to me I like to hit flaws but I find it very hard to give them flaws and that is one of my many weaknesses.

I’m not gonna say I’m perfect because that would be a white lie, I have a long ways to go and I intend on working my way up the latter. One day I hope I can publish one book series and I hope they can be perfect.

I’ve recently used Delia as my screen name, which is very nice considering it’s a Latin based name and means “Love for all eternity”. My full name is Alexina but you can call me Alex (Alexz...it sounds cool) or Lexi :).

Oh and did I forget to mention its 4:30 a.m. out here; yup that’s me I’m a total night owl.

And that’s me,
~Night-owl~


Maria-G.Weasley/CrazyWriterPersonOhLookAFlyingCook
Whats my name? Maria Chrysanthe (that is a pen name but it's what I always use...)

Where do I live? Twin Cities, Minnesota. I have always lived there, and have no intentions to move any time soon :)

I have brown hair and brown eyes, and I am 5'0" My mom is mostly Italian and my dad mostly greek, but a little bit of other stuff is mixed in.

I have two brothers. One is a twin, so he is 11 years old, and the other one is 6 years older, at 17. And then, I can't forget my dog. He is about 12 years old and a Lhasa Apso. I also live with my mom and my dad. My two fishies haven't died yet :P

I am a nerd. Not that I love school in that way, but I am very good at math and a lot of the other subjects. I am an A student. My favorite thing to do is write, and it drives some people crazy, but I don't care :P I love writing and reading fantasy and historical ficton, not so much things like Sci-fi and romance. I also love reading any kind of mythology. Oh, and to add to the nerd ensemble, I am a complete Harry Potter geek. I have posters all over my room, have read all the books to many times to count.I do Greek Dance and soccer and cello and piano and tennis and math league and art club and Academic Triathlon. I love almost all of them except for math league. I've only finished one novel due to NaNoWriMo.

One of my main goals in life is to get a book published. That is my life's dream. I don't care at what age, but I just NEED TO PUBLISH IT!

I started writing at... well since I could write words on paper. I'm not kidding. My first story was about a girl and her brother who found a blue dog and took care of it. Didn't turn out so well... But what do you expect from a 5 year old? So I guess I've been writing for almost 7 years. I've only become really serious about it for the past 3 years.

My weakness in writing is either over detail or very very strong reluctance to edit. Or both.

Anything I left out? Oh yeah! I have many stories being left in the cold while i am editing my current finished novel but I will go back to them. One more thing! I write pretty much everything longhand, so don't expect to see tons of my writing on goodreads. I type up some of it just for that purpose.


Guitar Chick
Hi, my name is Miranda, but I prefer to be called Randi. I'm eleven years old and live somewhere in Alabama (I'm not allowed to reveal too much on the Internet. You're lucky you got my name). I am currently writing three stories. A clean romance novel, a music story (I'm a huge music nerd) and a fantasy/ comedy novel.
I'm kind of a nerd. I soak up every useless piece of music trivia there is, especially from the seventies and eighties. I play a lot of music too. In fact, if you're going to look for me on goodreads, my screen name's Guitar Chick. Music is what inspired me to write so I kind of had to include that. If you want to check and see if I have a website, it's plaidskirts.webs.com although that's actually my future band's website and I haven't updated it in a while.


Kristin
My name is Kristin. I am 15 years old, turning 16 in April.

I am Norwegian and live in the capital Oslo with my mum, dad, older brother, older sister and my 8 year old Golden Retriever.

I have dark blonde hair, blue eyes and is about 5'5 tall.

I was about seven years old when I wrote my first story. As I remember, the teacher wanted us to write a little story. I ended up writing a half writing book because I thought it was so much fun. That was when I discovered how much I loved writing. The story was about an animal. I named him Noddi. By a leaf he traveled to wonderland, where he became friends with different animals. But his mouse friend, Pass-Opp, went missing, and Noddi and his friends went all the way to Crete to find him. They found him and they all lived happily ever after :)

What I prefer to write now is gothic fiction and romance. I usually write poems, scenes for novels and short stories. I actually prefer to write in English, and I love learning new words I can use. My problem is that I sometimes use rare word that not even my teacher has heard of. I think it makes the text a bit weird or fake.

When I'm not writing, I read or play the piano, I try to learn new words in different languages (I've recently been very fond of German) or I'm with friends or busy with school.

The Stoklkit - in THE GUARDIAN - Unpublished

A soft touch on his face and a scratchy squall woke him next. Big green eyes stared at him intently and then squinted as the toothy mouth opened up and squalled again. The kit was hungry and complaining about it.

"I tried to get him to take something from me so you could sleep, but he just hissed at me. He's been working on you for the last fifteen minutes or so."

Reed lifted the kit off his chest and sat up. He saw it was . . . it was Esther who spoke. "I fell asleep here? Sorry."

There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm just sorry the couch wasn't long enough for you." She pointed off to a door. "The bathroom is through there. Go wash up. I'll have breakfast ready for you in a few minutes. What have you been feeding junior there?"

"It eats from my plate." He looked up to see her look of disapproval. "I think you'll get a kick out of it, it has better manners than some men I've seen."

At the table, the kit sat on Reed's lap and peeked over the edge of the table with its front paws resting just at the edge. As soon as his plate was in front of him, Reed cut his first bite of sausage and forked it into his mouth. The kit watched the bite closely until it disappeared and then the green eyes swiveled back to the plate. When the second bite disappeared into Reed's mouth, the kit opened its mouth and let out a tiny squeak and then it reached out a paw an touched the edge of the plate.

Reed looked down as if noticing it for the first time. "What do you want?"

The kit looked up at him and then reached out to touch the edge of one of the eggs.

"Watch this; this is cute." He cut the egg into small bites and pushed them towards the edge of the plate.

The kit reached out and speared the bites, one at a time, until what it had been given, was gone.

"Do you want some sausage?" asked Reed.

The kit looked up at him and squeaked again toothily, so Reed cut up some of the sausage into small bites and pushed them to the edge of the plate too.

When that was gone, the kit began to get restless, so Reed quickly finished the rest off what was on the plate and took the kit outside. When it had finished its duty out there, he returned to the table for a cup of coffee with the kit riding happily on his shoulder. He held a cup of water for the kit, and it drank thirstily, then meticulously washed itself while Reed drank his coffee.

"That was the cutest thing I think I have ever seen. How did you teach him that?"

"I didn't teach him anything. He's always been like that. Like I said, very polite. Better than some men."