The Writers' Network! discussion

Can I post poems?

I think that would be fine...

FORGOTTEN



Why do we forget our first spoken words,
But not our first known verse?
Why not forget our bad, unhappy moments,
And relish on ones that had happy comments..

"Forgive and Forget" those who hurt us?!
Yet forget to thank the helping ones!?
Forgotten the voice of your dead granny,
Or even the name of your first nanny...

We've forgotten our very first fall,
But still do remember our pet pal...
Why does a human brain have to-
Be so disorganized??
That it keeps what it wants and disposes
Stuff that want to be revised...

Forget all things bad, how do we?
Get new ones maybe...
That shall do, but yet,
We do tend to forget
Loved ones that once we let,
Now are hard to just get...

A lot we have in our head,
But things of heart are not yet dead,
They have done none but just fled,
Out of us, forgotten, just been bled...

This is a in little snippet of one of the most popular stories in Strange Love - Short Stories and Twisted Tales, it takes place mid way through the story. When we get a little closer to the release date of Strange Worlds I will post a little extract from that too :~)

The large patio doors were flung open to the garden.
The room was devoid of any furniture at all really, unless you counted the freezer units. They were large, the kind that held displays of ice cream and frozen food in supermarkets. One stood open and unplugged in the middle of the room, with a heap of blankets on the floor in front of it. It was angled away so she couldn’t see inside. Four electric fans were trained on it, and running on full. Two of the freezers were running. And occupied.
“Mrs Frost,” she turned, and then had to step back
into the room, because the old woman was suddenly
much too close. Tears were streaming down her lined
face.
“It’s OK,” she started again, “really it is.”
“I know it’s OK!” Mrs Frost snapped. “I keep telling everyone it’s OK. My sexuality is none of your business!”
The Doctor took another step back and her foot caught a tool, a long chisel of some kind, sending it spinning across the polished wood floor.
“I’m sorry Mrs Frost, your sexuality? I don’t
understand?”

Here is a brief snippet of the book I'm working on now. (It's a very rough draft so excuse any errors.)

(view spoiler)[

The rain pounded the ground in fast hard beats trying to wash away the horror nature just witnessed. Blood melted into the soil, the body laid still, and the once beating heart was now cold like the hand that held it. A small smile played at the lips of the killer. His fingers curling around the organ as the sound of thunder drowned out his laughter. He placed the heart in a small cooler and picked up the old host. Walking to the river, he gently positioned the victim in it and bathed her face before letting the current pull her downstream.

The killer turned around walked back to shore and picked up the cooler. After glancing around the scene, he smirked at the memory of the kill. “This one needed to die. It doesn't matter that it was a wife and mother of two small boys. That harlot needed to die for her sins. Thou shalt not commit adultery. I am doing God’s work. I am getting rid of the sinners that should have been cast out at the beginning. All of those vile wretched low creatures of the world who do not deserve His grace are finally getting a chance at salvation.”

Taking a deep breath, he got in the truck and placed the cooler in the passenger seat. The engine started with a slow purr and he slowly drove out of the little town of Medal.

“No one ever pays attention to things that happened here. It is the perfect spot for the cleansings. They are not going to miss one of their own either.” He gleefully thought. (hide spoiler)]

I liked that Djinn, seems interesting. I realise you said it was a draft, so not sure if you want critique-type thoughts? Disregard the next if you don't lol

The killers thoughts in the second paragraph,was he speaking aloud? It seems that it may work better as dialogue (If you see the actual killing) or maybe as a flashback, eg:
He smiled as he thought of her begging for her life, telling him she was a mother of two little boys, they needed her. She should have thought of that before she committed adultery. I told the harlot she had to die for her sins, that all of the vile wretched creatures who do not deserve the grace of God need to be cast out so those of us who deserve it will finlly get a chance at salvation. He smirked at the memory of the kill. "I am doing Gods work" he thought, "this one needed to die"

just a thought, ignore it if you like ;~)

Cool! Thanks for that. I like any and all types of critique. The flashback is a great idea. :)

It is always worrying offering unasked for opinions - our writings are like our babies after all lol Glad if I helped a little ;~)

Have you ever read any Patricia Cornwell? It kind of reminded me of some of her work :~)

Victoria wrote: "It is always worrying offering unasked for opinions - our writings are like our babies after all lol Glad if I helped a little ;~)

Have you ever read any Patricia Cornwell? It kind of reminded me ..."

I bought one a few months ago but I have yet to read it. :)

Thanks.

This is a rough draft of the book I'm working on now. It's the sequel to Dark Deception (From Her Eyes). It's called Dark Deception (The Investigation). No Spoiler's here...

Lidia sat quietly on the edge of her seat as she waited patiently for help to arrive. She was afraid to move from where she was sitting and even afraid to breath too loudly. She could feel that someone was standing directly behind her, breathing over her shoulder. She was definitely under attack by some unseen dark force that seemed to possess much power.
The doorbell rang out through her townhouse and she jumped. Anything could have caused her to jump out of her seat at that moment but she felt a sense of relief as she realized that help had finally arrived. She wouldn’t be alone with the invisible enemy that had been harassing her for the last several months. Perhaps the professionals would even be able to give her answers as to what or who was in her home. She could only hope.
She stood up slowly, trying her hardest to not upset the invisible force she could feel in the room with her, and walked over toward the door. As she put her hand on the doorknob to open it, she paused. Lidia had never been one to believe in the supernatural. She never worshiped or feared anything she couldn’t see and, therefore, never had a religion to cling to in life. She believed in what she could see. There had to be a logical explanation to everything in the world and Lidia had a lot of trouble believing otherwise.
She took a deep breath and opened the door despite her feeling of doubt in this team of paranormal investigators. As she opened the door, she saw the woman from the advertisement who claims to be a psychic. She leads a team of four others who are experts in technical equipment used to track and capture evidence of hauntings. Lidia began to have doubts once again upon seeing the five team members standing there before her.
Despite her feelings, she said, “Hello, you must be the paranormal group?” The woman smiled and replied, “Yes, we are. May we come in?” She was a sweet looking older lady who was very mild mannered. Lidia couldn’t imagine how she ended up being the one in charge of this group with such a soft spoken demeanor. She opened the door wide and step aside so that the team could enter.
As soon as they all stood there in the hallway, there was a noise from the second level of the home. The woman asked, “Is anyone else here with you?” “No. I’m alone.” Lidia replied. They all looked upward toward the ceiling as they heard the sound of heavy furniture being pulled across the floor above them. They all followed the sound from one side of the ceiling to the other and jumped when the furniture seemed to be dropped at the other end.
Suddenly, there was the sound of a deep demonic growling coming from where the loud crashing sound had been. It seemed to continue for quite a long time and Lidia could feel the hair standing up on her body as she only imagined what the beast looked like. She could see the looks on the faces of the other team members and they seemed to be just as afraid as Lidia. That was not comforting to her in the least.

Here's the first chapter to a book I'm currently working on. It's a zombie apcalypse type, but with a generous amount of comedy thrown in ;)
Please let me know what you think!

Chapter One

I was sitting outside the big, metal warehouse when Todd Chene came stumbling around a corner, his long legs churning up the dry, dusty road that stretched through town.
“Better run a little faster, Todd!” I called, cupping my hands around my mouth; “Else they’ll be into your skin in a few seconds.”
Eyes wide with exertion, he frantically redoubled his speed and got a bit more of his legs under him as he dashed past me, leaving a trail of dust puffs behind him.
Besides me, Frank Trent clicked his stopwatch with a grunt of disapproval. “He’ll never make it,” he said, his deep bass voice resounding in his large paunch.
Yeah, and probably neither would you, I was tempted to say, but kept my thoughts to myself. Frank would probably just hunker in his bunker, stuffing his face until he either died from overeating or one of the zombies actually got to him first.
Yeah, zombies. They actually exist, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Scientists say that such a thing as a being that is rotting on the outside, while still able to stay alive is impossible. But proof talks a little louder than scientists, and live feed of a horde of zombies attacking a busload of businessmen got everyone’s attentions quickfast.
Todd came up, panting heavily, the cuffs of his jeans brown with dust and flopped onto the steps next to me. “How’d I do?” he asked, glancing first at Frank and then me.
“Pretty good,” he said, just as I blurted out, “Terrible.”
Todd frowned at both of us and I added, “You’d be dead in less than it took to get a scream out of your mouth at that pace.”
His face reddened and Todd stood up, jabbing a finger at me. “Yeah?” he bristled, his voice harsh and defensive, “You’d be amazed at what fear can do to your speed.”
I blinked, long and slow, letting him know that I still didn’t change my opinion. “Face it Todd, you’re a goner,” I drawled, leaning back until the front two legs of my chair were off the ground, and laced my hands behind my head. “I’d start writing my will if I were you.”
“Shut up,” he growled, stalking off.
Frank sighed. “Well done, Teri.”
“What?” I protested with a laugh, “That he’s so dumb that he never even thought for a moment that I’m teasing because no one wanting to live will be out after dark? C’mon, admit that I got him.”
“Ok, Teri,” Frank said with a groan as he got up, “You got him. But aren’t you the one who suggested training a bit before the hordes start making their way down here?”
I waved my hand airily, “Yeah, yeah, I remember. I still think it was funny.”
Frank stared down at me with his piercing green eyes. Even though he wore like, plus size three hundred; girls still swooned at his gaze.
“Funny? When the world is getting literally eaten up by monsters? Teri,” he said reproachfully, and I huffed in annoyance.
“Fine!” I said, standing up briskly. My chair legs thumped to the porch with a wooden thud that resounded up into my legs. “You know, it’s like a person can’t even crack a joke around her because she’s afraid the very air will get popped! The tension is that tight in town. I’m just trying to lighten things up a bit, jeez!”
I stomped into the warehouse and slammed the door shut with a crash, enjoying shutting it in Frank’s face. Jesse glanced up from the desk piled high with bits and pieces of jewelry; his eyepiece making him looking like one eye was popping out of his head.
“Hi,” he muttered when he saw my face and looked back down at the thin chain in his hands that he was making.
But I needed to rant, and Jesse was the usual victim.
“Can you believe that?” I cried, flinging my hands up and glaring at the door over my shoulder. “I’m getting chewed out by Frank for teasing Todd! Seems like I can’t even pull a grin without someone yelling at me to cut it out.” I paused a moment to take a breath and then added in a dark, low voice, “Sometimes I wish the hordes would just come here and then people would have other things to worry about.”
The chain dropped to the desk with a thin clink and Jesse yanked off his jeweler’s glass, turning his angry, green-eyed gaze on me. Frank was his older brother, but Jesse was lean and tall while Frank was fat and tall. If girls swooned over Frank’s eyes, then they fainted dead off when Jesse even glanced in their vague direction.
Thankfully I’d never even blinked when Jesse looked at me, and even right now I stared right back.
“He’s right, Teri!” he said, his voice low and anger rolling off his words. “People are scared, and making fun of that will only make the problem worse. You should listen to Frank.”
I clenched my jaw and balled my fists. “Fine.” I spat out, turning on my heel and stalking off down the aisles of boxes.
“Be sure to get some milk while you’re at it,” Jesse’s voice drifted over to me, knowing exactly where I was heading, “We’re almost out.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

“Morons,” I muttered savagely, pushing my way into the small store, the bell above the door signaling my arrival.
“Who?” a voice rang out at the back of the store, slightly muffled, “Jesse, Frank, or both of them?”
“Both,” I replied, weaving around the canned goods aisle to come to the counter at the back of the store. My friend Delilah leaned against it, her elbows propped up and the chipped counter.
“Do tell,” she said, cupping her chin in a black-nailed hand, “What did them-of-the-gorgeous-eyes do now? Tell you to marry one of them? Or oh, I know! Frank sat on you!”
I laughed and sat down on the stool next to the bin of peanuts, absent-mindingly digging my hand into the hourglass shells and bringing out a handful. “No, just told me to stop wisecracking about the hordes. I got Todd riled up pretty bad.”
She faked shock and raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh my goodness, Todd? Riled?”
“Yeah,” I said, cracking a shell in between my fingers and popping the exposed nuts into my mouth, “Big surprise there.” I closed my eyes and chewed, the buttery taste of the peanuts filling my mouth.
“So,” I said as I dropped a few more nuts into my mouth, “How’ve you been Deli?”
She sighed dramatically and leaned her cheek on a fist. “Just dreaming about those boys.”
I rolled my eyes when she said that and groaned in mock horror. “Puh-lease, Deli, don’t make me throw up peanut butter all over your floor.”
“What?” she grinned viciously, “It’s not like I’d clean it up.”
I chuckled and looked at her, raising an eyebrow. Deli always cheered me up when I was angry. “So, what is it really?” I asked.
She pushed up and sat on the counter, crossing her black-tight and hot pink mini-skirt clad legs. “Nothing really. Worried about the rising, same as everyone.”
I nodded. “Yeah, me too.”
“I noticed,” she said dryly, “This is the seventh time this week you’ve crashed into her…and it’s only Wednesday.”
As Deli had noticed, I tended to get sarcastic and spat out remarks designed to rile people when I was worried…which invariable got either Frank or Jesse upset with me. Newcomers to the warehouse state wondered why everyone lived wherever they wanted, but the real matter was that once you turned thirteen, you worked in a warehouse. And where you worked, you lived. Most of us were orphans sent from New York City, where the attacks had started, and were shipped down here after getting rescued, to the warehouse state.
We lived in the United States of America, but after the attacks started about fifteen years ago, all the names had been dropped and states were picked to do a certain job. Our state used to be called Alabama, but now we were just the warehouse state. The State-large Storage Unit, Jesse jokingly called it.

“Wow,” I said rubbing my forehead, getting peanut oils and skin bits all over it, “That bad, huh?”
Deli nodded, swinging her legs to hang over the edge of the counter, thumping her black boots that were falling apart against the side of the structure. “Yeah,” she said.
Just then the bell sent out a tinkling alarm and Deli swung herself back behind the counter just as Frank ambled up, his gaze fixing on me.
“Ten till eight,” he said grimly, and I felt all the cheering up Deli had given me slowly draining.
Eight ‘o’clock. When dark fell, when if you wanted to be alive in case the zombies came you had to be inside behind steel. Zombies were incredibly strong for looking half-dead.
“Ok,” I said, standing up, the taste of peanuts in my mouth suddenly dry and papery tasting, “See you later Deli.”
I followed Frank out into the sinking dusk and heard the mechanic hum as Deli locked the store and lowered the steel bars into over the windows.
Just as I walked into our warehouse, Frank’s presence big and there behind me, I remembered.
“Drat!” I yelled, “I forgot the milk.”

Link to rest of story:
http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/3...

Keshena wrote: "I think your story has two things in its favor-zombies are in right now, and so are imperfect heroines. Promising!"

Thank you! ^.^

Keshena wrote: "Great stuff you guys! Here is the first bits of an abandoned novel about an incubus. Havent worked on it in months, but I consider it one of the best things I've ever written.

There was no pretty..."

Very interseting! You will have to alert me when it does hit the shelves (or earlier haha)I like the way you pulled me in within a few short paragraphs and I can't wait to read more!

Brandon wrote: "I'll post a small little excerpt of the book I'm writing. Enough to pique your interest. :P

"The forest ended abruptly. No gradually smaller, sparser trees, no; the roaring thunder of the oaks sud..."

Ooh, I like. You should keep me posted on progress!

Victoria wrote: "This is a in little snippet of one of the most popular stories in Strange Love - Short Stories and Twisted Tales, it takes place mid way through the story. When we get a little closer to the releas..."

Loved that book!

Kyle ~Special K: Rebel Leader~ wrote: "I'll post an excerpt of the novel I'm currently working on.


Season Of The Stranger
______________________

With each cautious footstep in the direction of the gatehouse,..."

I am liking the work so far. Please keep me posted with progress.

I am working on a trilogy (maybe saga type deal, I have not decided) and my biggest issue is self doubt. I am reaching out trying to decide if I should keep it as a fun keeping my hands busy project, or if I should in fact try to get publish and send my creation out to the world. This is an exerpt that I feel best shows the heroine.

I was startled when I heard the soft crunch earth. I spun around and saw Drem walking slowly to me. “Hey Lory.” He said finally. He sounded so sad that my heart dropped a little.
“What’s wrong?” My concern was overwhelming and I realized he had only said two words. Two normal words, but the sadness that dripped out of his voice suggested that they were not normal words at all.
“Can I ask you a question?” He was so quiet a whisper would have overpowered his voice.
I patted the swing next to me. He did not look at me, he stared at his feet. After a while of silence he finally sat down next to me. We sat in that silence for a long time. With Drem, you need to let him sort out the way he feels first, or he won’t tell you anything. Finally I could take it no longer and I asked “what did you want to ask me? Is everything ok?”
“I… I guess so.” Was his reply. A tear rolled down his cheek. “No. Maybe not.” His head dropped again, just as it had in class. His dirt brown hair was a mess longer and shaggier than I had ever seen it before, and it looked as if he hadn’t slept at all last night.
The silence was getting unbearable again. I began thinking what could be so bad that it would make Drem cry. He was a Mountain, strong and constant. The last time he cried was after his father… I understood then what could make him act this way “It’s your Grandfather isn’t it?” The words tasted like poison. How could one Emelvin loose so much in only 17 years of life?
He took a deep breath. “Yeah.” His simple shaky reply was all me could manage to utter as the tears really came pouring out of his eyes.
I put my arm around him and pulled him into a lying position. He sobbed into my lap. I had no words for him. I could not comfort him with my wisdom. I didn’t have any. I was too young to have the wisdom that Elder Zepre had.
We sat there for two hours. He did not cry for long, but I knew he was unable to move from the pain of it all. So we just sat. I stroked his messy hair, just trying to be of some comfort.
“He told me this morning before class.” He whispered finally. I almost didn’t catch what he said. “He had said ‘Drem. I’m dying.’ That was how my day started.” He rolled over off my lap and plopped onto the floor and sat there drawing circles in the dirt. “I wandered around the building after class. I didn’t want to go home. So I came here. I hope that’s ok. But I didn’t want to be anywhere else.”
“Of course. You know you can always come to me.” I said, trying to make my voice sound grown-up, motherly.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. He is probably talking with your Grandfather right now about the enchanting return he will make.” He voice was quiet still but with a little bit of hatred in them. When Emelvin choose to give back the power they borrowed from the earth, it is supposed to be more of a celebration. Nothing Drem’s tone said he was ready for it.
“I will help you with anything you need.” I said trying to comfort him, but my words had a reverse affect.
“I don’t know what I need. I’m not ready to be the last of the Hawk Feathers.” He yelled at me. “I can’t believe he is going to do this to me now.” I realized he was not really yelling at me, but I still felt the sting his words intended.
“He is not doing this to you.” I was my turn to be barely audible. “He is sick.”
“I get that. But I can’t…” He trailed off when he saw Galvin walking over to us.
“Can’t what?” Galvin asked with a touch annoyance in his voice. I knew how much he hated when the conversation stopped as someone walked in the room. He was even worse when it stopped for him.
“I can’t be alone. He is all I have left.” Drem’s voice lost the anger, and I heard it crack a little.
“That’s not true!” I said, sounding more hurt than I wanted it to betray. “You have me!”
“And Me!” Galvin’s voice sounded more regretful now that he was catching up on the conversation. “We are all like siblings. And siblings take care of each other and share every secret they may have.” His last words were directed at me.
“Yes. Absolutely.” I agreed glaring at Galvin. This is neither the time nor the place to casually drop in that my life was going to be changing in a direction that neither of them was going to like.
“I don’t keep anything from you.” Drem replied more to Galvin’s statement. Unaware of the actual intent. “I would have come to you first, but… I don’t know… Lory is just more understanding than you are.” I knew he needed a shoulder to cry on, and Galvin hated when people cried.
“I didn’t mean it to sound so harsh.” Galvin was still leaning up against the swing. He looked off in the distance, anywhere but at us really.




So Any feed back at all could really help!

I started writing this at the end of last year and haven't had much time to work on it since (schooling comes first, these days). I'd appreciate a general opinion and as to whether or not things "gel" together.

Before I recount, it should be acknowledged that my Life truly began with a theatre production of Arabian Nights and my father’s withdrawal to the war. Had I been any older than twelve, perhaps my interests and desires would presently lie elsewhere, nevertheless, it was this vivid performance which rendered my inner perception to such a degree that some eight years later, during my twentieth year, I came to study the ancient and lost worlds of the mysterious and colourful East. I had come to discern only tales – stories of extraordinary creatures, Kings and Queens, conquerors and rogues, composed by notable and admirable writers; the topic was, with upmost assertion, exhaustingly fascinating.
My father, a man ‘believed’ by our neighbourhood to be of astute principles, upon detecting my curiosity into the subject, promptly declared that the life of a historian would not guarantee wealth, to which I should take heed as a clergyman instead. The year being 1922, many of London’s townspeople conserved highest respects for men of religious standing. Yet, I imagined such toil to be tedious and after celebrating my twentieth birth-day, I travelled away from my home in South Kensington to a University in Cambridge. It was here that I went on to study antiquity of all kinds: antediluvian, feudal and contemporary. I marvelled at archaeology and idolised Howard Carter, equipped every crevice of my mind with unadulterated knowledge, and maintained an uncredited understanding of the human condition through a lifetime of quiet observation.

However, it is not here in my most glorious years that this story begins, but in a quieter time. I was born Edwin Theodore Harris, April 19th, in the year of 1903. A humble time, one can add; abundant with naïve and youthful reminiscences. I lived with my family in South Kensington, on a hill which overlooked the city of London. Here also resided my English father, Albert Harris, an infamous physician within our meticulous neighbourhood, my Scottish mother, Eleanor Harris; redundant, yet a wonderful manufacturer of baked goods, and my older brother Rueben whom to this day I embrace an unfathomable dislike. We were the lasting foundations of the Harris family; many having succumbed to disease or ill-fated lifestyles. I know for certain that my father’s brother was killed fighting Boers a short while before my birth, and my mother had been a desolate orphan girl from Aberdeen. Rueben and I were what our lineages trusted upon – two hapless schoolboys from what might have been an affluent home, given my brother hadn’t been involved with what our family came to brand, ‘The Awful Mistake’.
An insufferable boy, my brother was – teeming with arrogance and disregard for any child beneath the age of 12. At this time, in 1911, I was enduring my eighth year, and considered my sibling a nuisance in his own mad and self-obsessed right, often insulting my appreciation of books and declaring me “a downright bore”. Being of such an undeveloped age, I thought nothing of his half-witted proclamations and continued to exist within my own imagined world. While Rueben was scolded for terrorizing Mrs Maxwell’s cat, I would sit in the family library and ponder over the works of William Shakespeare. As my brother dissected insects, I traced the lines of Freud with small, yet slender fingers. When he loped through the house, cupping his hand to his mouth and yodelling like an Indian from the West, I was lying upon the stiff floorboards, reading about a boy named Huckleberry. My intellect was not, in any way, particularly advanced at this stage, though the very exhilaration from comprehending one word to another was sufficient enough for me to boast my successes within the schoolyard.
As I reflect on these accomplishments, if one may, felt to be the epitome of my intelligence. I recall that my father paid no interest to my endeavours and my mother, unable to comprehend the use I found in these texts, was too apparent in her confusion for me to truly appreciate either of them. “You’re odd,” Rueben told me one day. “Why do you read those dull books? Say, can you even read?” He had laughed, despite himself and pinched my arm, not good-naturedly. “You should play marbles like the other children.”
And I said to him, in my small and unembellished voice, that marbles was a game for simpletons, who lacked any further betterment in themselves and were unable to appreciate the resources which the world so generously offered.
Although reader, I must apologise, for my eight year-old self did not (nay, purely could not) articulate such elaborate discourse. I told Rueben, my elder, a phrase similar to this: “Marbles is a foolish game” and moved past him, my arm still tender from where he’d wounded it. He did not pursue me, mercifully an action neither of us found very necessary and instead, left me to saunter towards the library. I found solitude in tomes of all kinds, whether it be constructions of fiction, prose, poetry or methodical accounts. There was a man named Nikola Tesla who discovered how to channel electricity. Magicians, theorists, playwrights and composers; contribute to blank parchment their insightful and inquisitive minds. And I, a zealous student to their greater knowledge, consumed these enraptured volumes in a single, spellbound bite.



There's more, but yeah.

I used to write poetry and short stories when I was a teenager but I have lost them all. However, my mother just found one of my poems I wrote when I was fourteen years old while she was cleaning the basement.

Path of Wisdom, Souls of Death


Spirit of evil, violence overwhelms evil of which he speaks
Spirit of Righteousness, fountain of life, wisdom of which he seeks
Wealth is worthless in days of wrath, righteousness delivers from death
Evil hopes perish, wicked man dies, expect from power is foolish lies

Evil leads to darkness of death, the path of peace is of wisdom
Among the dead are the fools, but the wise will rule the kingdom
Ones of wisdom only to save, swallow fools alive to their grave
Buried alive by evil and lust, your soul may rot of hell and dust

He who crossed the path of evil, evil path of which he bled
He who sheds the blood of man, then by man shall his blood be shed
Curse the man who hoards the grain, his soul we leave to shame
Crown the one willing to sell, the wicked one we leave in Hell

Blessed are those who keep my ways, death for those who ignore me
Torture waits for those of evil, I crown the ones who adore me
I existed before the Earth, I was first to be given birth
By my side your kings reign, but I will mock a foolish game

Wise in heart to take command, wise in the eye of his Father
Wicked fool comes to ruin, the fool brings grief to his Mother
Foolish mocker is filled with hate, for he is the Demons bate
Path of wisdom leads to chance, chance of betraying the devils dance

The wise will wait for their reward, the foolish alone will suffer
Follow the path of the righteous, to you my riches I will offer
Words of knowledge existed before, mouth of evil you must ignore
I give these words to your kingdom, I dwell with life
For my name is Wisdom

A very rough draft of a short story I'm working on. I'd like some feedback on the writing and what I can do to improve it!

Becoming an “official” woman is an exciting time for any girl. That eighteenth birthday is when you are granted your freedom to be and do what you will. But it is even a more special time for a girl, who just happens to be part wolf…

Sabrina Hasenkamp stood in the window of her mother’s shop, slipping a red dress over a mannequin’s slender body. The shop was called “La Farfalla”, Italian for, “The Butterfly”, and sold everything from clothes to lotion to chocolates, and was her mother’s pride and joy. Sabrina stepped out of the window, and walked outside to study her work. “Looks good, honey.” Her mother, Mitzi, said, walking past her into the shop, her hands filled with bags. “What did you buy?” Sabrina followed her inside.
“I bought you this shirt, isn’t it pretty? I also bought a few things to put in the shop.” Mitzi smiled, holding up a t-shirt with the face of the Virgin Mary on it. “Pretty.” Sabrina replied, fingering the edge of the shirt. It was pretty, though maybe a bit over-the-top. Sabrina mentally went through her closet, picturing what she could possibly pair it with.
“Anyways, anybody come in while I was out?”
“A few. Someone bought that emerald pendant we’ve been trying to sell for months.” Sabrina leaned against the front desk. Mitzi took a compact out of her purse, and looked in the mirror, tucking some of her short blonde hair behind her ears. She reapplied her lip gloss, and snapped it shut. She was almost fifty, but still incredibly beautiful. She had at least three boyfriends, all younger than her. Mitzi stepped out from behind the front desk and started to ascend the stairs at the back of the shop. “I’ll make us some lunch.” She called. They lived upstairs in a two bedroom, one bath apartment that overlooked the city. Sabrina loved it, though it made it hard to have some privacy. Sabrina and Mitzi had moved to Rome when she was ten, and hadn’t left since, and weren’t planning too. Sabrina had no idea who her father was, and Mitzi claimed she didn’t know either, as she had had so many boyfriends at the time. Sabrina didn’t believe her one bit.
“Ehm ... Signorina, mi potete aiutare?”
Sabrina turned to see a young man, dressed in rather shabby clothes, Italian dictionary in hand. He had a boyish smile, and sun burnt cheeks.
“What can I do to help you?” She asked, cocking her head to the side. A look of relief washed over him.
“You speak English,” He sighed, rubbing one of his freckled arms. “I’m Hadley Carver. I’m from Liverpool, and I’m traveling with my uncle. We need some help finding a hotel. Preferably cheap…” Hadley explained, putting the dictionary back into the leather satchel hanging off of his shoulder. “Italian isn’t my strong suit.”
“I could tell.” Sabrina smirked. She grabbed a notepad and pen sitting by the cash register and started to write the name of a hotel, and the directions on how to get there. “It’s about twenty minutes from here, and not too expensive.” She ripped the note off of the pad, and handed it to him. A wide smile spread across his face, and he folded the paper over, and stuck it in his pocket. “Thank you… What did you say your name was?” What a charmer, Sabrina thought.
“Sabrina Hasenkamp.” She looked behind him to a tall, slender man, who looked too much like Hadley to not be his uncle. “Your uncle is waiting.”
Hadley sighed, saying his thanks once again, and walked up to his uncle, showing him the directions to the hotel. “Sabrina, lunch is ready!” Mitzi yelled from upstairs. Sabrina went up to the kitchen, and sat down at the little wooden table. The room was filled with sunlight from the open windows, and a gentle breeze ruffled the pink curtains. “Who were you talking to?” Mitzi asked, sitting a pitcher of lemonade down in front of her. Sabrina poured some into a chipped glass, and slowly took a sip. “It was a tourist, looking for a hotel.”
“Was he cute?” Mitzi teased, bringing over a bowl of chicken salad and a loaf of bread. Very cute.
“I didn’t notice.” Sabrina shrugged, looking out the window to a young woman riding a bicycle on the streets. Mitzi sat opposite Sabrina, and cut herself a slice of bread. She placed it on her plate, and drizzled it with some olive oil. “So…your eighteenth birthday is coming up…” Sabrina speared a piece of chicken breast with her fork, listening as Mitzi nibbled on her bread. She had been hoping this conversation wouldn’t be happening for at least a few more days. “And that is a very special occasion. Maximilian and Giulia want to throw the party at their house.” Sabrina groaned, leaning back in her chair. “Now I know you don’t want them to spend any money on you, but it would be rude not to accept. They have plenty of money to spare, believe me.” Mitzi scoffed, downing her glass of lemonade. “We have to go. That is my final answer.”
“Mom,” Sabrina sighed, “I don’t want to. It’s just a birthday. Everyone has one.”

Keshena wrote: "Good start! What is it about?"

It is a YA story about a girl who is werewolf (obviously), and how that affects her life and becoming an adult.

Brandon wrote: "I'll post a small little excerpt of the book I'm writing. Enough to pique your interest. :P

"The forest ended abruptly. No gradually smaller, sparser trees, no; the roaring thunder of the oaks sud..."

This is really good. Your description was very engaging.