♡ The Cozy Book Nook ♡ discussion

Share your writing with others! This can include poems, short stories, or books! Perfect place to promote your book if you'd like:))

I don't write much😅

How cool, Camellia! That's so awesome! I bet a lot of hard work went into it:))

My friend and I are working on a book right now! I’ll definitely post here when we are done.

This is the prompt-

you’ve been best friends with the neighboring kingdoms heirs all your life. But it’s more that that he’s the only one that truly knows you. One day you are playing with him in the woods, to image the world you could never see. The prince falls off a cliff and is impaled by a jagged rock. You run for help, but it’s too late. He’s dead. After you return with the news his parents and yours break out into an argument. The strong relationship between the two countries is torn apart. A war breaks out. Who will win? Did you push the Prince off or did he trip? Or was there an outsider who caused him to fall? Will you ever know? Will you ever make it?

I'll post a snippet later

Here's a scene from a 20,000 word novella I wrote for college titled "The Funeral Game." Just for a bit of context, the protagonist is a girl named Ivy Winslow. She was invited to the funeral of Mr. Nathaniel Sharpe, a friend of her father's, and someone that she's known practically all of her life. The eight guests (that were invited to the funeral) have all arrived, and the service has just begun (it is being conducted by Mr. Sharpe's butler, Mr. Bencham.

Here's the scene (part one):
“I’m Mr. Theodore Bencham,” the man said after a moment. “I am Mr. Sharpe’s butler, as well as the executor of his estate. Mr. Sharpe had asked me to conduct this short funeral service.” The room was silent. “You’re probably all wondering why there are only eight guests at this funeral,” Mr. Bencham said, “and the truth is, I’m not sure why. I’m merely doing the things wanted done after his death, peculiar as they may seem. In following these orders, Mr. Sharpe did not want a typical funeral service. He did not want flowers, he obviously did not want many guests, and he only wanted me to say one, simple phrase, and then his service to be concluded.”
Ivy knew it. Ivy knew that Mr. Sharpe was still playing some type of game from the grave. Before she could stop herself, her eyes wandered over the figure of Mr. Sharpe. She shook her head. He was gone. That thought danced in her brain to a morbid, melancholy tune.
“Mr. Sharpe only wanted me to say this,” Mr. Bencham said, clearing his throat. Ivy leaned forward perceptively, eagerly. “The things of the past will always come back to haunt you.”
What? Ivy could see the other guests were confused too. The room was dead silent as everyone looked around suspiciously, waiting for something else to happen. But that was it. There was nothing but an awkward silence. Mr. Bencham cleared his throat again.
“So concludes the funeral service of Mr. Nathaniel Thaddeus Sharpe. May he rest in peace.”
Then every light in the small room was shut off, and the guests were plunged into darkness.
There was dead silence for a few, brief moments. Ivy’s breath had caught in her throat the moment the lights went out, and she was sure that everyone must have heard the sound of her heart racing. It was pounding in her ears. The darkness was closing in, her mind was becoming frantic. What was going on? Then, the brief moment of silence was suddenly ripped away by the loud noise of the guests going into a terrified frenzy. Ivy could hear wails, could feel others bumping up against her, and she could hear a jumbled-up mix of horror-stricken conversation.
“What happened?”
“Why did all the lights go out?”
“I always knew there was something strange about that Mr. Sharpe.”
“We’re trapped in here with a dead body! And I’m claustrophobic!”
Ivy’s breaths were now coming sharp and quickly. Mr. Sharpe was definitely up to something, but what was the reason for all of this? All of the lights going out was just something that was too coincidental, at least knowing Mr. Sharpe and his ways. Ivy could feel the terrified state of those in the room, as everyone scrambled around in a frenzied state.
“Where is the light switch?” Ivy heard someone say. Ivy remembered she had seen it on the right-hand wall when she had first come inside. She took a deep breath, trying to get back her bearings, and she felt around with her hands to see if she could determine where she was in the room. Her hand touched a hard, smooth surface. Ivy ran it along the surface of whatever she was touching, and then her hand suddenly dropped off of an end. It felt like a very small table….
The table! There was only one table of this size in this room, and Ivy remembered she had seen it along the left-hand wall. So if she walked to the right...
Ivy walked for a few moments, trying to focus on going in one direction, occasionally bumping into someone. She finally reached the right-hand wall. It had been somewhere toward the end about an arm’s length down. Just as she was running her hand along the wall, she thought she heard a grunt. It was strange, for it didn’t sound like how someone sounds when another person bumps into them, or like when they’ve bumped into something else. No, this was a quick, stifled grunt. Ivy ignored it, trying to focus on the task at hand. She had been so sure the light switch was here somewhere….there! Ivy quickly turned on the light, and everything-the scrambling, the confused conversation, the disorientation from moments before-it all came to a stop. All of the guests looked over at Ivy. Relief was on their faces.
“Thank you, girl,” the muscular, mustached man said. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. I’m Colonel Archibald Fox.”
“Ivy Winslow, Sir,” Ivy said, coming closer back to where the seats were, “I knew I had seen the light switch over along-“
At that moment, someone let out a blood-curling scream. Everyone turned to where the young, dark-headed woman stood by the casket. Her eyes were wide and a look of horror was on her face. “That man-“ She gasped, pointing at the floor. Ivy thought the poor girl was going to go into hysterics. “There’s…there…on the floor…”
Everyone slowly moved closer to her. Colonel Fox was the first to peer around the seats. A grim look immediately washed over his dark features. Mrs. Blakely peered over his shoulder. “Oh my,” she whispered.
The young, dark-haired girl backed away toward the wall. All of the other guests got closer to see what was apparently so horrendous. Ivy looked alongside the small, bald-headed man, down at the floor. A wave of nausea washed over her.
For there, lying on the carpeted floor of the funeral room was Mr. Hair Gel. Dead.

Part two:
A pool of dark blood was on the floor beside of him, and there were splatters of red all over surrounding items.
Everything was quiet. So, so quiet. Ivy could feel her heart pounding. What had Mr. Sharpe done? Was this even Mr. Sharpe’s doing? No it wasn’t possible….Mr. Sharpe was dead….
The only people in this room had been the guests and Mr. Bencham. Ivy quickly surveyed the room. Mr. Bencham was gone! Ivy backed up from the other guests, quietly, quickly, and she threw open the doors and sprinted from the room.
“Mr. Bencham!” She screamed, at the top of her lungs. “Mr. Bencham! Anybody! Somebody! Help!” No one answered. She was now in the front hall, standing on the cold, marble floor in front of the stairs. A chilling silence sat stagnant in the air of the house. She listened, but could only hear the pounding of her heart in her ears. Her breath caught. There was no one else in this house besides the guests. Everyone-the maids, the butler, Mr. Bencham-they were all gone. They had all, somehow, mysteriously disappeared. Ivy looked over at a distance table where she had noticed a phone sitting, when she had first arrived. She slowly walked over to the table, and picked up the cord. It had been cut. She looked closer, and noticed for the first time, there was a note taped onto the top of the phone. Ivy lifted it up and opened. She slowly read over the letter. Then she scanned over it two more times, sure that there was some mistake. There was no way that what she read could be true. Why would Mr. Sharpe do this? Ivy swallowed, and shoved the letter in her pocket, hoping this was all just a nightmare and she would wake up any minute. Ivy lifted her head to a window. A boarded-up window. Ivy’s mind raced for a fleeting moment and then….stopped. She had arrived at a conclusion. A horrific, deadly conclusion. Ivy closed her eyes. Everything made sense now. They were trapped. Her, and all the other guests were trapped inside of Mr. Sharpe’s mansion, with no way of escape. No way to contact the outside world. It was them, only them. Ivy knew there was nothing about this funeral that was going to be normal. And here she was, trapped inside of one of Mr. Sharpe’s games. Except this one was sick and twisted. This one was bloody and murderous. She had to tell the others.
Ivy cast one more look around the quiet hall, and ran back to the funeral room. She was breathless when she arrived, and the room itself was in a state of pure madness. The guests were rushing around, talking over one another, yelling, wailing, and screaming. Some were crying hysterically, others were taking deep breaths, looking as if they were going to vomit at any second. The noise continued.
“Stop!” Ivy screamed out.
Everything became quiet.
Ivy stepped forward. She handed the letter to the Colonel. “Read this.” She said, sinking into one of the chairs, trying to avoid looking at the dead man on the floor. Colonel Fox’s brows furrowed in confusion. He opened the note and read over it. Everyone watched him curiously.
His eyes widened at the end of the letter. He was quiet, folding it back up and handing it to Ivy. The man looked up at the ceiling, then over at Ivy, then over to the floor in front of her.
“Can someone please tell me what is going on?” Mrs. Blakely demanded.
Ivy said nothing, but merely handed over the note for Mrs. Blakely to read for herself. The woman read over it. “My word,” She whispered, once she got to the end of it. She handed it back to Ivy, her eyes wide with fear as she glanced over at the casket. She looked as if she was in some faraway place from the past.
“Mrs. Blakely,” Ivy said.
“Edward,” was the only word that slipped from the woman’s lips.
“Edward?” One of the other guests said.
“He knows,” was all Mrs. Blakely responded with, still off in that distant land.
Ivy shook her head, standing up from her chair. She shoved the note in her pocket.
“Okay, everyone,” she said. She was trying to be commanding, but her heart was racing and her palms were sweating. “We have to figure out a way out of here.”
Everyone looked at her, confused. Right. They didn’t know about the note yet. Then the dark-haired, intelligent-looking man stepped forward. “I’m Professor Atticus Gold,” he said, introducing himself to everyone as he adjusted the glasses on his face. “I was a friend of Mr. Sharpe’s.” He turned to Ivy. “Could you please just explain what’s going on here?”
Ivy took a deep breath, and pulled the note from her pocket. “Dear contestants,” she began to read aloud from Mr. Sharpe’s note.
“Contestants?” She heard one of the guests whisper.
Ivy cleared her throat and continued. “After Mr. Gilligan Howard’s most unfortunate murder”-the guests gasped at the word “murder”-“ you’re probably all wondering what’s going on. Well, as Mr. Bencham already stated, ‘the things of the past will always come back to haunt you.’ As you’ll notice, all of you are now in this house alone. I may be dead and gone, but I will always find a way to enact justice. So, welcome to The Funeral Game! Each of you has been specifically chosen to play. There’s only two, simple rules to this game: When the lights go out, beware! You can run, but there’s nowhere to hide. Win the game, and you’ll come out of Sharpe Manor alive. Good luck, my friends and enemies. Always and forever here, Nathaniel Thaddeus Sharpe.”

I’m writing a book now that will be out soon!! Here’s the summary!!

Two years after the Great Blinding plunged the world into darkness, seventeen-year-old Avery’s sight inexplicably returns. But her relief turns to dread when she sees the same ominous message everywhere: “DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE."

Others who can see again live in terror of The Watchers, a shadowy group determined to control them. Teaming up with fellow survivors, Avery uncovers the dark truth behind the Great Blinding—a conspiracy to suppress knowledge and control humanity.

As they prepare to expose The Watchers, Avery and her allies face a deadly battle. Will they succeed, or will the truth remain buried in darkness?

Your book sounds amazing!!

Yeah, I agree- I love the plot premise!