Author has written 2 stories for Sonic the Hedgehog, and Vampire Game.
Well, hi there! What are you up to today?
Thank you to those who looked me up and all those who have reviewed my less than perfect work.
Though I do have so many ideas, concepts and plots to tap in to, I find it frustrating that I haven't the time or patience to write more.
I sincerely commend and admire those who find the the time not only to write stories, but that they also make them superb.
Now I have more experience under my belt, and I'd like to think that I've gotten better at it, and I have been writing more, just not seriously enough.
(UPDATE): Oh boy, I seriously need to get back to reviewing stories again! I've been slacking off so much lately, read so many stories, favorited a bunch, bookmarked a ton of them to review but I don't know, it's just been so long since I've reviewed a story, I feel so guilty for not doing a thing but I promise I'm gonna try to get into it again so, if anyone's reading (Which I know they probably aren't, but you know, if anyone's interested:)
On another note, I've recently taken up reviewing my favorite works, and I've found that I'm a much better reviewer than I am a writer (Yay!). Alongside that, I have fun writing them and it's even more rewarding when the author takes your opinion and review into consideration. I'm actually thinking about going back re-reviewing pass works I've read.
Usually, I just assess the concept, plot, and content, and stick with those. I think story and plot are more important, and though I do sort of review on grammar, I don't find it so distracting unless, I don't know, someone manages to find several different ways to spell supposedly, or if a sentence is super choppy.
Anyway, may I offer a suggestion?
Look up some of my favorite stories. I can tell you with utmost sincerity that each and every one of them is interesting, riveting, enlightening, funny, and just overall terrific. Maybe you've read some, maybe you don't recognize a few, but you should take a look at all of them.
ShinyShiny9 : The writing style of this one is simple (I feel that term doesn't accurately describe it and is almost insulting) and very straightforward, but no less wonderfully superb. I like how the writing stresses action, and instead of telling the reader, they are shown what is going on. Their lack of details is more descriptive than anything, having the reader look beyond the tip of the iceberg and find out for ourselves our meaning of it. Recently, ShinyShiny9 has been writing about different genres and I think it's great to try different ways to write, as well as what to write about. Nowhere else to go but up!
First piece I read from ShinyShiny9 : "When You're Gone."
Thrippa : I can honestly say that out of almost every story adaption I've read of the Sonic the Hedgehog video games, Thrippa's adaptions are at the very top. Staying true to the games' plot all the while beautifully drawing out their own original take on it. The writing is open to our own interpretations, the readers trying to figure out of what it could be, never stating outright what it is. Though Thrippa hasn't been active for some time now, nonetheless their work is still some of my very favorites.
First piece I read from Thrippa : "Lost and Found."
Tiny Bit of Toxicity : I always liked how she presented the emotions and thoughts the character was feeling, without cramming it down the audience's throat and having to really state what it going in in the plot. The descriptions, while they are really nice, are never flowery, nor do take away from the story itself. I also enjoy the fact that she switches up their writing style, even during the story itself! It certainly throws a curveball to the readers. Toxicity does have a habit of picking up a story only to store it away (There isn't anything wrong with that in fact I actually like how she dapples in everything she loves!), I feel like she is doing exceedingly well now and I hope that she continues to write.
First piece I read from Tiny Bit of Toxicity : "Complications."
At any rate, below is just a short little story I got to writing. I had this image in my head, several that I just couldn't get out of my head. I didn't put it up, since I didn't see how it would fit in any category. I'm just glad that I actually wrote something.
I think it's okay, but its a little sample of how my writing style has changed, hopefully for the better. Please let me know what you think about it, thank you!
"Creatures of the Night : From Dusk Till Dawn."
Description: Alley cats, flying bats, and runaway ex-teenaged Texan brides.
It was dusk, the sun just beginning to set, swirls of orange, gold, and red were splashed across the sky.
The great flapping of wings sliced through the air. It was the end of the day for some.
A spin of black, pink, and white.
But nightlife has just begun.
Her ensemble was a scorn of love itself, hearts etched at the tips of her boots and chest, where her own heart rested.
An invitation for some, a warning for all.
She would tear your heart out and grind it under her spiked heel.
The white creature tossed back her head and laughed, her pointed ears flat against her skull, the wind whistling through her face. She dove further down, wings folded back, tilting in such a way like a bird of prey.
Not a bird.
In one fluid motion, she flipped backwards, landing feet first onto the top of the center of a building. Heels clicked and she paused, slipping a white gloved hand between her chest-plate and quickly brought it out.
The emerald sparkled in her hand, twinkling as the thief admired the stone, turning it back and forth ever so slowly.
It disappeared once more, hidden away again. With a smirk, she dashed forward, flapping her wings to give her added momentum. Suddenly her wings went still, and the creature raised her arms out horizontally, her painted blue eyelids closed and stepped off the ledge.
Wings melted, almost covering her body completely with its black membrane like a butterfly's cocoon. The sharp heels slid back into her feet, black combat boots appearing in place, the hearts gone. Her body was now taller, fuller, and slightly more leaner. Faux black leather covered her from head to toe so only her face shown. Her ears had shrunk yet were still present.
In a blink of an eye, a whip cracked above her head. It spun through a pole for a moment, before finally wrapping itself securely around it. The sky had since darkened to night.
The owner gave a swift tug before she swung through the air and sprung up, crouching on a nearby window sill.
She glanced down, flicking her eyes to the street hundreds of feet below her. Without breaking her gaze away, she lightly pulled the whip and it whirled back, artfully wrapping itself around her wrist.
A pair of goggles covered her eyes and she switched her gaze upwards towards the black sky. The green lenses glinted in the dim moonlight, curved slightly up at the corners to resemble an animal.
Steadying herself, she turned her back and flipped, free falling through in the air. The whip trailed behind her, curling itself at the end like a tail.
Silver steel claws revealed themselves as she dug her fingers on the side of a nearby brick building, slowing her down. Sparks flew out from underneath her black gloved fingertips. She glanced up at the sky once more.
Dawn was approaching.
Curling her body again, she steadied herself and pounced towards the building beside the one she was occupying, this time she was lower than she was before. She repeated this action again and again.
Her heels gave a small click as she gracefully hit the sidewalk. The boots were gone and her feet now wore a pair of smallish black heels. The sleeves and collar of her black suit had shrunk back, revealing pale peach arms and neck. Her body, now much slimmer and the curves almost gone, was this time was sheathed in a floor length black evening gown.
She folded her hands in front of her, covered in arm length black satin gloves. Ears gone, her streaked hair was piled high on her head. The green tint darkened, black sunglasses framing her face. Faux pearls were pinned in her hair, a matching necklace and earrings to go by.
Standing the alleyway for a while, she proceeded to walk out before she realized she still had the whip in her hand.
In one smooth roll of her wrist she lashed it out once more and it was now a see-through long white scarf. She carelessly threw it over her arm and produced a Styrofoam cup, the steam wafting up and filling her delicate nose with the rich smell of coffee. In another hand she held a small white paper bag, a warm pastry sitting inside.
Reassured, she began to walk.
The streets were practically empty and the sun had not yet risen. She paused and turned her head to the side, making sure she was on the right street.
Slowly, she began to make her way towards it. She stopped once more, and slowly raised her face up to the sign.
A small smile etched her mouth and gently, she began to approach the shop.
She was a Jewel in History.
The Cat Who Walks by Herself.
A Wild Thing.
And she was home.
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