Alluring-Sin

Have you ever set down a book for good because you found something in it you don’t like? If you want to write, I suggest that bad habit end now. Why, you ask? Because everything you read—and I mean everything–has positive value for you as a writer. Stephen King, and any author worth his or her salt, is a huge advocate of writers reading massive amounts. Again you ask, why? How can everything be useful? There are a number of reasons and I’ll cover as many as I can. Reading bad literature teaches you about yourself and shows you what to avoid—or at least how not to do something—in your own work. If you run

When it comes to writing novels, names often get overlooked in the grand scheme of things. Most of us are happy if we can tell who is talking and we can remember the character’s names for the entirety of the book, but bad names can ruin a book. I don’t know about you, but when I get a hold of a book where the main character’s name is a comical 20-character tangle I can’t pronounce, it ruins the book for me. It’s hard to take a book, or a character, seriously when you want to roll your eyes every time you read the narrative. In this article I’ve compiled a list of things to consider when naming a character

Sentences—if the plot is the backbone of a story, then sentences are the muscles and tendons keeping it glued together. Unfortunately, writing solid sentences isn’t easy for everyone. As Human beings, we don’t speak the same way we write. Unless you do a lot of writing, you may have trouble putting together even the simplest of sentences. The last time you took a good look at a sentence and broke it down into its individual parts was probably around 3rd grade. Don’t worry—I’m here to help. There’s More Than One Type of Sentence There are (roughly) four different types of sentences, and we’re g

"Boss.. I am really not sure it's that good an idea after all..." A gentle rustle of wings to his left made him jump but he only managed to catch a brief glimpse of movement from the corner of his eyes. They were fast, way too fast, and too many. Never the old man would manage. Again this sound, so similar to dove's wings beating the air, coming nearer and nearer. He could see them in his head, circling him like so many vultures around a carcass. "Boss!" The dull sound of the detonations echoed through the last swirls of mist and the ground vibrated under the impact of the five bodies landing around him, followed by a gentle tumbling rain

She was conceived on the edge of a mirror, lined with pretty white lace, that burned the inside of her parents' nostrils. She was born with a hole in her heart, that the doctor's never noticed, and no one bothered to fill. She met Death on the playground, when kindergarten was bending her bones. Enticed by the glinting of his scythe, as it preyed on a malformed baby rabbit. She made a pinky promise with him, swearing that she'd never forget his face. He came and went, swayed by corpse breaths and east-coast winds, but always leaving her alone. He showed her how to hurt, in the worst kind of way. And each time, he paid her a visit, he'd ta

"Accept my hand, and give share of your land, or I will be forced to enforce my demand" said he, who beneath his hideous mask, watched her intensely. With a frown, she met his eyes of brown, "Tis not my land to which I can give share, cannot your request be more fair?" His mouth of grin, fell down and pulled thin, "Defiant Lizard Queen! One more time will I ask thee. Do not refuse me twice, for I shall not make this offer thrice! I have already granted you the mercy of time to consider and contemplate- a loving gesture to appease your pride into resolve and capitulate". "Your majesty!," called out a familiar voice proudly. Kneeling before her

i am cracked stained-glass, i am windswept flowers, & i am the untouched puppet-master spread in your downcast towers; i am indifferent crimson, i am luminescent lilac, & i am the broken dollmaker when your lunacy is greatly intact; i am undoubtedly breakable, i am indubitably fragile, & i am a fractured stonework, but i am never docile; i am your circus plaything, i am your sliced puppet strings, & i am your heaven & hell – drifting in the current of faith, i sing: that i am irreparably torn, i am your heartbreak syndrome, & i am spider webs & holiday wine in eclipsed nights spent alone; i am the pulled-asunder, i am the drow

psychology defines schizophrenia as an impairing, delusional disorder borne in the person’s inexorable inability to tell right from wrong, hopeless fantasy from harsh reality, or even suspicion from acceptance but aspen is a lovely, flexible woman with names of imperial animal races that never belonged to them, with the countless colors of her eyes that she makes up with named numbers written in cursive sharpie on her palms she takes pills that seem to dampen & take away those charming things she always says to me; the voices don’t haunt or tease her, they’ve always respected the way she counted with willpower & the way sh