johnhallow
April 20th, 2011, 07:11 PM
I've been a lurker for a while but I only signed up today (I got tired of wanting to comment but being unable to do so :P). I’ve had people tell me my writing is good but it’s never really sunk in. At times I feel like a phony, or that I'm too young and inexperienced to be doing this, even though there are published authors younger than me. I like getting my ego stroked, a lot, but this time round it's much deeper than that. You guys are the fantasy community and so if I can earn your respect then that = success :D
So, here's an excerpt from my current WIP, which includes beings that humans can't see. I worry more about my writing than the story itself (as storylines change from WIP to WIP). Is this publishable, or do I need to improve before I think about submitting? (Not that I'm anywhere near a completed draft at the moment...)
EXCERPT
My mother led the way across the street to an old shop, a bulky Victorian affair with a crooked chimney and moss clinging to the front like an unkempt beard. A gap-toothed grin of a door sat beneath a crude brick arch. There was soft amber light filtering from the cracks between the ugly door and its frame.
A weather beaten sign read MARTHA QUAINT’S ANTIQUES.
“This is it?” I asked.
My mother nodded. “This is it. It should be open. Go on in.”
I thought about asking her if we should knock first, but I figured she’d know her own mother better than I did. The hinges squealed like the dead as I shouldered the door open. In moments I stood at the entrance of a very small room.
It didn’t contain much in the way of antiques. A rosewood counter took up the majority of one half of the shop, while two shelves and a long table filled up the other. The shelves were dotted with cracked statues and the table was littered with dust-coated trappings, ranging from battered red letterboxes to a badly rusted storm lantern.
Nothing appeared to have been touched in a while. I couldn’t see anyone either. There was a sturdy door at the far end of the room, and I wondered if my grandmother had turned in for the night and forgotten to switch the light off.
“I don’t think there’s anyone h–”
Something slammed into my right side, hard. I was thrown off my legs with enough force to roll across the floor a few feet. Before I could register what had happened, the same force landed squarely on my chest, knocking the air from my lungs. I felt five razor-sharp points prick into my throat. Claws.
“Oh, I’ve waited a long time for someone to sneak in here,” a voice hissed. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
I blinked. I couldn’t see anyone. I was pretty certain I’d heard someone speak, but all I could make out was the warm light of a bulb humming overhead. I squirmed in an attempt to get up but the weight had me pinned. I felt the claws sink deeper into my skin.
“Ah-ah-ah. I wouldn’t struggle if I were you. I’ll make your death quick and neat if you’re quiet. Now, which vessel do I cut first?”
So, here's an excerpt from my current WIP, which includes beings that humans can't see. I worry more about my writing than the story itself (as storylines change from WIP to WIP). Is this publishable, or do I need to improve before I think about submitting? (Not that I'm anywhere near a completed draft at the moment...)
EXCERPT
My mother led the way across the street to an old shop, a bulky Victorian affair with a crooked chimney and moss clinging to the front like an unkempt beard. A gap-toothed grin of a door sat beneath a crude brick arch. There was soft amber light filtering from the cracks between the ugly door and its frame.
A weather beaten sign read MARTHA QUAINT’S ANTIQUES.
“This is it?” I asked.
My mother nodded. “This is it. It should be open. Go on in.”
I thought about asking her if we should knock first, but I figured she’d know her own mother better than I did. The hinges squealed like the dead as I shouldered the door open. In moments I stood at the entrance of a very small room.
It didn’t contain much in the way of antiques. A rosewood counter took up the majority of one half of the shop, while two shelves and a long table filled up the other. The shelves were dotted with cracked statues and the table was littered with dust-coated trappings, ranging from battered red letterboxes to a badly rusted storm lantern.
Nothing appeared to have been touched in a while. I couldn’t see anyone either. There was a sturdy door at the far end of the room, and I wondered if my grandmother had turned in for the night and forgotten to switch the light off.
“I don’t think there’s anyone h–”
Something slammed into my right side, hard. I was thrown off my legs with enough force to roll across the floor a few feet. Before I could register what had happened, the same force landed squarely on my chest, knocking the air from my lungs. I felt five razor-sharp points prick into my throat. Claws.
“Oh, I’ve waited a long time for someone to sneak in here,” a voice hissed. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
I blinked. I couldn’t see anyone. I was pretty certain I’d heard someone speak, but all I could make out was the warm light of a bulb humming overhead. I squirmed in an attempt to get up but the weight had me pinned. I felt the claws sink deeper into my skin.
“Ah-ah-ah. I wouldn’t struggle if I were you. I’ll make your death quick and neat if you’re quiet. Now, which vessel do I cut first?”

