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Cy~

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In all honesty, as I have previously mentioned, I'm still working on my project. Its bee what? A year and a half now since I started it properly, and I'm about 70% of the way done with the prologue! (well, I call it a prologue xD)

Nethertheless, I can understand the vewipoint of getting around 50% of the way in and stopping in favour of something else. But in all honesty, I don't write for just the audience, I write for myself as well. I feel that if I leave anything half done then I'm not doing myself, or the characters I invented and fell in love with, any kind of justice.

Regardless, I do well and truely appreciate the amount of support I have been getting at college and at home. Its more moral support rather then creative criticism, but I still appreciate it nonetheless.

But yeah, I should get the first part of MMaM done early next year, in which case I will be able to go back over it all and make in-depth corrections and additions. ^w^

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  • 2 weeks later...

I have to say for me I was not always into writing since it was hard for me growing up, learning how to do it properly or finding my own style. I still think I'm not the "best" at it still but I try to practice all I can and ask tips from people or look up information on the internet. I started to write poetry and some prose when I was in my teens I wrote a few things down not on the internet in a document I did the old fashioned way paper and a pen. Though some stuff I written I really liked but lost them when I moved so I can't remember what I wrote sadly. But I kept on going every now and then writing things. Mostly poetry or prose stuff. I made some short stories but not like a lot of chapters in it mostly one or two. I have  A LOT of ideas for stores to write since I have a big imagination and pretty creative, in my opinion. I was going write it down when I was younger but didn't since I felt it would suck and probably couldn't do it right. Since I struggle with spelling, grammar and stuff like that.

 

I would say now I like to really get back into it since its a way I can express myself and it's sorta therapeutic to me. I write emotional poetry or prose some based on my life some I make up as well. But really would like to write a novel about something though since I have a lot of ideas not sure what to start with. I do it as a hobby mostly but if I did get published or something I don't care for fame or being popular really, I just wanted to share my work with people or my book to maybe help inspire someone. I do have poetry on here I posted so if anyone wants to see some of my work feel free to do so. It's in the "creative section". It's not good I admit and needs work. Some constructive criticism is welcomed.

 

 

 

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  • 1 month later...

This is just one of my small writing projects which I got inspired to do after thinking up an alternate version of one of my favourite characters. It's not all that good since I wrote it in under ten minutes, but I thought it'd be nice to share one of my short writing projects instead of just hiding them away and never looking at them again.

 

“Why do bad things happen to good people?” frowning just slightly I looked down at the little boy sitting in front of me, his big green eyes staring into mine as he let out another curious question. He'd asked me once before why people had to die and I'd explained that everyone had to die at some point or other, but this question ... this was a question even adults still struggled to answer.
“Why do you ask?” I asked even though knew it had been due to the story I'd told him of his mother ... she'd died before he could even walk and he always wanted to know more about her, which I occasionally inclined to do even though it brought back so many painful memories.
“Because momma didn't do anything wrong.” the way his expression changed from one of curiousity to one of sadness made my heart ache. He was too young to be asking such grown up questions.
“No, but that's not what defines who lives and who dies.” I wasn't quite sure how to explain this situation to him. He was, after all, only six years old.
“Then why?” his head tilted to the side and his curly brown hair shifted with him. “Why did momma have to die?” he asked these questions so easily, as if they didn't tear him apart inside, but he was just a child and I couldn't expect him to feel as much pain and regret as I did. I'd be surprised if he could even remember her ...
“When you play in the meadow, which flowers do you pick?”
“The pretty ones!” he blurted out as his smile quickly came back making his eyes light up. “That way we can keep them in the vase by the window.” his little smile brightened his entire face and I felt my regret growing ... She should be here to see him grow up, to see him smile and laugh. She should have been here when he first said her name, or picked flowers to bring home. She should be here now.
“Yes, we pick those flowers because they are the prettiest ...” my voice was low and full of sadness as I spoke which he quickly noticed, his smile fading. “So why wouldn't death do the same?” my eyes rose to meet his once more and I frowned, “Your mother was beautiful, she was the prettiest flower I'd ever seen and I suppose that is why she was picked so soon.”
“B-but ...” his little hands curled and uncurled as he tried to find the words he was searching for. “You won't leave me, will you?” his eyes were full of fear as he crawled closser to me, trying to make sure I wasn't going anywhere.
“No, I won't leave you.” I replied quickly as I picked him up and hugged him close, “I swear, I will always protect you.”

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