The Dark Flame Saga (by partner Ian Roscoe)

A funny begining to a short story fantasy.

The Dark Flame Saga-Ian Roscoe(A Star Tether Saga Series)

Aaron had lived alone for as long as he could remember in an abandoned orphanage. He left the bedroom, looking down the hallway at an enormous house fire, rapidly spreading towards him. The flame consisted of only whites, blacks, and shades of gray. He walked toward the fabulous dancing colors and reached his hand out toward their warm feel. The fire, then, spread to his skin releasing an unfathomable amount of pain upon him instantaneously. 

Aaron awoke screaming and crying. He looked to his left hand, seeing a strange metallic object which happened to be a scythe, which he grasped very firmly. Never before had he seen it. He knew he had to leave. 

Aaron had never walked far from the orphanage. Today he decided to change that. He got a small wooden barrel and filled it with items he may need on his journey, and then walked out, never looking back.

After about an hour (which felt like 10 hours) of just walking, he noticed that the trees were becoming much less frequent. Not only that, but the grass has become lighter as well. A sort of lime, as opposed to its earlier lush green.

After another hour, the trees were no more and the grass was now completely white with a lack of the former bumpy texture. Thirty minutes later brought a dramatic change with it.

The sky went from the setting sun to a complete and utterly white. Whiter than a cloudy sky. Whiter than Southborough. Aaron kept walking and didn't stop despite the burn in his legs and thirst in his mouth. It felt like it was too late to turn back. He had to see something other than the orphanage, even if it would kill him. Eventually, though, he did.

Aaron found it. He had felt he was looking for something and he now finally knew what it was. A shiny silver pen lay on the “ground.” Aaron felt a sudden wave of fear. He knew that this pen meant something huge, possibly terrible. He touched the pen and inserted the code. If you asked him how he knew the code at this time, he wouldn't have been able to answer you.

Suddenly before him, he saw a forest, thicker than the one where the orphanage lay. As he walked into the forest it started to surround him. Soon he was entirely elsewhere. Turning around, the white place he came from was no longer visible.

The forest was dense and warm. For the first time in his life, Aaron heard noises other than his thoughts. He could hear birds chirping and water running. The peaceful babble of a brook could also be heard in the distance. 

He stowed the pen and scythe away in his barrel, which he carried on his back, using a rope for support (Kind of like a backpack.). He walked through the unique scenery. To his left and right, he saw enormous trees that stretched far into the bright blue cloudy sky. It was only a few minutes of walking until he tripped over a rope on the ground. He then was catapulted into the air and trapped within a small roped cage hanging from a tree branch.

A young man with long hair and a green headband sprung out from within the bushes. 

“Hey what’s up, man. Name’s rudy!``said the young man enthusiastically. 

“Looks like you’ve got some cool stuff in that barrel. Mind if I take a look?” Aaron stared at the man with utter disbelief. 

“Um… Ima just borrow this for a minute” said Rudy awkwardly as he stole Aaron’s barrel and ran off.

Aaron sighed a great sigh of exasperation after realizing that someone had just taken all of his food and supplies. He looked around him and saw a flower with a few dagger-shaped petals in the center. Aaron grabbed one and pulled it with all his might. He tore it off and the roped cage started swinging around wildly. He must have been at least 10 feet above the ground. Aaron took a deep breath, did everything in his power to keep his emotions in check, and started cutting. With each rope split in half, he imagined his demise. He cut one rope, and then the other, and then the other until finally the roped cage was no longer supporting him.

He instantly hit the ground and felt an immense whirl of pain. He landed on his arms in a plank position. His head throbbed with agony. He slowly stood up, with immense difficulty. He decided not to reflect on all of the terrible things that just occurred. Instead, he started walking in the same direction that the man in the green headband went, thirsty for revenge.

Aaron walked down a path of cleared grass until he came across a wooden door painted pink that was only 3 or so feet tall. The door was locked, so Aaron mustered his strength and climbed over it. He fell onto his face, then looked up to see a village full of tiny houses and even tinier people. The citizens of this little town were all only about 2 and a half feet tall. They were all minding their own business, not at all noticing him. Suddenly, someone jumped from a bush near one of the walls of the village. It was the same guy from earlier who stole Aaron’s stuff. He yelled “Look! An intruder!” and then climbed the wall and ran away.

Someone started ringing a bell and now everyone was staring directly at Aaron. Aaron was determined to find the strange man, so he ran through the village, hands covering his head. People were throwing pots and pans and anything else they could find at him as he ran across the town center. He passed by a fountain made of marble pouring out strangely majestic water. Aaron kept running, not looking back, and eventually, he made it to the same wall and climbed it when suddenly he was struck by a knife in the right calf. He looked down at a small dwarf-like creature hissing while holding a small knife. He struggled up and over the village wall before landing on his face once again.

Aaron could no longer bear the pain. He curled up into a ball on the ground and started crying. He didn't realize how much better life was at the orphanage until now. The alternative, this new place, is just so much worse in his eyes. If only I had my pen instead of that obnoxious dipshit thought Aaron. Then, I’d be able to travel back to the orphanage and out of this hellhole.

From above, Aaron heard a yell, “Release the goblins!” He looked up to see dozens of roped cages hanging from tree branches, similar to the one he found himself in earlier. Inside each of these roped cages were little gray creatures with horns. They growled and hissed with fury. With the pull of a rope, all of the goblins were released.

It was raining goblins. More than Aaron could count. Aaron got up and kept running down the path, fast as his legs could carry him.

With each step, the force of the whole Earth resounded within him. Uncontrollable pain in every part of his body, every fiber of his being. It was too much to bear, too far a burden. His legs soon became no more than noodles, barely keeping poor Aaron upright. The goblins still managed to match his pace, along with a small elf-like man holding a knife. Aaron realized That’s the same little man from earlier, the senile one who f*****g stabbed me!

Eventually, the sun started setting. Watching the beauty of the beautiful colors and surrounding landscape was the only thing still motivating Aaron to keep ongoing.

After an eternity of running, with more eternities coming up, Aaron made a grave mistake. Whilst running at full speed Aaron looked behind him. He then tripped and face-planted for the third time that day. He looked up and he saw none other than Rudy, the same a*****e who stole his supplies.

Rudy was simply sitting on a tree stump, enjoying a sandwich that he took from a goblin. Suddenly, a rather large goblin, the same goblin he stole a sandwich from, happened to trip over his leg. “Hey! Watch it, dickhole!” Yelled Rudy before 3 Goblins simultaneously jumped onto his face, tearing his skin apart.

As Aaron got up, eight goblins tackled him, pushing him back down. More and more goblins started piling on top of him. 10,20,30,40 goblins. The immense weight crushing him. Aaron watched as his lungs, stomach, and other bodily organs became visible before being ripped apart. He watched his heart tear in half right before his very eyes. The torture that resulted from the goblin attacks, resulted in his death.

Aaron had one last vision. He saw someone, someone he loved, calling out his name. She was torn apart by a vicious flame. Her skin bubbled and melted off as she drowned in the bright oranges, reds, and yellows of the flames. A malicious-looking giant stood at the center of it all, unphased. He then stared at Aaron with pure hatred and whispered, 

“Everything comes at a price.”

Aaron’s eyes burst open. Fury. Uncontainable fury filled his stomach, his lungs, his mind, and his fists. He pulled his palms open, staring down the goblins, and pushed with all his force. His palms tore in half and holes emerged from the center of each hand. His uncontainable fury forced its way out of his hands and onto the horrible creatures attacking him.

A huge burst of fire exploded outwards. The fire was enormous, visible from 10 miles away. The fire was a dark, sinister pitch black. Darker than the night. The goblins screamed and cried as they were torn apart and burned down, facial features a drooping liquid, before disintegrating in unfamothambly powerful flames. Aaron started to scream with rage as he shoved out all of his fury through his palms, everything in his field of vision was being obliterated into unexistence.

Aaron then watched as his foes, along with the surrounding landscape melted away, before passing out.

The Emperor, an eight-foot-tall figure, stood from his throne. “I see the dark flame has returned,” he whispered to his right-hand man, the widely dreaded executionist who carried out all of the emperor’s most burdensome orders. “If he isn't dead by sunset, your whole family will be.”

Aaron woke up to the peaceful sounds of birds chirping. He was just sleeping on a surprisingly soft patch of grass. Guess this is where they slept before civilization he thought. He looked in the air and he saw a beautiful rainbow. He sighed in relief and decided to go and get something to eat before going back to bed.

He reached for his bag. His bag. His bag which was… Oh s**t! Where the f**k is my stuff?!

Aaron then remembered everything that had occurred the previous night. Rudy wasn’t anywhere in sight. However, Aaron heard loud chewing sounds and followed the source of the noise to Rudy. Rudy was enjoying another one of Aaron’s precious sandwiches.

“Hey, pal, what the f**k are you doing with my food?!”

Rudy looked at Aaron with a wide-eyed guilty expression. 

“Oh. Um… know I appreciate what you did back there,” he began before Aaron interrupted “give me back my f*****g stuff!!!”

“Vearon, okay, okay I will. I’ll give you your food back”

“My name’s not Vearon, it’s Aaron.”

“I’m not… never mind,” said Rudy. He then tossed Aaron a few slices of cheese, turkey, pieces of chicken, and a loaf of bread. Aaron failed to catch everything and it landed on the floor. Aaron picked up his certified breakfast and began the second day of the hell that awaited him.

“Alright well,” said Rudy, “I’m sure you’re fully aware of how grateful I am, so-”

“Grateful for what?” questioned Aaron.

“You-you don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Last night… with the goblins.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Last night you saved my life. We were being attacked by goblins, the little gray horned creatures with sharp claws and red eyes, and dozens of ‘em tackled you and me. You were torn into shreds, but still, somehow, you prevailed, and used an immense power unlike any I have ever seen in my life. You single-handedly disintegrated at least 50 goblins in one-tenth of a second from a strangely dark flame, more monotone than any other flame I’ve ever seen. I think you might just be The Dark Flame.”

“The Dark Flame,” asked Aaron. “Is that a race thing?”

“No, it’s an unparalleled power, let me explain, with what little knowledge I have. So, in essence, most typical humans on Earth have a sort of special magical ability. These abilities are usually hereditary or just commonplace at this point. Like, everyone can do fire magic, but some more powerful families or dynasties can summon more powerful flames. There are green flames, discovered by the Wicked dynasty thousands of years ago. There are vandelier flames discovered by the vandelier family. There are tons more examples, but out of all of them, The Dark Flame is widely considered the most powerful, of all exclusive special abilities.

Only one person on all of Earth has The black flame. The only way to acquire a black flame is by killing the person who last had it. Yet, somehow, against all odds, you, a 16 -ish looking boy, have The Dark Flame, making you the most powerful and most wanted man on Earth.”

“Wow,” sighed Aaron, “I can’t believe how amazing I am.”

Rudy chuckled.

Aaron smiled for the first time since his journey's embankment.

Suddenly, a high-pitched voice they had heard before said “Wow Aaron, seems like you’re quite a big deal, eh?”

Aaron turned to see another 2.5 ft tool creature behind him. Aaron released a terrible shriek of fear.

“Oh hey little guy!” said Rudy enthusiastically, turning to the little bearded man and putting his hands on his knees. “This is an elf,” he whispered to Aaron under his breath.

“I’ve got some great equipment, gear, weapons, and potions, for a highly powerful adventurer such as yourself,” said the elf. “All you need to do is make a slight detour off of Freckle Rd. to my shop down here for some unbelievably low prices.”

“Think we should follow him?” whispered Aaron to Rudy.

“Sure, lemme just go get our stuff.” Replied Rudy before setting off with Aaron.

The elf walked in front of them, bringing his knees up to his chest with each enthusiastic step beaming the whole time. Aaron mouthed What is with this guy? and Rudy shrugged. 

They all collectively arrived at a small shop that was seemingly carved into the trunk of a short bushy tree. A dark-gray chimney was attached with lots of smoke coming out. The shop was in the middle of the forest right in front of a river and nowhere near any other civilization.

The little elf eagerly ushered them inside. Aaron and Rudy reluctantly agreed. Inside his shop, he displayed the kind of things a knight would look for. He pulled out a greatsword with difficulty and placed it on his desk. “This is the 80-pound ‘Atrocity.’ It’s called Atrocity because anything it cuts becomes exactly that. Here.” said the elf as he gave it to Aaron. The sword was enormous, the blade alone was taller than Aaron.

“Follow me,” said the elf. 

“Might I ask your name?” asked Aaron.

“It’s Gus.”

“Oh, and, Uhm, I’m Rudy,” said Rudy.

They follow Gus outside to a training dummy next to the river.

“Do you want the sword?” asked Gus. “I’m not sure yet,” said Aaron.

“It’s only 18,000 silver. You have exactly one hour to decide.” Gus, then, turned and walked back into his shop still beaming.

“Okay, so, Rudy, do you happen to have 20,000 silver or whatever?” asked Aaron.

“No, I’ve never heard of the currency in my whole f*****g life. Why don’t we just steal it? It’s not like he’s watching. Plus, he’s probably too senile to even notice if it goes missing,” Replied Rudy.

“Wow, you are a major a*****e. I think we should just give it back.”

“Okay, well, listen up, shithead! Just because you saved our necks back there doesn't mean I have to listen to you, okay?”

“Why do you want to steal this sword so bad, anyway? it ways like 100 lbs and it’s named 'atrocity.’”

“Because! That is my job, okay? That’s why I stole all your s**t. Plus, what are you doing here, in the middle of the Emperor’s Forest?”

“I-I don’t know. I kind of just appeared and-”

“Oh my god! The Black Flame is an unemployed 16-year-old crackhead?!”

“Y’know what, Rudy, f**k you!” Yelled Aaron as he picked up Atrocity with all his might and threw it into the river. Hearing the heavy splash, Gus came running out, still bearing a wide grin. “So, what’d you do with my sword?” he asked.

Aaron and Rudy immediately turned toward Gus and said nothing.

“I said, what did you do with my sword?” Asked Gus, still smiling but now his right eye is twitching.

“Y’know what? F**k it,” said Rudy. “It was Aaron! It’s all his fault! Aaron’s the one who threw it in the river!”

Gus stopped smiling.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

“You better find atrocity right this goddamn second or your both dead f*****g meat! Right now!” He yelled with ear-shattering volume, at the top of his lungs, before pushing Aaron, and Rudy down into the river. 

Gus, then, straightened his elf hat and began smiling again as he walked back to his shop entrance. Inside his shop, he was greeted by a tall man with long, black hair, a golden headband, a golden bow, and a fancy military outfit with golden shoulder pads. He also had a goatee, dark lines painted under his eyes, and red lines on his forehead. “You-you’re the-”

“That’s right, I’m the executionist. You better tell me everything you know about the black flame or I’ll kill you right here, right now”

Aaron and Rudy wooshed down the water at a blistering speed. The surrounding trees and bushes zoomed past them into the distance. The river was headed towards a strange stone building with vines growing on it. This building, like Gus’ shop, was in the middle of the forest. 

There was a small entrance on the side of the building and the river went straight into it. Aaron and Rudy were swept through the passage to a small indoor waterfall. They both landed on a muddy floor in a room filled with strange stone incantations on the walls, covered in moss.

“Veyron D****t, Aaron! This is all your fault!” Cried, Rudy.

“My fault? Seriously? Look at yourself, dude! You’re just one enormous a*****e who only cares about himself, only looks out for number one, but you and I both need you to be cooperative, please, so we can work together to get out of here safely.”

Rudy looked down, tears running down his mud-covered face. “You don’t know anything about this place, do you?” he said in a grim tone. “I’m a scavenger. I work for The Emperor, a very powerful man. When I was very young, my father, another scavenger, refused to steal from an innocent man. We both watched as The Emperor slit my mother’s throat. Since that day, my father and I have done anything and everything The Emperor asks.

“It keeps us both alive, doing the horrible things he asks. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth it. I haven't seen my father or my siblings in ten years, but I fight just in case they might be alive, so they can go on to do great things while I suffer. How’s that for an a*****e?”

“Look, Rudy, that’s… I’m sorry.” Replied Aaron. Aaron and Rudy both sat there, on the floor of a strange room. Aaron looked up at a crack in the ceiling, it seemed the sun was about to set.

MEANWHILE…

“Did you have to come along?” asked The Executionist. 

“You want those discounts on arrows, don't you?” replied Gus.

“Yeah, but why do you want me to follow you? Why couldn’t you just tell me where it is like everyone else does.”

“I just… I want to watch,” Gus said, still beaming from ear to ear. “Oh, and would you take a look at that, we’re here!”

MEANWHILE…

Rudy heard something he hadn't heard in a long time. From nearby, he heard a bow being drawn. “Uhm…Aaron…”

“Wha…?” said Aaron, half asleep.

“We should probably run.”

Suddenly, An arrow hit Aaron right in the back of the head! Strangely, the Arrow bounced right off and Aaron felt fine. 

“It came from that crack in the wall. Over there!” Yelled Rudy.

MEANWHILE…

“What the f**k?!” Cried the executionist. “Why’d you give me bullshit arrows?!”

 

“That’s what you get for threatening me, you dick!” Replied Gus, still smiling. 

“Ugh! Why do I have to do everything myself?!” Cried The Executionist, as he ran towards the temple.

MEANWHILE…

Rudy and Aaron heard a loud noise. They turned around to see a set of stone doors that they didn't notice earlier. A man with a crossbow on his back slammed both of the doors open and was now running towards Rudy at full speed. A look of anger on his face.

Aaron leaned toward Rudy, asking “who is that?”

“Aaron, that’s Rudon, the Executionist, murderer of thousands.”

At that moment, Rudy pulled up his hands, forming fists, before being tackled by Rudon. Aaron watched as Rudy took blow after blow to the face. It wasn’t long before blood started spurting from Rudy’s nose and mouth. Aaron, now, felt a strange attachment to Rudy. He knew he had to do something, but what? Aaron wasn’t nearly as physically capable as Rudy or Rudon. With few options left, Aaron ran towards them, dagger like-petal in hand. He tackled Rudon and felt a rush of pain upon collision. Aaron n quickly stabbed Rudon in the heart and pushed with all his might. He then let go of the dagger. Rudon flopped over, off of Rudy. Rudy saw this and tackled Aaron. “What the f**k is wrong with you?! How could you kill him?!” Cried Rudy at the top of his lungs. Rudon reached into his pocket and threw throwing stars at Aaron. Two of them hit Aaron, one in the thigh, the other in the stomach. Another throwing star sliced right through Rudy’s left cheek. 

“Did you seriously stab me, Rudon the Executionist, and assume you could get away with it?!” He yelled in a deep, aged, voice. Rudon quickly got up and dashed towards Aaron. He grabbed a knife from his belt in either hand and tried to stab Aaron. Aaron ducked just in time. As Aaron got up, he hit Rudon’s neck at full force as Rudon pulled up his right arm to try to stab him again. Aaron then grabbed Rudon’s neck, refusing to let go. Rudy grabbed the knives from Rudon’s hands. “Aaron, please, don’t kill him,” begged Rudy in a sad voice. Aaron never heard Rudy so miserable sounding before.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Aaron asked, anger twisting up his face. Aaron’s grip tightened. “Listen,” pleaded Rudon, in his deep voice. “Please hear me out.”

“Aaron, let go!” Cried, Rudy. Rudon dropped to the ground and started coughing.

“Father, please, can we just go home?”

Rudon looked at Rudy with confusion.

“Remember, we grew up on a farm, out by the fields.”

“Do you remember, Dad?”

Rudon stared at Rudy.

Aaron watched as Rudon reached for his sword. Aaron grabbed a throwing knife, jumped in the air, and pierced a hole straight through Ruin's chest. Rudy turned spazmatic with distress. He fell onto the ground in a strange fetal-like position muttering things about Rudon while uncontrollably crying. 

Aaron heard loud thundering footsteps. He saw a very large man, about 8 feet tall with enormous muscles. So, Rudon has fallen. He’s been alive a long time and started many families. He has over 100 biological children still alive. You, Rudy, are just one of them.

The emperor grinned from between enormous piles of fat on his face. He put his foot over Rudy’s head. “I can kill you right now if that’s what you want,” he said to Rudy. Rudy just kept crying. “No,” said the emperor, removing his foot. “I’ll make it an occasion. I’ll let everyone in our great kingdom watch as I rip the dark flame from the confines of your soul!”

He grabbed Rudy by the head and dragged him deep into the forest.

Aaron stood there next to Rudon, wondering if he might survive. Rudon wasn't conscious but he was breathing. With difficulty, Aaron lifted his body and began dragging him in the opposite direction of where the Emperor went.... to be continued

Author's Note

Not a finished product but a product in the makings. We would love your reviews and comments on this. Please be as open as possible. Thank you.

Reviews

[JayG]

Well, you did ask for comment, so… But as you read, bear in mind that what I say has nothing to do with how well you write, or, your talent. And, you have LOTS of company.

First... You say, "I am a new writer, who wants to enjoy and learn from the writing community to get better." But think about it. You want to be a better writer. Is the best way to do that by asking people who can't sell their work to a publisher, or those who regularly do? As Holly Lisle put it:

“Michelangelo did not have a college degree, nor did Leonardo da Vinci. Thomas Edison didn't. Neither did Mark Twain (though he was granted honorary degrees in later life.) All of these people were professionals. None of them were experts. Get your education from professionals, and always avoid experts.”

That aside, one thing pretty much everyone forgets when they begin recording their stories is the purpose of public education, which is to provide employers with a pool of prospective employees who have the basic skills they require. And, what kind of writing do most employers require? Reports, papers, and letters, all sharing the goal of informing the reader clearly and concisely. They all require the narrator to inform the reader, not entertain them. In all of them, a narrator talks TO the reader in a fact-based and author-centric way. For example:

• Aaron had lived alone for as long as he could remember in an abandoned orphanage

The narrator’s voice holds no emotion the words and punctuation don’t suggest to a given reader. We cannot either hear the way the narrator speaks or view their performance. The name we give to this approach to writing is: nonfiction.

Look at the opening line, not as the all-knowing author, who begins reading with an image of the situation in their mind. Instead, view it as the blank slate we call “the reader.”

1. “as long as he could remember?” That could be three years or 300. We don’t yet have context for how old he is. Nor can we know where in time and space he is, his age, or even if he’s human.
2. An “abandoned orphanage?” For how long? Has it been abandoned? Is it in the country or city, large of small, perfect shape or ruined. As in the end, why does it matter what it was once used for? As in every form of writing, there is no context other than what the words provide—either as, or before the line is read. So to the reader, as they read the line: someone unknown, in an unknown location, has lived in a deserted building in an unknown society, and is somehow acquiring the necessities of life, for an unknown time.

You know. Aaron knows. Everyone in the story knows. Shouldn’t the one you wrote it for know it, too? After all, this is the reader’s first impression. And no one wants to read something that makes no sense, then have it clarified later. Right?

The biggest misunderstanding that hopeful writers suffer is that our goal isn’t to tell the reader a story. But because our only training in writing says to report and condense, we do that, exclusively. As E. L. Doctorow puts it: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.” But you’re reporting and explaining, primarily in overview—as you were taught to do, not making the reader feel that it’s happening to them.

• He walked toward the fabulous dancing colors and reached his hand out toward their warm feel.

In the previous line you said there were no colors. Now there are? Did you edit this?

That aside, view this as a reader must. Who, in their right mind, would, on seeing a large fire spreading toward them, reach toward it?

Sure, you know it’s a dream (something you must NEVER begin a story with) but does the reader? No. So to them, he’s an idiot.

• He looked to his left hand, seeing a strange metallic object…

No. He did NOT see it as a “metal object.” He saw only a scythe (Do you know how BIG they are?), which, by the way is NOT metal. The handle is wood. And that aside, if you woke after a dream and saw something in bed with you that shouldn’t be there, would your reaction really be to grasp it and say, “I have to leave?” Or would it be to jerk your hand away and say, “How in the hell did this get here?” Wouldn’t you immediately look around to be certain you were alone, and then try to figure out what happened and how it got there? Wouldn’t you suspect that you'd been sleepwalking? How can he seem even remotely real if he doesn’t behave like someone real? Story isn’t a condensation of events. That's a report. Story is the moment-to-moment life events, seen in real-time, through the perception and deductions of the protagonist. The approach to writing fiction is almost the opposite of nonfiction. It’s emotion-based and character-centric, an approach to writing that your teachers never mentioned as existing—one you must make your own. At the moment, you’re approaching the act of writing fiction as a nonfiction project, reporting events as, “This happened…then that happened…and after that…” That’s how history books are written. And how often do you read them for fun?

So… you want to write stories. I applaud that. The world needs more crazies who can be staring at a blank wall, and when asked what they’re doing, can honestly say, “Working.” But Fiction-Writing is a profession, one they offer degree programs in. And surely at least part of what they learn is necessary. Right?

The solution? Dig into the skills the pros take for granted. You’ll find it filled with, “Wow…that’s so obvious. How could I have not seen it without having to have it pointed out?” And if you do master those necessary skills, the act of writing becomes the best form of daydreaming, ever, with the protagonist your co-writer, and the reading feeling as real as was the writing. You’ve not yet had a character place hands on hips and tell you, “Me do THAT? In this situation? Are you out of your mind? Not with the personality and resources you’ve given me. Instead, I would…” But till that happens, your characters aren’t real for either you or the reader. And if they’re not real, who cares what happens to them? Not the reader.

So…given where you stand today, I suggest starting with Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict. It’s a warm easy read—a lot like sitting with Deb as she talks about writing. She will answer the questions you didn’t know you should be asking—like why including a line like, "Susan smiled when she saw Jack in the doorway," should be avoided.

There’s a better book, written by her teacher. It’s a university-level book, though, and you may find it a bit too dry a read: Techniques of the Selling Writer, which recently came out of copyright protection. It's the best I've found, to date, at imparting and clarifying the "nuts-and-bolts" issues of creating a scene that will sing to the reader. The address of an archive site where you can read or download it free is just below. Copy/paste the address into the URL window of any Internet page and hit Return to get there.

https://archive.org/details/TechniquesOfTheSellingWriterCUsersvenkatmGoogleDrive4FilmMakingBsc_ChennaiFilmSchoolPractice_Others

I know you were hoping for the Golden Attaboy award for this. Sorry. But as I said, you have a lot of company, because in our school years no one tells us that we’re being taught writing skills that are great for writing reports but useless for fiction. And since you’ll not address any problem you don’t see as being one, I thought you’d want to know. So give it a try. And, hang in there and keep on writing. It never gets easier, but after a while, with study and practice, we can become confused on a higher level.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

[Tyler Hendricks]

Thank you so very much for your insightful and helpful review, I will go thorough it a little later to really get the understanding. I appreciate you taking the time to write all of this, wow!

[Miss Sensuality]

You are an excellent reviewer. You said everything I was thinking, but in a way I would never have been able to put down. Brilliant!