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Started April 26, 2021 by Tati

tune

@NijiT & @Adaras. I rewrote bits of the following section of Chapter 2. What do you think? Suggestions?

“No. No. No. No. No! It can't be! She said…” My dad shook his head vigorously; disbelief and undeniable grief overtook him like he believed that his life would shatter into a million pieces. I knew the feeling. Discovering who you are, but simultaneously realizing that that person is not the person the world thinks that you are or the person you wanted to be.
“It's your problem now,” Alex said, and in an instant, she was gone in a puff of smoke.
“Ben, what happened?” my mom asked.
“He's got magic now. That's what happened,” Tina explained.
“That's not possible,” my dad replied.
“Yes, it is. Spells like the one your mom used always come with some kind of disclaimer.” Tina countered.
“Is anyone going to mention how Alex freaking Howler just showed up in our house?!” I asked angrily. The room froze. No one spoke for a minute.
“I didn’t know she was back here, or that she knew how to undo the spell my adoptive mother placed on me. On the other hand, my lousy excuse for a biological mother has tried to kill Tina for thirty years. It’s why she said ‘this war isn’t over’,” my dad explained patiently, which seemed to me to be a near miracle for a man who had just been screaming about how he thought it was impossible for him to possess magic.
“Oh,” I said plainly. Then trying to change the subject, I added, “I think she has a daughter.”
“What makes you believe that?” my dad asked.
“As she teleported out of here, Alex was thinking about someone. Her name's Alya, and I think they live in the city,” I explained.

“Are you sure this is the right house?” my dad asked.
“Yeah, I'm sure,” I responded. My dad knocked on the door.
“Well, well, well. Who do we have here? The Queen of the Fairies, an ex-felon, her daughter, her children… Oh…” Alya said, looking at each of us, but not before resting her gaze on my dad and adding, “Nice to meet you, brother.”
I don't know what kind of girl I had envisioned Alya to be, but she certainly looked nothing like her mother or my dad. She was short, with long blond hair and blue eyes, and wore a bubblegum pink sweatshirt and black leggings. I got the tiniest suspicion that she was hiding something. Like she wanted desperately to share the secret, and as a result, she tried very hard to show off.
“You know who we are!” my dad gaped.
“Don't act so surprised, Ben. Samantha, Ally, and Tina are among the most famous women in the city, not to mention mother has tried to kill them on several occasions,” Alya teased.
“And Amelia?” he asked.
“She looks just like you. Also, she practically screams 'fairy.' For that matter, I don't understand how it took you and Tina this long to realize it.” Alya grinned.
“Does anyone know who you are — what you are? Who your mother is?” my dad asked.
“Ironic, coming from you, as one could ask the same of you,” Alya smirked. “Some people in the neighborhood know that there’s a couple of fairies living here and mother tries not to show her face in public. When it comes to me, I'm fortunate not to look like my mother. I believe we both have had luck in that department.” Alya looked directly at my dad as she said, “After all, you’ve managed to live twenty-eight years on this planet without the public finding out who you are. I mean, you pursued a relationship with the most well-known woman in the city, resulting in two children, at least one of whom is a fairy. Do you honestly expect to keep that a secret much longer?”
“No, I don’t. Plus, Amelia deserves a chance at a life among her own, even if they choose to hate me. To quote her. She already lives with the legacy of one hated woman; she can live with another. I always hoped that people could see that we are only responsible for our actions and not those who were committed by others,” my dad explained.
“Wow, you’re seriously going to tell them the whole truth. I thought you wouldn’t let mother have that kind of satisfaction. After all, hasn’t she tried to force you to do it since before I was born.” I knew that Alex had tried to kill my mom and Samantha several times, but I had never heard stories of Alex trying to force my dad to tell everyone the truth. I would learn later that my dad had only chosen to tell my mom and her family who he was after my mom was pregnant with me.
“Alex enjoys my misery. Why do you care if the world hates me?”
The more Alya talked, the more I noticed that there was a familiar aura about her. Something that we shared that I have only felt in a few people, and it wasn't that we were both fairies.
“You're not just a fairy, are you? You're like me. How long?” I asked her.
“I don't know what you're talking about!” she responded in a tone that suggested she knew what I was talking about. There was a puzzled expression on my dad's face. Slowly but surely, he put the pieces together.
“Don't lie to us, Alya. How did Alex react? How have you managed to keep it a secret? Why keep it a secret in the first place?” my dad asked.
“Why keep it a secret in the first place?” Alya scoffed. “Oh, maybe because the only examples of people like me are standing right here! They're the first and only examples of people like them. So, for the past two years, I've been shoving it down because frankly, I didn't have any other choice!”
“Whose idea was it? Yours?” my dad asked.
“No, not mine.”
“Of course, it was Alex's idea! Who am I kidding? She's the same woman who single-handedly caused the genocide of thousands of fairies like yourself. Who cares if you would have been better off trained! She only cares about saving her own hide!” my dad said hysterically.
“It was our only choice, Ben! Either that or risk exposure. Do you blame her?” Alya yelled.
“No,” my mom said before my dad had a chance to respond. “She probably didn't know what happens when you shove it down. How could she? There's a reason why I've had to prove that I was a better person than Samantha, and it had nothing to do with me. Samantha's example of what can happen if someone loses control. You do things you may regret,”
“You know, Alya, we can help you,” Samantha said.
“Why would any of you help me? My mother has tried to kill you. All of you.” Alya asked.
“Because not every kid is like their parents,” Samantha said, glancing between my mom and dad, the two prime examples of this. Since she was eight years old, my mom has fought every day to prove that she's a better person than her mother. And, if not for my dad, my mom would have been dead a dozen times over at Alex's hand.
“Alya, you may not have guessed it, but if not for everything Ally has proven throughout her life. I wouldn't be standing here, and Ben would be rotting in prison. Your mother may have killed my parents, but you are not your mother,” Tina added.

I think since what you had was already really good, revising it and picking new details to add and taking the unneeded ones out, makes the whole thing smoother. What you have right now (at least to me) is a good read. You didn’t take out a whole lot since I see that it basically has the same writing with minimal changes. I also don’t have any suggestions to input

I think since what you had was already really good, revising it and picking new details to add and taking the unneeded ones out, makes the whole thing smoother. What you have right now (at least to me) is a good read. You didn’t take out a whole lot since I see that it basically has the same writing with minimal changes. I also don’t have any suggestions to input

Thanks.

I wrote a scene. You don't need to read anything else to understand it. It's supposed to be a training scene. Does everything make sense? Any details that need to be added?

"Close your eyes," Samantha ordered. She didn't have to tell me again. We'd been at this for the past two months, ever since my powers manifested, and we'd performed this exercise at least eight times since.
Samantha Cowiak wasn't your typical grandmother. She spent the first five years of my life in prison and had the stern, observant forest green eyes that much of my mother's family, myself included, shared. Her once long, black hair was now almost all gray and cut short. She was short for a human, only just above five feet tall, and her long, muscular arms were riddled with scars, a remnant of the troubled past of whom few knew its true horrors.
I closed my eyes and willed my mind to be alert to any changes, sudden or otherwise. It was like having all the hairs on your body stick up. In an instant, steps were coming right for me; when Samantha's staff was centimeters from hitting me straight in the rips, I took my own and swung with all my might, striking her in the chest. Samantha grunted. Before I knew what was happening, Samantha had kicked me in the chest, knocking me backward and right into the wall behind me. I opened my eyes, my vision swam. Samantha walked up to me and pointed one end of her staff toward my chest. Intending to wrench it out of her hand, I grabbed hold of it with both of my hands, but when I did, something terrible happened. The staff disintegrated, turning into a million grains of dust. What had I done?
"What did you do?!"Samantha scowled. I stood up and immediately felt as though that was a mistake.
"I - I - I don't know," I stammered.
"Get out," she bellowed, pointing toward the door. "Now!"
Quickly, I dropped my staff and ran as fast as my feet would carry me.

Thank you, that’s a huge help
And everything seems okay my dude, you seem to be doing pretty fine. Maybe you could write more on how Samantha felt after our main protagonists has left. I think it would be a nice addition- but not too much writing that it ends up going on and on.

I might mention it in a different scene because as it's not from Samantha's perspective I don't know how to.

I wrote another scene that takes place much later and is in Ben's perspective. I'm not sure if I'm going to keep it but I thought I'd share it because I like the dynamic and think there's a chance I'd use it. I don't think you need any prior knowledge that hasn't been mentioned yet. Maybe the fact that Alya (Ben's bio sister) is living with Ben for the moment. What do you think? I think I have a thing for messy family dynamics. lol.

There was a puff of smoke behind me. Alex.
"Hello, Ben," Alex said.
"Hello, Alex," I responded, turning around to face her.
"Why am I here, Bee'nan?" she asked. I flinched. Hearing that name was like being hit in the face. The only reason she knew me by that name was that she murdered my parents.
"Why is she here, Alex? What do you want from her?" I asked Alex. She simply smirked.
"I asked her; I gave her a choice: you," she said, pointing to me, "or me." she finished, pointing to herself. "And she chose you. I'm her mother. I raised her; I gave her a home, and she chose you: the brother she's barely met."
"No," I shook my head. "That's not the whole truth. Because I was recently reminded that if someone does something that's not a part of your plans, you kill them," Images swam through my vision. By parents laying on the ground in my childhood home, dead. "or hurt them," my chest was suddenly tight as though I could breathe. "In unimaginable ways," I finished. I could almost hear my parents' screams as I stood there, talking to their murderer.
"You think her being here wasn't part of my plan? Nothing that has happened since I came back went against my plans. I know you've noticed that my plans for you have changed. Go on, ask it." she said.
"What do you want from us?" I growled.
"I told you Ben, your still the stubborn boy you were when we met. You haven't changed at all," she said. "Well…" she started. "except, back then you were afraid and powerless, but still consumed with anger and hate. You have a thirst for vengeance and waiting to finally fulfill it." she spoke with such confidence that the truth seemed obvious. "And now…" she smiled. "I gave you the means." There it was, the crazed look in her eyes. The same one that appeared every time I used magic against her. What means? What means? I gasped. Magic!
"I resigned myself to the fact this must have been your fate all along. When I finally kill Tina you'll want vengeance. It's what you've wanted since we met fifteen years ago, isn't it? Vengeance for those you've lost." she said.
I grabbed hold of the air and thrust it towards her, ran, and pinned her to the wall behind her.
"You sick, tsisted Bitch!" I shouted.
Alex smiled, "You've seen yourself as a martyr for fifteen years, but that wasn't your purpose in this wsr. It never was."
"No, it was to be used. A pawn in a war I didn't ask for, and before I was even born!" I yelled. "Now, what do you want from Alya?" I asked, pushing harder on her arms.
"Think. How'd this war start?" she asked calmly, looking me dead in the eyes. With Alex becoming a murderous traitor!
"You've got to be kidding me!" I scowled. "You want to end this war the same way it began: someone dead, someone to blame, and someone a traitor at the end of the day." Alex nodded.
"I'm not a fool, Alex. I won't let this happen." I said.
Alex smirked, "Funny. Your father told the Queen the same thing." I let go of Alex and staggered back a few steps. My father?!

Whoa shoot I'm so sorry I've been so checked out as of late. Reading it all, you've really improved a lot! It's really fantastic plotlining, and I think the changes you've made added quite a bit of depth to it! Your description is great, and I haven't seen repetition at all which is fantastically difficult to pull off over a long stretch of a story.
My only recommendation is facial expressions. You're showing their emotions through their body language, and the final step to the whole character description shebang is their faces! Here's kind of what I'm getting at:
"You've got to be kidding me!" I scowled. "You want to end this war the same way it began: someone dead, someone to blame, and someone a traitor at the end of the day."
She nodded indifferently, her face so worry-less it's as if she didn't just suggest something so dangerously idiotic.
I grit my teeth at her. "I'm not a fool, Alex. I won't let this happen." I grind out.
Alex smirked as her eyes glittered maliciously. "Funny, your father told the Queen the same thing." She crooned tauntingly.
I let go of Alex and staggered back a few steps. My father?!
I might not have gotten the mood exactly right, but I think you get the gist.
A bit of life before and/or after dialogue creates an atmosphere that pulls someone into what they're reading. Kind of in the sense of: "Whoa, she's smirking? What is she going to say next?" (That sounded like a bit of an elementary school-esque answer but it gets the point across) but anyway, that's another tricky thing to regulate in writing. When is too much writing, when is too little, this one paragraph is super descriptive versus this one is so dry, and so on.
I can't really give an example of the right amount, because it truly depends on ✨context✨ but it's something you get a feel for over time.
Also, if you get stuck trying to figure that out (or anything else really), I'm sure I probably said this before but stepping back and working on something else will do wonders. You may leave your book thinking 'Glorious! Publish-worthy!' Then come back a week or two later and think 'Agh! Cringe for days! Who would ever read this?' Then you'll fix it to be better, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
Every writer you'll ever meet who has a published book will tell you that story writing is 10% planning and writing, 90% editing, so yes its tedious but has nothing to do with your skill level.
By the way, if you ever need advice and I'm not available at the moment, I strongly recommend reading 'Writing Magic' by Gail Carson Levine, which is where I got a lot of my advice from. It's 161 pages and you can skip around all you want, you dont need to read from cover to cover. It'll give basics to you, ways to get out of writer's block, and even new story ideas! (This sounds like an ad omg😂😅) but anyway, that's my advice, which you can disregard or follow to the letter or just think about.
Sorry again, but good luck😅🍀

Whoa shoot I'm so sorry I've been so checked out as of late. Reading it all, you've really improved a lot! It's really fantastic plotlining, and I think the changes you've made added quite a bit of depth to it! Your description is great, and I haven't seen repetition at all which is fantastically difficult to pull off over a long stretch of a story.
My only recommendation is facial expressions. You're showing their emotions through their body language, and the final step to the whole character description shebang is their faces! Here's kind of what I'm getting at:
"You've got to be kidding me!" I scowled. "You want to end this war the same way it began: someone dead, someone to blame, and someone a traitor at the end of the day."
She nodded indifferently, her face so worry-less it's as if she didn't just suggest something so dangerously idiotic.
I grit my teeth at her. "I'm not a fool, Alex. I won't let this happen." I grind out.
Alex smirked as her eyes glittered maliciously. "Funny, your father told the Queen the same thing." She crooned tauntingly.
I let go of Alex and staggered back a few steps. My father?!
I might not have gotten the mood exactly right, but I think you get the gist.
A bit of life before and/or after dialogue creates an atmosphere that pulls someone into what they're reading. Kind of in the sense of: "Whoa, she's smirking? What is she going to say next?" (That sounded like a bit of an elementary school-esque answer but it gets the point across) but anyway, that's another tricky thing to regulate in writing. When is too much writing, when is too little, this one paragraph is super descriptive versus this one is so dry, and so on.
I can't really give an example of the right amount, because it truly depends on ✨context✨ but it's something you get a feel for over time.
Also, if you get stuck trying to figure that out (or anything else really), I'm sure I probably said this before but stepping back and working on something else will do wonders. You may leave your book thinking 'Glorious! Publish-worthy!' Then come back a week or two later and think 'Agh! Cringe for days! Who would ever read this?' Then you'll fix it to be better, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
Every writer you'll ever meet who has a published book will tell you that story writing is 10% planning and writing, 90% editing, so yes its tedious but has nothing to do with your skill level.
By the way, if you ever need advice and I'm not available at the moment, I strongly recommend reading 'Writing Magic' by Gail Carson Levine, which is where I got a lot of my advice from. It's 161 pages and you can skip around all you want, you dont need to read from cover to cover. It'll give basics to you, ways to get out of writer's block, and even new story ideas! (This sounds like an ad omg😂😅) but anyway, that's my advice, which you can disregard or follow to the letter or just think about.
Sorry again, but good luck😅🍀

Yes! I like most of your suggestions! I'm just terrible at adjectives and adverbs, so sometimes I need others to look at it and make suggestions. Thanks!

Here's what it looks like now. Some of the edits were done prior to you reading it, so feel free to suggest more edits. Side note how do you italicize things here? Also, how do you post a picture here?

There was a puff of smoke behind me. Alex.
"Hello, Ben," Alex said.
"Hello, Alex," I responded, turning around to face her.
"Why am I here, Bee'nan?" she asked. Alex didn't say it cruelly but hearing that name come out of her mouth was ice to my insides. I was frozen, coldness spread through my veins. It wasn't like hearing her spout phrases in Nēmari. No, then it felt like I was burning. Now, it was calm hatred, stone-cold and calm. She had no right to call me that. She stole that name - that identity from me. I haven't been Bee'nan Mee'lar for fifteen years. That was the name of a boy with two loving parents.
"Why is she here, Alex? What do you want from her?" I asked Alex coolly. She simply smirked.
"I asked her; I gave her a choice: you," she said, pointing to me, "or me." she finished, pointing to herself. "And she chose you. I'm her mother. I raised her; I gave her a home, and she chose you: the brother she's barely met."
"No," I shook my head. "That's not the whole truth. Because I was recently reminded that if someone does something that's not a part of your plans, you kill them," Images swam through my vision. By parents laying on the ground in my childhood home, dead. "or hurt them," my chest was suddenly tight as though I could breathe. "In unimaginable ways," I finished hoarsely. I could almost hear my parents' screams as I stood there, talking to their murderer.
"I spent years telling Alya stories of you in hopes she would stay by my side, but using her father's blood she was able to harber affection for you. She idealized you, Ben. You're an example in her mind. You've always been an example. You think her being here wasn't part of my plan? Nothing that has happened since I came back went against my plans. I know you've noticed that my plans for you have changed. Go on, ask it." she said.
"What do you want from us?" I growled.
"I told you Ben, your still the stubborn boy you were when we met. You haven't changed at all," she said. "Well…" she started. "except, back then you were afraid and powerless, but still consumed with anger and hate. You have a thirst for vengeance and waiting to finally fulfill it." she spoke with such confidence that the truth seemed obvious. "And now…" she smiled. "I gave you the means." There it was, the crazed look in her eyes. The same one that appeared every time I used magic against her. What means? What means? I gasped.
"Magic!" I said, in a barely audible whisper.
"I resigned myself to the fact this must have been your fate all along. When I finally kill Tina you'll want vengeance. It's what you've wanted since we met fifteen years ago, isn't it? Vengeance for those you've lost." she said.
I grabbed hold of the air and thrust it towards her, ran, and pinned her to the wall behind her.
"You sick, tsisted Bitch!" I shouted.
Alex smiled, "You've seen yourself as a martyr for fifteen years, but that wasn't your purpose in this wsr. It never was."
"No, it was to be used. A pawn in a war I didn't ask for, and before I was even born!" I yelled. "Now, what do you want from Alya?" I asked, pushing harder on her arms.
"Think. How'd this war start?" she asked calmly, looking me dead in the eyes. With Alex becoming a murderous traitor!
"You've got to be kidding me!" I scowled. "You want to end this war the same way it began: someone dead, someone to blame, and someone a traitor at the end of the day."
She nodded indifferently, her face so worry-less it's as if she didn't just suggest something so dangerously idiotic.
I gritted my teeth. "I'm not a fool, Alex. I won't let this happen."
Alex smirked as her eyes glittered maliciously "Funny. Your father told the Queen the same thing." She crooned hauntingly.
I let go of Alex and staggered back a few steps. My father?!
"Like I said: You've always been an example." she was saying but I couldn't hear her over the roaring in my ears and the millions of questions swimming through my head. After all this time? Who was my father and what had he to do with this war? Or was this just one of her tricks?

It sounds great😁 anything that would need editing is minor, or not even a bother, which is something you can discover on your own. Finish the rest of the story like this and you'll be aces.

So, how you italicize: you use ** on both sides of the phrase you want to italicize, and it'll show up in the preview as italics. And I don't know how to post pictures 😅 I'm not super tech-savvy, and I haven't explored this a whole bunch.

🍀🍀🍀 and if you get writer's block or get stuck again I've gotchu.

@NijiT I changed the beginning part of the first chapter. What do you think? I think the first two paragraphs make a better start to the story than the one I had.

As a child, my mother would always tell me that the world isn’t fair. When I’d ask her why, she’d tell me it was because the world did not see us as we saw ourselves, and that grief and anger drove people to do horrible things. For many years, I did not understand what this meant, but I would come to understand, and this discovery would cost our family dearly.
My parents moved out of their hometown when I was nine months old. Two years later, when my baby brother was born, my father bailed on us for reasons my mother refused to share with me.
Two days before my mom’s twenty-ninth birthday, (three weeks after I turned eleven) we moved back to her hometown. When we arrived at our new home, my father showed up. After a lot of convincing from my dad, my mom let him stay on the couch and for a while, I thought things could be normal. Oh, how wrong I was.
Two months later, there was a knock on the door.
“Tina! What are you doing here?” My mother asked with a tight smile.
Tina was short and pale, with gleaming amber eyes and a tiny black mole below her left eye. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun, accentuating her small, pointed ears. Despite the chilly autumn weather, she wore a knee-length, pale pink dress and black heels. Everything about her radiated regality and confidence beyond measure. She stood there in the doorframe, poised yet relaxed. How could that be? She was the Queen of the Fairies, wasn't she?
“Over the past couple of months, I noticed something about Amelia. So, I looked into it," Tina started; she spoke clearly and matter-a-factly. She looked at my mom as she added, "and I know, Ally, you didn't want me to look into it, but I did anyway." My mom's expression hardened, and Tina continued. "I discovered that Amelia is a fairy.” The second Tina finished talking, two things happened. All the blood drained from my dad's face, and his and my mom's expressions turned to worry. Before I had time to wonder what it meant, there was a puff of smoke and a woman was now standing in the middle of the room.
“Amelia, get behind me!” my dad shouted. I obliged.
“Come on, Ben. You know I won't hurt her,” the woman smiled. There was an eerie familiarity about the woman, as if I had met her once before, but I was sure that I hadn't. The woman would have stood out in a crowd. She had pale, almost paper white skin, pale brown eyes, and long, raven black hair that was woven into intricate braids. She was short and held the air of a woman on a mission - of a woman who would fight until her dying breath to achieve her goal. The woman wore an elegant, layered dress the color of blood. The dress was torn in many places, as if a sword had beaten it.
“What the hell are you doing here, Alex?!” he asked, glowering at her.
“I made you a promise, Ben. This war isn’t over. I will finally get what I’ve wanted for thirty years. You’ve tried to protect them - your so-called family for so long, but not anymore. You will suffer for defying me,” Alex boasted triumphantly. “Just know this to be true when I say it: the people of Nēmar will not accept you.” I realized at that moment that I was the only person present who did not know the truth she spoke of. A week after we moved to Southwater, my dad had told me that his adoptive parents had been fairies, and for a moment, I believed this must've been the secret Alex spoke of but it wasn’t. It was a small part of a much larger secret: one that would threaten to crumble my family if we let it. Nēmar? What promise? What war?
Somewhere in my jumble of thoughts, I heard my dad scoff, “What, and you will? No thank you! You’re a backstabbing, traitorous, bitch! I’ve already told you as much!”
To this day, I don't know what made me do it, but I stepped out from behind my dad to face Alex. I would not let her intimidate me. She tried to murder my mother for an ability that my mother and I possess. She may not have wished me dead, but I would not cower in my father's shadow.
“I have lived thus far with the legacy of one hated woman, I can live with another!” I said. Alex smirked.
“When'd you tell her?” she asked my dad.
“I didn't,” my father responded lazily. Everyone was looking at me now, like I had said something outrageous. Everyone was still as if they were waiting for the world to implode. My dad looked at me - his eyes bore into me. Sadness, and regret, and disbelief and a million other things I could not understand spread through his face. His chest sagged. He closed his eyes and shook his head as if to convince himself there would be time later to explain all the lies he had told me.
Alex smirked, “Smart girl.”
“It wasn't that hard. However, thanks to you, I am about the most unlucky girl on the planet. After all, you and Samantha are two of the world's most hated people.” I explained. “Except, no one wants anything to do with you. You’re a murderer!” I sneered.
There was a twinkle in her eyes, like she was planning something. A heartbeat later, Alex had thrust out her arm; a column of flame had erupted from her arm and was heading right toward me.
In an instant, fire engulfed my vision, and I quickly clamped my eyes shut, avoiding the stinging that had reached them. Strangely enough, it didn't feel as if the fire actually burned me, but rather, the pain was the worst I'd experienced in my entire life. What was Alex doing? I tried to scream, but the effort was too much to bear. A second later, a gust of wind shot toward me, and the column of flames disbursed. What had I done? Had I done anything? Slowly, the burning sensation dissipated and I opened my eyes.
“Don’t look at me! I didn’t do it!” Tina said quickly. If I hadn’t done it, and Tina hadn’t done it… Then who did it? Simultaneously, as though landing on the only possible answer, everyone looked at my dad. I thought he was human. But then again, his mother was one of the most hated fairies in the galaxy. Was it possible? Surely not? It seemed as though those same thoughts were circulating through everyone else’s heads too. And almost to make the matter even more confusing, there was a puzzled expression on my dad’s face.
Alex smirked. “I guess that spell wasn't as permanent as you thought.”

@NijiT I was trying to write the scene where Tina dies because it's one of those scenes that I had a vivid image of in my head. This is what I have so far. What details do I need to include? What am I missing? I know that I'm going to have some reference to how she went out the same way as her brother. Also, I wont be on between Friday the 30th and Saturday the 31st. Thanks.

“Alya, call her. Only you can.” my dad told her. Alya’s expression was grim but determined. A moment later, Alex stood there in all her murderous glory.
“You said you were alone!” Alex scolded.
“I also said you were right. I lied.” Alya said sweetly. The four of us exchanged glances. We were going to do it; it wasn’t up for debate.
“Now.” Alya’s voice rang in my mind. At first, it appeared Alya hadn’t done anything.
“Alya, what are you doing?” Alex asked, then scowled, “Stop that!”
It was working; Alya was draining the magic from Alex’s blood. It was my dad’s turn now. Right on cue, a funnel of wind engulfed Alex, swirling around her, keeping her pinned in place. Alex struggled against him, kicking and thrashing, but it was no use. For a moment, I stood there, transfixed in awe at the sheer power my father had mustered. Not two months ago, Alex could have beat him to a pulp. It’s because she doesn’t have magic. Next, Tina generated a cylinder of water, encasing the funnel of wind up to Alex’s throat. It was my turn now. I held out my right arm. A thick casing of dirt grew from beneath Alex’s feet, slowly engulfing her legs. Unfortunately, before it could pass Alex’s waist, everything went horribly wrong.
A sudden wave of exhaustion crashed into me. It wasn’t exhaustion. No, it was powerlessness. My powers - my magic - it was being sucked right out of my body. There was a triumphant gleam in Alex’s eyes. Alex, what was she doing?! I thought Alya was draining her magic. Then the horrible truth occurred to me. That type of magic can’t be drained. So, now Alex was draining the magic from my blood like a vacuum - holding it hostage. The casing of dirt began to retreat back into the ground. Once there was no more dirt surrounding her, Alex’s hold on my magic slackened by a fraction and to my utter horror, I watched as Alex drained the magic out of my dad. Then she summoned a black rock the size and shape of a dagger and hurtled it towards Tina. It went clean through her heart.

Dang I like it. It rounds things out and gives your readers a place to start, for sure. I think when you're listing the different events, add a 'then' or 'eventually' or even 'first' at the beginning to add a bit more variety and make it seem less repetitive, though it isn't repeating exact wording. Think of it as if you were writing it the way the mc would describe it to their friend, as if they didn't want them to get bored with you telling them a story. After all, this is their life they're describing.

Dang I like it. It rounds things out and gives your readers a place to start, for sure. I think when you're listing the different events, add a 'then' or 'eventually' or even 'first' at the beginning to add a bit more variety and make it seem less repetitive, though it isn't repeating exact wording. Think of it as if you were writing it the way the mc would describe it to their friend, as if they didn't want them to get bored with you telling them a story. After all, this is their life they're describing.

Thanks.

Someone suggested I start the story earlier to space introductions better. I wrote a part of a beginning chapter. What do you think?

I didn’t ask to be born or to be burdened by my family’s secrets, forced to move and to change, and hated simply because I exist. For much of my childhood, I thought I was alone in this, but life is too complicated for that to be true.
“Ami!” my mom shouted from the kitchen. “Ready? Time to go!”
“One second!” I yelled. I stood in my now empty bedroom, holding a cardboard box filled with pictures - photos I had taken throughout the years. On the top of the pile was a picture of my younger brother Toby; he was five when I took that photo. He stood in front of a blank, white wall. Toby grinned that infectious grin of his. It was goofy and ecstatic, revealing his missing front tooth - all signs of a perfect childhood, despite his being not so ideal. His chocolate brown eyes gleamed with pride and excitement. He had our mother’s straight black hair, but where her’s long, his was short, but only long enough that it hit his eyelids. My mom always insisted that she have it cut, but one day, not so long after, I took the photo. Toby made such a fuss that she didn’t argue.
I walked towards my bedroom door, turned around to face my barren room, and whispered, “Goodbye.” This would be the last time I would lay eyes on my childhood home.
It was a clear, warm summer morning. The sun reflecting off of the black minivan sitting in the driveway. My mom leaned against the side of the van, her arms crossed. She wore a baggy cerulean blue tank top that reached her hips and black shorts. Her expression was one I didn’t expect - grim determination. Her eyes, like mine, were forest green, they were transfixed on the house as if she were trying to take a photo of it and store in her own mental scrapbook. Today, she wore her hair in a ponytail. On her left upper arm were three pale white vertical scars, like cuts or slits. From the day I could talk until I was eight years old, I would ask her where she got those strange scars. Finally, she explained me the truth about her past with her mother. Let’s just say Samantha Cowiak was far from the ideal mom.
“Just take a picture. It’ll last longer,” I told her, putting my fingers to my lips, “Hmm, better yet, I’ll give you one of mine.” I placed the box in the trunk and began rifling through its contents. It has to be here somewhere. Aha! I pulled out a photo of the house and handed it to her. It was small, one-story, and was painted white. It was brand new when my parents had bought it but that was ten years ago.
“I can’t believe we’re leaving this place,” I said.
“I know. It feels like yesterday I was driving across the island, with you in the back of the car, your dad next to me. No care in the world,” my mom said, smiling, lost in the past. She sighed heavily, “Time to leave. Time to go home.” My mom took one last look at the house, slammed the trunk, and got in the car.
“Did you know that forty percent of people in Southwater are fairies and powered people?” Toby said, ten minutes later. Today, he wore a navy blue tee-shirt and black shorts.
“Yes, Toby. I did. In fact, it’s the reason most people don’t like it there. There afraid of us. They think we’re all bad people, destined to break the law,” my mom replied calmly even though we all knew there was more to her words than she was letting on.

I think that was the perfect suggestion to make, to be honest, and if you continue spacing out the introductions like that, the story slows down enough for the reader to process events, instead of being distracted by new characters. I like how you introduced the mom and Toby right upfront so that people can start fitting them into the events that follow, not like if you just immediately introduced the villain then added the family later as a side note, you know?

The secret to writing a well-written action is not about what goes on the paper, but when you put it, like how spaced apart your big fight scenes are or how close together the character's obvious growth experiences or learning opportunities. I know personally that the major thing that drives me to write a particular story is the action, but the little moments truly make it all the better, adding background, tension, and important info, as well as millions of other entertaining things. However, don't forget that you can have fun in the little moments too. It's what creates a full, delightful story, if the whole thing is packed with detail and fun, etc.

@NijiT I wrote some more. What do you think? Suggestions?

The drive took twenty minutes, and as we got closer to our new home, I could help but wonder that if we lived that close to my mom's family, how come I had only met her Aunt Elena and cousin Tammi.
The house, like our old one was one story. It was brown like tree bark. The street was made up of variety of different houses. Next door was a large rust colored brick house, its black roof nearly in shambled. In contrast, two houses down was a white two-story house that looked as though no one had ever lived there.
We got out of the car and each carried our own box of personal belongings - the last remains of our old life. The neighborhood was nearly silent. The only sound was the chipping of some birds that were nested in a tree nearby.
"Does anyone even live here?" I asked.
"Ya. It's an old neighborhood though. Most families stay here for generations, but as of twenty years ago, our family's presence here scared away a lot of families with kids," my mom explained.
"You lived here. In this neighborhood?" I asked.
"Ya." she said. She said it the way one might say 'unfortunately'. "My mother lives across the street over there." she pointed to a house across from the brick one. It looked far newer, perhaps thirty-five or forty years old, and was also made of brick. "and Elena lives next door. It was her childhood home. She's lived there for as long as I can remember."

It's all great! I suggest using 'yeah' instead of 'ya' because 'ya' sounds like she has an accent, and also 'yeah' seems more professional to the outside view. The descriptions are well done, too! Also, a bit more thoughts from the mc?

It's all great! I suggest using 'yeah' instead of 'ya' because 'ya' sounds like she has an accent, and also 'yeah' seems more professional to the outside view. The descriptions are well done, too! Also, a bit more thoughts from the mc?

Thanks! I've already fixed the 'ya' problem, I just forgot to update it here. I did change some other wording, but it's minor things.
Here I added a couple more paragraphs (the first one's the same as the last from my other post).

"Yeah." she said. She said it the way one might say 'unfortunately'. "My mother lives across the street over there." she pointed to a house across from the brick one. It looked far newer, perhaps thirty-five or forty years old, and was also made of brick. "and Elena lives next door. It was her childhood home. She's lived there for as long as I can remember." My mom opened the door and stepped inside.
It was insufferably hot inside, the air thick with heat and fresh paint. To my left was the living area. Three small brown leather couches surrounded a square black coffee table. A large Tv was propped on the opposite wall. On the right was a black wooden dining table that sat six people. In front was the kitchen, all-white marble counters, and an island to match. Since when could mom afford this?
"Don't we have air conditioning?" I complained.
"Yes. Yes. One minute," My mom said, putting her box on the kitchen counter.

It was here when I wanted to add a scene where she goes into her room, perhaps she goes through that box of moments from her old house. I thought it could be a good way to show what her old life may have been like. The only problem is that I don't know how to integrate it into the scene. I tend to struggle with that kind of thing.

So, I was writing a chapter in Ben's perspective that comes later and I was writing a description of Ally and I really loved it. I'm going to post it here.

Ally was the spitting image of her mother, The same thin lips and big forest green eyes, but where her mother's expression was cold, distant, calculating, and most of all mysterious, Ally's was kinder; she still had that calculating look about her, but her gaze was sterner and in the back of her eyes you could see a flicker of warmth that was only designated for those of us she cared for.

That’s a pretty neat description. I have no context whatsoever, but with that description you don’t really need the context to ‘see’ Ally. And it’s also neat to see the different strategies for writing descriptions (I usually go with the several sentences of one body part description, but that’s just me)

And it’s actually inspiring, you mind if I share a description I made for one of my characters (specifically his face)? If not, that’s fine.

ok

Fantabulous, hun😁

Hey. So, I'm writing another story. I was wondering if someone could critique it and tell me where I can improve. There are two chapters thus far. Here's the fist.

Hatred
I thought I knew hate. Turns out I was wrong. I thought I knew hate when the cocky, strong human boys in elementary school would pick on me - when they’d beat me up and laugh as I’d walk away, bruises covering my face. I thought I knew hate when I would come to school during the first week in October and wear all white and watch as the human kids would snicker because I dared to mourn the Nemari that died so that I could live. That wasn’t hate. It was anger and embarrassment. I only truly met hate when I was thirteen.
She came in the form of a visitor. A knock at the door.
“Mom! Someone’s at the door!” I called. In a flash of wind and light, the figure of my mother appeared in front of me. She had long, brown hair that tumbled down her shoulders and brown eyes that stared right into mine with a kind of unpalpable fear that I’d never seen before. She wore a light blue tee-shirt and blue jeans. I’d seen her wariness to new people before, but this - this was on a whole new level.
“Bee, don’t - don’t answer it,” she told me.
“Why not? What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. You’ll be just fine,” she said, cupping her hand around my face the way she’d done on my first day of school. That was the last lie she ever told me.
“Al! Come in here, now!” she called to my dad. Another gust of wind and my father materialized next to my mother. He had short-cropped black hair and gray eyes that stormed like the wind he commanded. He wore a navy blue tee-shirt and an old pair of gray overalls.
“What is it Leta?” he asked. There was another knock on the door, louder this time.
“I think it’s her. I think she’s come for us - for him,”
“No. It must be a mistake,” he said.
As if on cue the front door, blew upon, fire lining its edges. The woman behind it was thin with milky white skin. She had hazel eyes that had a wild, malicious look in them. She had long, inky black hair that was thick with knots and matted the side of her skull. She wore a long, tattered dress the color of blood. Who was this woman, and what was she doing in my house?
“Hello, Leta, Alun.” The woman greeted.
“I - I thought you were -” my mom started.
“Dead,” the woman finished. She smiled a toothy, scornful smile. “You didn’t watch me die, Leta. I am not that easy to kill. Our dear Anala knew as much.”
“Whatever business you came here for, we will not be a part of it. Your schemes are yours alone, Alex,” my mom said.
“Oh, dear Leta, don’t pretend as though you have a choice,” Alex said in a sickly sweet tone. Alex clenched her fists and my mother crumbled to her knees. Horror filled her eyes. Slowly as the seconds ticked by her body began to give up.
“Bee! Run!” my father screamed as he too began to crumble to his knees. Alex slowly, patiently, walked toward their bodies.
“Your knowledge will be ever useful to me,” Alex said, now towering over their limp bodies.
Alex stepped away from my parents, giving a view to the pile of bones that lay in their place.
“No!” I screamed, giving way to the gaping hole of anguish that now rested in my chest. I collapsed to my knees, hot tears tearing down my cheeks. For a moment, I sat there, cradling my knees in my arms. What had I done to deserve this? What was so wrong with me, that I had to live in this world alone? Who was this ‘Alex’ who thought that innocence was something to value so little? Who was she to value a life little?
Alex was hovering over me now. I let go of my legs and stood up to stand up to my parents’ murderer.
“You - you killed them. Just like that,” I said, my voice fragile.
“They had to die. Their time was up. Their time was up years ago,” Alex said.
“You came here to kill us.”
“Us? Oh, Bee’nan, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.” The cold, lethal threat barely registered in my grief-stricken mind. The gaping hole in my chest exploded once more at the mention of my given name. Where had she discovered it? Only two people in the world knew me by that name and they were now both dead.
“Who are you?” I growled.
“Ben, my name’s Alex Howler and I’m your mother,” she said as calmly as if stating the weather.
“My mother!” I scoffed. “My mother is dead! Your just the woman who killed my parents,” My words reverberated through the house, all but confirming the unfortunate resounding truth. And with that I dashed from the house, leaving Alex Howler and my parents’ remains behind me.