Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.

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Heh. I actually changed my sig. Wow.

"I'll tell you truly: I value my thought and work terribly, but in essence - think about it - this whole world of ours is just a bit of mildew that grew over a tiny planet. And we think we can have something great - thoughts, deeds! They're all grains of sand." - Levin

Great Idea! But I'm not really suffering from the said condition at the moment. It's always fun to write on something though! On another forum, we had a thing where someone suggested a title and we all wrote poems. It was really fun adn cool to see what people came up with. Maybe we could try that here!

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More ardent C.S. Lewis fan


Ardent J.R.R. Tolkien Fan

The Hit Man Gentlewoman

As man, He fled from the stones; but woe to those from whose stony hearts God has fled.~St. Augustine

That would be fun! I was on another forum too where in the fanfic sections they had what was called "challenges" They applied to fanfics, but we could easiler adjust it to applie for regular writing. A challenge is just that: a challenge to write a story in the peramiters giver. For example, there could be a challenge where the rules are
1) You have to use these three props: peanuts, toilet paper, and a wooden plank
2) Use the sence of taste at least two times in the story.
3) Use the line: "Now where in the world did that come from?"

These things are a lot of fun if the people who suggest them come up with good ideas.

That sounds totally fun! i would totally do that!!

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<center>

[font=Times New Roman]
Hello, I'm Amoniel
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So would I! In my writing class once we had to write stories with some people, places, and things my teacher gave us.

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<center> .nph ftw.
[!~^$=+?]</center>

I'm not good with strict topics... my story always ends up getting away from me. Like the plot I had for the story I had written was changed alot!

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(}--{)Imagination Inspires Ideas -Zandain(}--{)
Married Cloud Strife 9/17/08

That sounds like a cool idea!! It would help... that happens to me all the time, where I feel like writing but can't decide what to write about.

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"Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home."

I'm still facing a good bit of writer's block, though I did have one temporary breakthrough at 4:00 on Sunday morning (I hadn't gone to bed yet...real bad insomnia) that produced this short little Christmas fanfic (PotC). It's not much (I write strange things at 4 a.m.), but enjoy:

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“Will, darling, come away from the window before you catch cold.”

Ten-year-old William Turner sighed and cast one last longing glance out into the falling snow before nodding and closing the shutters. “I just hoped that maybe he’d come this year,” he whispered despondently.

His mother looked up from clearing the table, her expression and tone carefully guarded. “Darling, I want your father to come home every bit as much as you do, but we’ve not heard from him in almost two years-”

“No!” Will interrupted, more fiercely than he’d intended. “He promised me, Mum. He promised!”

Biting her lower lip, his mother turned away briefly and took a deep breath. “It’s Christmas Eve, Will,” she finally said, smiling shakily. “Now is the time for happier thoughts.”

“Yes, Mum,” Will muttered.


There hadn’t been that much celebration this year, despite Kate’s many efforts to make it a festive holiday. They couldn’t afford a lavish feast like most families, and presents were out of the question. In fact, she’d only just managed to find enough for supper that evening, though she had no intention of telling Will that. Things were bad, and steadily getting worse. There was no way that the meager stores in their pantry would last the entire winter, yet they had no way of making more money at the moment. Letters and money from Bill had come less and less frequently, until at last they just stopped coming altogether. She feared he was dead; again, however, she would never dream of voicing her fears to Will. She hated to lead the boy on and give him false hope, but at the same time, he already had so little to cling to. If the belief that his father was coming back kept Will going, then she was not about to strip him of that belief.


Will continued to sit silently, fiddling with one of the buttons on his worn-out vest. “Mother?” he said abruptly. “Are we poor?”

Kate looked up in surprise, caught off guard by the blunt question. “What makes you ask that, Will?”

The boy shrugged, kicking his feet slightly as he sat on the bench. “Some of the other boys down at the docks said we were,” he replied casually.

“Will, I’ve told you before to stay away from those ruffians,” she admonished gently. “They’re nothing but troublemakers.”

“Yes, Mum,” Will muttered. “…But are we?”

His mother sighed and wiped her hands on her apron before sitting down next to him on the bench. “Money is a bit tight right now,” she admitted tiredly.

“Is that why we don’t have much food?”

“Yes, Will.”

“I thought so…Papa hasn’t sent much money lately, has he?”

“No, love, he hasn’t.”

“…Are we going to be alright?”

Kate sighed again and turned her son’s face toward her. “As long as we have each other, Will, we’ll be alright,” she said, kissing him on the forehead and gently smoothing his hair. “We’ll get through this, love. We just have to have faith.” Giving him what she hoped was a brave smile, she put an arm around him and rested her chin on his head.


Neither was certain how long they had been sitting there in their silent embrace when a knock came on the door. It was tentative at first, then grew bolder the second time.

“Who on earth…?” His mother hurried over and unlatched the door, opening it to reveal an elderly man heavily wrapped in winter clothes.

“Evenin’, ma’am,” he said, lifting his red cap in a slight salute. “This the Turner residence?”

“It is. Is there something I can do for you, sir…?”

“Oh, no ma’am. I’ve jus’ got a delivery ‘ere for one ‘Katherine Turner.’ Shall I bring it inside?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said hastily, moving out of the doorway. “Does it say what it is?”

“No ma’am, it does not.” The man disappeared for a moment, then showed back up with a large wooden crate. “Jus’ says ‘To Mrs. Katherine Turner. Handle with care.’”

“Thank you,” Kate murmured as the crate was pushed into the house.

The elderly man lifted his cap again as he was leaving and gave a short bow. “I best be off, then. A Merry Christmas to the both of ye.”

“And to you as well,” she whispered, closing the door slowly as she stared after the strange old man.

“Mama, what is it?” Will asked eagerly, jumping up to go get a closer look at the crate.

“I haven’t the faintest idea. Be a good lad and help me pry this open?”


After several minutes of their combined efforts, they finally managed to free the lid of the crate. What was inside left the both of them speechless.

“Will, help me get all this out.”

They hurriedly worked together to empty the crate’s contents and arrange them on the table. There were dried goods, spices, a few loaves of bread, several wheels of cheese, and even a few exotic-looking fruits that had just started to get truly ripe- every sort of foods imaginable. There was more than enough to get them through the harsh winter months.

The most curious thing, however, was the sealed letter she found at the bottom of the crate with her name on it. She hurriedly opened it and started to read. My Dearest Katherine…


Will stood and watched silently as his mother read the letter. Judging by the tears trickling down her face, he would not be allowed to read it as well. He continued to wait patiently until she finally set the letter down and wiped her eyes.

“Will, there’s something in there for you, too,” she said quietly.

Will strode back over to the crate and anxiously peeked inside. Sitting on the bottom of the crate was a small envelope with his name scrawled on it in a familiar handwriting. Grabbing it out, he quickly broke the seal and opened it. Out onto his waiting palm slid the package’s sole content:

A single gold medallion.

Cool! That was really good. You're a great writer.

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Heh. I actually changed my sig. Wow.

"I'll tell you truly: I value my thought and work terribly, but in essence - think about it - this whole world of ours is just a bit of mildew that grew over a tiny planet. And we think we can have something great - thoughts, deeds! They're all grains of sand." - Levin

i like it! Will was so cute when he was little!

i have a major writers block, but all i managed today was

The orange moon hung in the night sky like the pregnant belly of some ancient beast.

thats all i got...

Ooooh... lets try this!

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More ardent C.S. Lewis fan


Ardent J.R.R. Tolkien Fan

The Hit Man Gentlewoman

As man, He fled from the stones; but woe to those from whose stony hearts God has fled.~St. Augustine

nice! lol, i love the "plot"...

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Heh. I actually changed my sig. Wow.

"I'll tell you truly: I value my thought and work terribly, but in essence - think about it - this whole world of ours is just a bit of mildew that grew over a tiny planet. And we think we can have something great - thoughts, deeds! They're all grains of sand." - Levin

Jeeze, y'all, I'm sorry I've been AWOL so long. XD

Everyone who's part of the club, check the member list and if you don't see your name, tell me and I'll add you. ^_^

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^all banners by me - CJ's Request Thread

my name isn't up...

so im thinking about that starting line i have...and nothings come to me, help!

I was bored so I started writing this during free time in English:

I, bored, sat at my oak desk depleted of muse. The owl feather quill gently tapped against the parchment, its blank front mockingly staring at me. I scowled, returning its cruel gaze.

“Bloody”-I paused trying to find the right words-“…parchment.” My irritation grew bigger as the foolish words came from my lips and I scowled again. With a huff, I stood, forcefully scooting (and deliberately) my chair back so that it fell, and crossed to the window. I threw open the shutters. My window overlooked Kensington Gardens. With a sigh, I leaned forward against the sill, staring at the Serpentine River and relaxing my straight posture. A light breeze traveled through the window and I sighed, enjoying as it ran through my loose curls.

My home, on Bayswater Road, was one of the upper class. A black, iron fence went around the front of the house and joined with the neighbor’s on the side garden, its spear-heads threatening the sky. The house itself was painted a dull white. A small road went around back, adjoining to the stables where a smart carriage sat awaiting the family to leave. My room was large and simple yet elegant, if I do say so myself. Light green wallpaper covered her walls. The door was a dark, solid oak with a few carvings in it. In a corner sat a dressing screen with an elaborate pattern delicately painted on it. Behind it was a mahogany washstand with a marble top. By the bed was a nightstand, a vase of roses perched upon it with a book at its side. Across the bed was a large wardrobe with mythical creatures elegantly carved into the door.

“Almyra!” barked a stern voice. I snapped back to reality and pivoted, sending my dark ringlets dancing. A tall, old woman in a modest but fashionable dark blue dress strode to the window and quickly closed the shutter. “I’ve never seen such a lack of propriety. Hanging out into the streets in only a chemise and sleeves and with your hair unarranged like a beggar’s child. To think if the neighbors or someone else of importance has seen you.”

“I beg your pardon, Grandmother. The heat in here was simply stifling,” I lied, rolling my eyes as I turned my back towards her.

“I cannot fathom how it could possibly be stifling when you are running about in you’re undergarments and we're in London, for goodness sake's.”

“I beg to differ. After all, it is midsummer.”

“That’s no excuse for such improper behavior.”

“I suppose not,” I said, my tones severally lacking any enthusiasm.



yea that beginning was based off me sitting at the computer and scowling before writing this.

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Nice. I can definitely relate to that story...

My name isn't up.

I had like writer mania last night, I wrote two and a half pages on my *cough* ninepagenovel *cough*. I think it had something to do with the music I was listening to.

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Heh. I actually changed my sig. Wow.

"I'll tell you truly: I value my thought and work terribly, but in essence - think about it - this whole world of ours is just a bit of mildew that grew over a tiny planet. And we think we can have something great - thoughts, deeds! They're all grains of sand." - Levin