review my book!
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_Theatre_
Bracelet King
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1 year, 5 months ago by _Theatre_
hi all! i was wondering if anyone wanted to read my book and let me know what you think!i'm open to criticisms but please keep them constructive and kind! just tell me ur thoughts if you want i'm not going to put the whole thing to avoid plagarism but i'll put a couple different snippets: ❤️ snippet one: from chapter 1 Once upon a time, there was a person who walked into a story. Are characters born characters, or are they normal people who have stories thrust upon them? Maybe that is a question we should all be asking. This person was not you, reader. This person was a little girl, or a lost princess, or a tinker, or a vigilante, or an archer, or a knight or a dame or a sorceress. Or a prince. And of course, there is no story without a bad guy. Well, there is no Big Bad Wolf, in this story or the next. I'm sorry to break your heart. I’m sorry that you think you know what a fairy tale is. Sorry. There is no Evil Queen. There is no Sheriff of Knottingham. There is no Mordred. They do not exist. They are all one. If you are reading this story right now because you’re just a person looking for a good book to pass the time, I suggest you proceed with caution. This story is not like most stories. It bends the very fabrics of what makes a story be to begin with. You will never read the same way again, you might even go insane searching for some reason in what I say. But you can rest assured: there is no reason in anything I say. I’m also guessing that you have read a story before. If you have not, I highly suggest you choose a different one. This is not a very good one to start with, but it just may be the one you end with. If you have read a story before, you have met what you know a hero is. Little Red Riding Hood. Snow White. Robin Hood and Marian. The Lady of the Lake. Lancelot and Guinevere. Merlin. And Arthur. You would know, then, that heroes don’t usually hail from palaces. Heroes are created from the ashes of a fire and the bloody sidewalk after a fight, just when they are needed most. Heroes are created. Heroes are made. That is true. However, this is the point where the things you know and the things that are true start to not be the same thing. You think you know that heroes are all in stories of their very own. Yes, some are. But some don't get stories. Some get buried in other people’s stories. Some stories bleed together, like towns without a clear border, or distant suns in eclipse. Some heroes just can't afford their own paper and ink. You think you know that heroes win. Heroes die all the time. 🧡snippet two: from chapter 2 Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to just give up. It has been a hundred years, after all. And I’ve spent nearly every day searching. My friends have all given up. They’ve been begging me to do the same. They wish to stay at the cottage on that lake that we can’t swim in for the rest of eternity. They wish to lie back on the dock and listen to the dusty stars move across the wild and cold sky, inch by inch, day by day, until the end. They wish to drink a cup of coffee every day to help them wake up next to the crystal windows and drink a glass of milk to help them fall asleep beneath the spun candy clouds. They wish to play card games on the old brick patio and pretend to not be hiding from whatever is happening in that damned city, waiting for us across fields and fields of nothing. They wish to try to grow old and not let it bother them that we never can. They wish that it didn’t bother them that we aren’t heroes anymore. I know they want to know what it’s like to be 22. They want to be 23, and 32, and 57, and 99, and all the ages after. We all wish we could get old and pale and weathered, and move on from our communal demons. But they’re better at pretending to like card games and coffee. They’re better at pretending to like being 16 and 17 and 18 and 19 and 20. They’re better at pretending to have moved on. 💛snippet three: from chapter 3 What? What? What? What? What? What? What? I couldn’t even tell if I said it out loud. I couldn’t hear a thing, but no, I could hear everything, every sound in the universe rushed into my ears as the floodgates opened to the noises. Cars honked miles away, or maybe they were on the street next to me. The bell to the door on the inside of the shop swayed gently, but it wasn’t gentle, it was loud, it was so, so loud. Everything spun in circles, my vision seemed to ripple outwards from wherever I looked, and I looked everywhere, and everything was moving and shaking and trying to stand up and walk away from me. Get away from me, get away! I was leaning over very far to one side, and I struggled to hold my balance. I was falling, I was falling, I was falling. The boy, Luca, squinted at me from ten million miles away in the distance. The boy who was the descendant of my brother, my brother, my brother. My Arthur was gone from me, but this boy was here. Was my Arthur gone from me? Where have you gone, where? “Are you okay, Myrlin?” yrlinyrlinrinliiiinokayayakoyayareayaouway? His words echoed in my head and distorted, forming strange noises that seemed to continue for years and years in the air around me. I couldn’t tell what was happening, what was happening? The dark of the night and the rain of the night wrapped around me and around Luca and squeezed my soul until nothing else was there, until there was nothing else in the universe except- “Myrlin!” I gasped and was startled back to the sidewalk. I was here and I was alive. I did not know where Arthur, my Arty was. It was just the same as it was before. Luca, this poor boy, took a step away from me as I caught my breath. “Arthur is my brother,” I said, and it felt more real suddenly. Arthur Pendragon was my brother. “Arthur was my grandfather.” And I looked at this boy, and I saw Arty, and I saw Arthur Sr and Igraine, I saw Mom and Dad. It had been a while since I had seen my Mom and Dad. I saw someone else, many other people, in this boy, this young boy, this Luca. In my great nephew. The rain pounded the parking lot and the light buzzed above our heads. Who had my brother had a child with? Where did this boy come from? Where is my Arty? None of that mattered though, because he was here, in front of me, somehow. I was suddenly conscious that there were tears running down my cheeks as I tried to choke out words. “Is he still here?” I whispered. Luca looked down at his feet. He had red Air Jordans on. They would normally be nice, expensive shoes if it weren't for the dirt and grass caked around them, and the fact that they were a size or two small. You can tell a lot about someone based on their shoes. sorry this is super long! no pressure to read it all (or any of it) or give feedback i just kind of wanted to put it out there and see what people thought. lmk if i should put more and have a nice day! ❤️ |
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LunarXD
Bracelet King
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1 year, 5 months ago by LunarXD
Please put more. PLEASEEEEEEEEE I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯 🤯
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CMina
Skiller
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1 year, 4 months ago by CMina
The last snipped was written fabulously!! Thanks for the sneak peak, this sounds amazing!!
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_Theatre_
Bracelet King
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1 year, 4 months ago by _Theatre_
@LunarXD @CMina thanks so much for the feedback i appreciate it!!
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SheepDog12
Professional
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1 year, 4 months ago by SheepDog12
@_Theatre_ are you going to publish this? This is incredible!
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_Theatre_
Bracelet King
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1 year, 4 months ago by _Theatre_
@SheepDog12 thanks! it means a lot
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