?

I love writing and would like to take a month off and just go live somewhere.

I'm looking for a very beautiful place, where inspiration can be found at every corner.

I would also love a place where I would feel like I'm stepping into the past.

I don't know if this makes much sense, but I would love some suggestions. Maybe a place you have visited or would like to visit.

Thank you all in advance.

We killed ourselves a hundred times because it was worth it; because if our love could not rival the pain, then why bother?

When I first met her she was cold and naked. I didn't touch her so I can't really say she was cold, she certainly looked it though. I tried hard not to look at her. Her body. I had to help her though and to do that I would need to see her, that's what I told myself anyway. I walked towards her slowly. I knew I couldn't stare at her forever but I had to try. From what I could see she had black hair (or maybe dark brown, it was too hard to tell the difference in the dark). She was small, very small and her bones were clearly visible through her flesh. She looked up at me, her eyes frightened and accusing. I hated her for that, she made me feel ashamed and I hated her for it. She opened her mouth to speak but I didn't let her. I ran in the opposite direction and kept running even though I knew she was not following. That day I lost my way and my tears littered the yellow sky until I was brought back home.

We became friends shortly after. In fact she was my only friend and she was all I needed. Every night we would fly to Nem and sleep under that same yellow sky. We didn't understand life and we didn't want to. It was easier to enjoy the beauty of a butterfly than it was to understand or question why it became a butterfly in the first place. That was our philosophy.

However it didn't last forever. Soon we became self conscious.

We couldn't look at each other the same way again. The friendship had past, the colour had faded and all that was left was our raw human instincts.

I could never forget it, the first time we lay together. It was dirty, loud and aggresive but I had never felt more alive. The next couple of times were just as awkward but we soon got the hang of it.

From then on we swore to never part. We destroyed the world together and brought it back again. There was nothing holding us back; we were immortal.

Through pain and emotion we thrived. Nothing could harm us because we were protected, love was our protector. Or so we thought. Time had changed us, made us Gods with human hearts. We couldn't handle the strain so we lashed out. We broke things and walked away, but that didn't settle our appetite. We couldn't survive unless we were in pain, or were inflicting it. We quickly understood this and turned on each other.

I hunted her and she hunted me for centuries and we never grew tired. We tore up the sky, the yellow sky and we caused chaos. We cried when we caused the other pain but secretly we enjoyed it. It was our food, our sex, our love.

We killed ourselves a hundred times because through that brief moment of chaos we felt alive. If our love could not rival the pain then why bother?

This was true love. This was our love.

We killed ourselves a hundred times because it was worth it; because if our love could not rival the pain, then why bother?

When I first met her she was cold and naked. I didn't touch her so I can't really say she was cold, she certainly looked it though. I tried hard not to look at her. Her body. I had to help her though and to do that I would need to see her, that's what I told myself anyway. I walked towards her slowly. I knew I couldn't stare at her forever but I had to try. From what I could see she had black hair (or maybe dark brown, it was too hard to tell the difference in the dark). She was small, very small and her bones were clearly visible through her flesh. She looked up at me, her eyes frightened and accusing. I hated her for that, she made me feel ashamed and I hated her for it. She opened her mouth to speak but I didn't let her. I ran in the opposite direction and kept running even though I knew she was not following. That day I lost my way and my tears littered the yellow sky until I was brought back home.

We became friends shortly after. In fact she was my only friend and she was all I needed. Every night we would fly to Nem and sleep under that same yellow sky. We didn't understand life and we didn't want to. It was easier to enjoy the beauty of a butterfly than it was to understand or question why it became a butterfly in the first place. That was our philosophy.

However it didn't last forever. Soon we became self conscious.

We couldn't look at each other the same way again. The friendship had past, the colour had faded and all that was left was our raw human instincts.

I could never forget it, the first time we lay together. It was dirty, loud and aggresive but I had never felt more alive. The next couple of times were just as awkward but we soon got the hang of it.

From then on we swore to never part. We destroyed the world together and brought it back again. There was nothing holding us back; we were immortal.

Through pain and emotion we thrived. Nothing could harm us because we were protected, love was our protector. Or so we thought. Time had changed us, made us Gods with human hearts. We couldn't handle the strain so we lashed out. We broke things and walked away, but that didn't settle our appetite. We couldn't survive unless we were in pain, or were inflicting it. We quickly understood this and turned on each other.

I hunted her and she hunted me for centuries and we never grew tired. We tore up the sky, the yellow sky and we caused chaos. We cried when we caused the other pain but secretly we enjoyed it. It was our food, our sex, our love.

We killed ourselves a hundred times because through that brief moment of chaos we felt alive. If our love could not rival the pain then why bother?

This was true love. This was our love.

It's been stuck in my head and I've been having dreams about it. I decided to write it all down like a little story. I'm not sure what to make of it. It's my first draft and It's not for publishing it's just a personal story I might develop. What do you think?

We killed ourselves a hundred times because it was worth it; because if our love could not rival the pain, then why bother?

When I first met her she was cold and naked. I didn't touch her so I can't really say she was cold, she certainly looked it though. I tried hard not to look at her. Her body. I had to help her though and to do that I would need to see her, that's what I told myself anyway. I walked towards her slowly. I knew I couldn't stare at her forever but I had to try. From what I could see she had black hair (or maybe dark brown, it was too hard to tell the difference in the dark). She was small, very small and her bones were clearly visible through her flesh. She looked up at me, her eyes frightened and accusing. I hated her for that, she made me feel ashamed and I hated her for it. She opened her mouth to speak but I didn't let her. I ran in the opposite direction and kept running even though I knew she was not following. That day I lost my way and my tears littered the yellow sky until I was brought back home.

We became friends shortly after. In fact she was my only friend and she was all I needed. Every night we would fly to Nem and sleep under that same yellow sky. We didn't understand life and we didn't want to. It was easier to enjoy the beauty of a butterfly than it was to understand or question why it became a butterfly in the first place. That was our philosophy.

However it didn't last forever. Soon we became self conscious.

We couldn't look at each other the same way again. The friendship had past, the colour had faded and all that was left was our raw human instincts.

I could never forget it, the first time we lay together. It was dirty, loud and aggresive but I had never felt more alive. The next couple of times were just as awkward but we soon got the hang of it.

From then on we swore to never part. We destroyed the world together and brought it back again. There was nothing holding us back; we were immortal.

Through pain and emotion we thrived. Nothing could harm us because we were protected, love was our protector. Or so we thought. Time had changed us, made us Gods with human hearts. We couldn't handle the strain so we lashed out. We broke things and walked away, but that didn't settle our appetite. We couldn't survive unless we were in pain, or were inflicting it. We quickly understood this and turned on each other.

I hunted her and she hunted me for centuries and we never grew tired. We tore up the sky, the yellow sky and we caused chaos. We cried when we caused the other pain but secretly we enjoyed it. It was our food, our sex, our love.

We killed ourselves a hundred times because through that brief moment of chaos we felt alive. If our love could not rival the pain then why bother?

This was true love. This was our love.

Yesterday a girl from my school walked up to me and said "I hear you write stories, please write something about me."

I wasn't sure what she meant and asked her "Write what?"

To which she replied "The truth," and floated off.

I'm not sure what to do. What would you write about if you were me?

Her name is Magdalena and she is quite quirky and very interesting. At first sight you might think she was a quiet person, an introvert maybe, but she is actually quite open and fun.

She is the type of person you'll never understand (she's unpredictable) and probably wouldn't want to.

I think she is the type of person who would ask someone if she is beautiful, not for the answer, but for the reaction of the person.

Anyway I'm not asking for anyone to write this for me. I'm just looking for suggestions and also to see if anyone else understands what she wants me to write about.

Thanks in advance.

Yesterday a girl from my school walked up to me and said "I hear you write stories, please write something about me."

I wasn't sure what she meant and asked her "Write what?"

To which she replied "The truth," and floated off.

I'm not sure what to do. What would you write about if you were me?

Her name is Magdalena and she is quite quirky and very interesting. At first sight you might think she was a quiet person, an introvert maybe, but she is actually quite open and fun.

She is the type of person you'll never understand (she's unpredictable) and probably wouldn't want to.

I think she is the type of person who would ask someone if she is beautiful, not for the answer, but for the reaction of the person.

Anyway I'm not asking for anyone to write this for me. I'm just looking for suggestions and also to see if anyone else understands what she wants me to write about.

Thanks in advance.

It's just an excerpt from a short story I'm writing. What are your opinions?

He had always had a way with people, my brother that is. He liked everyone and in turn was liked by everyone. I had always wondered what made him so irresistible. I think it was his smile, yes that was it, his smile. That benignly cool smile of his that reassured it’s receiver that he not only understood, but cared for them. The same smile he gave everyone he encountered. James had a way with people alright.

‘Henry,’ Christine shouted. ‘Wake up’

Oh nothing could a startle a dreamer more than the booming and oddly manly voice of my caretaker Christine.

‘It couldn’t possibly be eight already woman,’ I retorted, “Wake me up in an hours half, I beg you.’ As always my pleading fell on deaf ears.

‘You better wake up now Henry or I swear by God…” her voice trailed off as she descended the stairs.

I used this brief opportunity of silence to rest my head once more however the sweet taste of sleep had already turned sour. Plus only a fool would ignore Christine’s threats and Henry Mark Smith was no fool.

I stirred lazily as if in a drunken stupor and inched my way out of bed. Christine’s footsteps got louder which was usually an ill omen so I quickened my pace.

My body was stiff with caffeine or liquor and a stagnant sense of confinement sat deep within my bones.

I paused and waited for the pain to die down a little.

My mind flashed back to my reverie and I stiffened even more. For the first time I really felt the effect that day had had on me.

‘James,’ I called out not really knowing what I expected to happen. I just needed to say his name. Was that enough?

Before I knew it tears started streaming from my eyes and showers of hopelessness washed over me. I wiped away the tears with the palm of my hand and lazily descended the stairs, where, waiting for me was a scowl that could kill fresh flowers and an unexpected visitor.

I've watched the prestige movie and would also like to read the book (does anyone know if the book is as good)

Anyway in your opinion who proved to be the better magician, Borden or Angier?

I've watched the movie and really enjoyed it. Is the book as good? Thanks in advance.

I'm writing a zombie book and have reached a certain point, but things seem to be going downhill. Is it just me or is this actually pretty bad?

He could see her approaching from a distance, a little girl no more than seven years of age. Her golden blonde hair and sea green eyes sparkled in the bright sun. Even though she was dripping with blood and dirt, and even though her veins were black as night he couldn't help but notice. The hair, the fragile petite figure. The eyes.

She was an almost identical copy of his little sister.

As she drew closer he examined her carefully, she was a mess, a monster of mass destruction, but he could not help but feeling extremely sympathetic. Her pleading eyes reached out to him in a way only his sister could. So he wasn't all that shocked when he fell to his knees and tears started streaming from his eyes.

He tried to wipe them off, but the dirt and grime that caked his fingers only made his eyes sting and tear up even more. He looked up expecting the girl to be there, and there she was towering over him. She suddenly didn't look so small and helpless. She lunged and he knelt there apprehensively waiting for the sharp surge of pain to take over his body, as the disease quickly spread. There was nothing. He looked up, his vision still blurred but he was faintly able to see the arrow that hung playfully from her left eye socket, and within second another whizzed over his head and planted itself into her neck.

I'm writing a zombie book and have reached a certain point, but things seem to be going downhill. Is it just me or is this actually pretty bad?

He could see her approaching from a distance, a little girl no more than seven years of age. Her golden blonde hair and sea green eyes sparkled in the bright sun. Even though she was dripping with blood and dirt, and even though her veins were black as night he couldn't help but notice. The hair, the fragile petite figure. The eyes.

She was an almost identical copy of his little sister.

As she drew closer he examined her carefully, she was a mess, a monster of mass destruction, but he could not help but feeling extremely sympathetic. Her pleading eyes reached out to him in a way only his sister could. So he wasn't all that shocked when he fell to his knees and tears started streaming from his eyes.

He tried to wipe them off, but the dirt and grime that caked his fingers only made his eyes sting and tear up even more. He looked up expecting the girl to be there, and there she was towering over him. She suddenly didn't look so small and helpless. She lunged and he knelt there apprehensively waiting for the sharp surge of pain to take over his body, as the disease quickly spread. There was nothing. He looked up, his vision still blurred but he was faintly able to see the arrow that hung playfully from her left eye socket, and within second another whizzed over his head and planted itself into her neck.

I'm writing a zombie book and have reached a certain point, but things seem to be going downhill. Is it just me or is this actually pretty bad?

He could see her approaching from a distance, a little girl no more than seven years of age. Her golden blonde hair and sea green eyes sparkled in the bright sun. Even though she was dripping with blood and dirt, and even though her veins were black as night he couldn't help but notice. The hair, the fragile petite figure. The eyes.

She was an almost identical copy of his little sister.

As she drew closer he examined her carefully, she was a mess, a monster of mass destruction, but he could not help but feeling extremely sympathetic. Her pleading eyes reached out to him in a way only his sister could. So he wasn't all that shocked when he fell to his knees and tears started streaming from his eyes.

He tried to wipe them off, but the dirt and grime that caked his fingers only made his eyes sting and tear up even more. He looked up expecting the girl to be there, and there she was towering over him. She suddenly didn't look so small and helpless. She lunged and he knelt there apprehensively waiting for the sharp surge of pain to take over his body, as the disease quickly spread. There was nothing. He looked up, his vision still blurred but he was faintly able to see the arrow that hung playfully from her left eye socket, and within second another whizzed over his head and planted itself into her neck.

Her eyes filled with colour, beautiful vivid colour. Blues and purples swimming in an ocean of green, singed with flecks of ginger. I was enveloped when the unthinkable happened. She blinked and in an instant my world came tumbling down. The sharp shards of dewy grass pierced my naked body and I stiffened with shock. The heavens then took advantage, anchoring me down, permitting it’s hands to wander, wander and caress.I’m alone again, alone in the dark barely able to see the shadows that danced around the cave. Maybe it’s for the best? Maybe some things are better left in the dark? I waited in anticipation for her to open her eyes again but she never did.

Her eyes filled with colour, beautiful vivid colour. Blues and purples swimming in an ocean of green, singed with flecks of ginger. I was enveloped when the unthinkable happened. She blinked and in an instant my world came tumbling down. The sharp shards of dewy grass pierced my naked body and I stiffened with shock. The heavens then took advantage, anchoring me down, permitting it’s hands to wander, wander and caress.I’m alone again, alone in the dark barely able to see the shadows that danced around the cave. Maybe it’s for the best? Maybe some things are better left in the dark? I waited in anticipation for her to open her eyes again but she never did.

Her eyes filled with colour, beautiful vivid colour. Blues and purples swimming in an ocean of green, singed with flecks of ginger. I was enveloped when the unthinkable happened. She blinked and in an instant my world came tumbling down. The sharp shards of dewy grass pierced my naked body and I stiffened with shock. The heavens then took advantage, anchoring me down, permitting it’s hands to wander, wander and caress.

I’m alone again, alone in the dark barely able to see the shadows that danced around the cave. Maybe it’s for the best? Maybe some things are better left in the dark?

I waited in anticipation for her to open her eyes again but she never did.

Her eyes filled with colour, beautiful vivid colour. Blues and purples swimming in an ocean of green, singed with flecks of ginger. I was enveloped when the unthinkable happened. She blinked and in an instant my world came tumbling down. The sharp shards of dewy grass pierced my naked body and I stiffened with shock. The heavens then took advantage, anchoring me down, permitting it’s hands to wander, wander and caress.

I’m alone again, alone in the dark barely able to see the shadows that danced around the cave. Maybe it’s for the best? Maybe some things are better left in the dark?

I waited in anticipation for her to open her eyes again but she never did.

Her eyes filled with colour, beautiful vivid colour. Blues and purples swimming in an ocean of green, singed with flecks of ginger. I was enveloped when the unthinkable happened. She blinked and in an instant my world came tumbling down. The sharp shards of dewy grass pierced my naked body and I stiffened with shock. The heavens then took advantage, anchoring me down, permitting it’s hands to wander, wander and caress.

I’m alone again, alone in the dark barely able to see the shadows that danced around the cave. Maybe it’s for the best? Maybe some things are better left in the dark?

I waited in anticipation for her to open her eyes again but she never did.

Her eyes filled with colour, beautiful vivid colour. Blues and purples swimming in an ocean of green, singed with flecks of ginger. I was enveloped when the unthinkable happened. She blinked and in an instant my world came tumbling down. The sharp shards of dewy grass pierced my naked body and I stiffened with shock. The heavens then took advantage, anchoring me down, permitting it’s hands to wander, wander and caress.

I’m alone again, alone in the dark barely able to see the shadows that danced around the cave. Maybe it’s for the best? Maybe some things are better left in the dark?

I waited in anticipation for her to open her eyes again but she never did.

Ive been trying to not only improve my writing but also develop my own style but so far I haven't found anything that I'm comfortable with. Whenever I look back over my work it just doesn't seem good. I'm not sure how to explain it but anyway does that happen to a lot of people and how do you develop a writing style does it have anything to do with the books you read?

This is just a piece of writing I was working on for a class project.

Rose took a long breath and tried to regain her bearings but it was easier said than done. The side of her head was throbbing and her hands were tied tightly behind her back. She looked up the light instantly blinding her.

She blinked it off and tried to take in her surroundings.

She was in some sort of room, a living room maybe.

What was going on? Who did this? Her question was answered when a tall dark haired man stepped into view.

She began to panic and scream but he was already on her, his thick hands covering her mouth.

"Come now." He teased. "There's no need for that."

He slipped his fingers under her blouse and playfully teased them upwards towards her chest.

He felt her tense, but all it did was egg him on. He grabbed her breasts and fondled them getting a feel for what he was dealing with. When he was satisfied he then reached for her bra strap. Rose tried to fight him off but it was like a ton of bricks pinning her down. She felt completely helpless. Then she heard it and by his reaction he heard it too. The doorbell.

He tightened his grip around her mouth and started to regret not gagging her in the first place.

The bell rang twice more and then Rose heard something that made her heart leap.

"NYPD!"

Ive been trying to not only improve my writing but also develop my own style but so far I haven't found anything that I'm comfortable with. Whenever I look back over my work it just doesn't seem good. I'm not sure how to explain it but anyway does that happen to a lot of people and how do you develop a writing style does it have anything to do with the books you read?

This is just a piece of writing I was working on for a class project.

She took a long breath and tried to regain her bearings. It was easier said than done. The side of her head was throbbing and her hands were tied tightly behind her back. She looked up the light instantly blinding her.

She blinked it off and tried to take in her surroundings.

She was in some sort of room. A living room maybe.

What was going on? Who did this? Her question was answered when a tall dark haired man stepped into view.

She began to panic and scream but he was already on her, his thick hands covering her mouth.

"Come now." He teased. "There's no need for that."

He slipped his fingers under her blouse and playfully teased them upwards towards her chest.

He felt her tense, but all it did was egg him on. He grabbed her breasts and fondled them getting a feel for what he was dealing with. When he was satisfied he then reached for her bra strap. She tried to fight him off but it was like a ton of bricks pinning her down. She felt completely helpless. Then she heard it and by his reaction he heard it too. The doorbell.

He tightened his grip around her mouth and started to regret not gagging her in the first place.

The bell rang twice more and then Rose heard something that made her heart leap.

"NYPD!"