Young Writers Society

Weird, this is my FIRST post.

In the annoying yellow light of my tiny room, I stared at the white paper spreading before me. Not knowing what to expect, I sighed out and growled in agony, trying to haul out the flames that licked at my heart for as long as I could remember.
I used to be talented and inspiration was easier than a piece of cake. I lay my head on the cold surface of my desk and thought, 'I can't even bake a cake.'
I couldn't make anything or do anything, but let a pen trail down the plain pages. Yet again, my pages remain as blank as my aching brain that was empty of any ideas and any thoughts to muse. Ah! Even my muse was now gone and was impossible to salvage, for I never knew whether it was my dead mother or my burnt books.
I shook my head and did the only thing I could do then, for I had no other way to express myself. Tears slid down my cheeks, running away from my eyes that saw nothing but blackness in this episode of despair.
I licked my lips reluctantly, as my fingers clutched to the pencil again. Was it the pencil shaking, or was my nerves trying to prove that I wouldn't succeed?
Ignorant of the answer, I blinked to see through the dampness of my eyes and proceeded with my next attempt.

Gheala wrote:Weird, this is my FIRST post.

In the annoying yellow light of my tiny room, I stared at the white paper spreading do you mean spread before me? before me. Not knowing what to expect, I sighed out I would put I sighed instead of I sighed out and growled in agony, trying to haul out the flames that licked at my heart for as long as I could remember.
I used to be talented and inspiration was easier than a piece of cake. I lay my head on the cold surface of my desk and thought, 'I can't even bake a cake.'
I couldn't make anything or do anything, but let a pen trail down the plain pages. Yet again, my pages remain as blank as my aching brain that was empty of any ideas and any thoughts to muse. Ah! Even my muse was now gone and was impossible to salvage, for I never knew whether it was my dead mother or my burnt books.
I shook my head and did the only thing I could do then, for I had no other way to express myself. Tears slid down my cheeks, running away from my eyes that saw nothing but blackness in this episode of despair.
I licked my lips reluctantly, as my fingers clutched to the pencil again. Was it the pencil shaking, or was my nerves trying to prove that I wouldn't succeed?
Ignorant of the answer, I blinked to see through the dampness of my eyes and proceeded with my next attempt. I like your concluding sentence. It ties everything together but makes you want to know more.

I really like where this is going. It has great potential. I like the way you descirbed what they were thinking and the way you made it feel like you were standing in front of them, watching what they were doing. I only had one question, what are they trying to write? A novel? A letter? There were only a few errors but I liked this piece alot. I think you are a great writer and can't wait to read more of this.
Keep writing, Wicked <3

That was very nice of you to say... or write, in this case. Lol
I'm so very glad you liked it, because the one talking in that piece is really me. You know how writer's block gets to each and everyone of us, while the only reason why I think I exist is to become a writer. So, she's trying to write a novel, which she's fallen in love with for a year, trying to take hold of the words that captured the children of her mind.

You won't believe how helpful you are, just to write that comment. You got my hopes up! Especially the 'I think you are a great writer' part. Thanks a lot. I owe you!

Hi Gheal! Pink here, dropping by for a review :3
First of all, welcome to YWS!
A sleeping penguin for you


Well, back to the review :3

In the annoying yellow light of my tiny room, I stared at the white paper spreading before me. Not knowing what to expect, I sighed out and growled in agony, trying to haul out the flames that licked at my heart for as long as I could remember.

Interesting opener. I like it. The underlined part was by far my favorite.

Was it the pencil shaking, or was my nerves trying to prove that I wouldn't succeed?

Pencil's can't shake. Why would she think the pencil is shaking her hand? I understand that you are referring to her nervous feelings about starting again, that she is afraid to fail, but I think you could have written this slightly different. The pencil shaking part is odd, in my opinion.

Anyways, there weren't many nitpicks I had with this. In fact, I really enjoy reading this writing style of yours. I find it refreshing, mature and deep. So, mainly you have a girl here, who is wanting some inspiration to write but nothing is coming to her and she fears more emptiness in return for her attempt. Alright, my main nitpick with this would be the teary part, where she starts crying. Not exactly crying but getting all emotional.
The feeling of being totally lost with yourself is understandable, but I think the tears went over the edge. Unless, you provide us with more detail, more of that lost desire to accompany her tears. Basically, I was more like, "eh? she's crying now?" Rather than pitying the her. Also, there was a bit of humor in here, not that it was bad thing, it did more good than it did bad but the trail of her thoughts were off-beat. Why think of such things when you're feeling so low, was more of my question.

Overall, I really like this idea. The way your presented it was nice too, followed by your wonderful descriptions, I just wish there was more emotion to that little part. Maybe you could have made it slightly longer, although it's your call. Or maybe I'm just not emotional enough. =P Although, I do think you did a wonderful job presenting it. :3

Anyway, these were my thoughts, if you have any questions feel free to PM me =]
I hope you enjoy the site!
Cheers,

~Shear

Whoa! Deep, refreshing and mature? I'm in love with that sentence <3
Come to think of it, the pen can't possibly be shaking, so it might make more sense if I simply state it was my nerves. Her writing is her life and being banned from fulfilling her only wish in life made her feel as if she was losing her very soul, not to mention that she just lost her mother and her favourite books were burnt as well. Those books were the very reason why she thought of writing as a way to speak her mind.
As to the jumbled thoughts about the cake and the other things: They jumped in the piece without notice, didn't they? But again, that's how she is when she's stressed, finding more and more problems of various levels of significance to worry about.
I actually can't believe you actually liked this, because after I was done with it, I was one second away from deleting. Yet again, you give me hope. You people, seriously and honestly, are inspiring.

This was a very good story. When you can't write, write about how you can't write. So true, so true.

I really liked this story. The ending is pretty abrupt though, and I personally think it could a use a little bit more imagery or fancy simile/metaphors. Is the paper an unmarked plain of waiting opportunity? Or is it the culmination of a day of torture? Also, I'm confused. Did her (I'm assuming the MC is female) mother die recently, or is an old wound festering? I don't quite get that. Aside from that though, this was a very good story. Please keep writing!