Young Writers Society

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm here to leave a quick review!!

Anyway let's get right to it,

“How do I always get pulled into these situations?” I could help but think “I try to do something good for once and it ends up backfiring in my face”.

I sat back in the my chair and sighed. The cold steel of the handcuffs, was a constant reminder that I was someone’s prisoner. Someone who I had yet to meet. Someone whose sense of style (if you don’t mind me saying) way out of whack.

Sure the chair that I was sitting in and the table in front of me were nice. But the room itself, was in desperate need of a splash of color. Scratch that, the room needed a complete makeover. Anything to block out the blinding white paint, that coated the walls and ceiling.

I looked around the room once more, and couldn’t help but think of the events, that got me into this predicament in the first place. Those events seemed to pale in comparison to everything that was happening right now. It all stated with a little prank...

Hey-oh! Drudging this up because I want to read the latest chapter and to do that, I need to read the whole thing! Yay for more crit?

Someone whose sense of style (if you don’t mind me saying) way out of whack.

Hi! Thanks for the request. ^_^

“How do I always get pulled into these situations?” I could help but think “I try to do something good for once and it ends up backfiring in my face”.

The cold steel of the handcuffs, was a constant reminder that I was someone’s prisoner.

But the room itself, was in desperate need of a splash of color.

Anything to block out the blinding white paint, that coated the walls and ceiling.

I looked around the room once more, and couldn’t help but think of the events, that got me into this predicament in the first place.

It all stated with a little prank...

I didn't like the beginning much because it wasn't really intriguing, but as I read on it mellowed out.
You should start off with a bang so that your readers will WANT to continue rading, rather then feel forced to.
I like your writing style though, so please keep writing

Chapter 1 - The Beginning

Winter had rolled in sooner than usual in Connecticut#FF0000 ">, coating most of the city of West Haven in a blanket of thick fluffy white snow. But that didn't stop enthusiastic mothers and their daughters as they tried to get to the last of the Black Friday sales. Most scrabbled across the icy sidewalks of Main Street, in their hand woven beanies and scarves, carrying shopping bags full of their treasures and half empty purses.


They leapfrogged from storefront to storefront looking for deals as they sipped from their hot cups of Starbucks coffee. All you would have to do would be to add a sleigh and some reindeer and you would have the perfect Hallmark moment. But then again when is there never a Hallmark moment? This paragraph just didn't really work for me (maybe just because I don't relate, being an anti-shopper). And what do you mean by the last line?


I#FF0000 ">, on the other hand, preferred to spend my money (and time) on something that is a little more useful.


“Welcome to Books Galore#FF0000 ">," chirped a deep voice from over the bookshelves as I walked in the door. Just a little tip is that a deep voice doesn't really "chirp." It just puts two different images in your head that don't really work together.


That's right, I'm a 19 year old that uses my money to buy books, what are you gonna do about it? Besides, I'm pretty sure that a book would last much longer than the tacky red heels in the display in the store across the way.


A blast of warm air hit me square in the face as I closed shook the snow from my black boots. #FF0000 "><Change this sentence... It was soon followed by the sweet smell of hot cocoa and gingerbread#FF0000 ">, which slithered past my nose and made my mouth begin to water. But I pushed my hunger out of my mind and trudged down the rows of bookshelves towards the side of the store. I passed a tall mirror and took a second to fix my hair.
I may not like shopping for clothes but I'm still a woman, geez.


I was thinner than most girls my age (which the super model wannabes hated so much) but I could care less about my weight. #FF0000 ">My hazel eyes watched me from behind thin rim less glasses, eyes that could #FF0000 ">turn scare any man in seconds. #FF0000 ">Look over this and I think you'll get how it just sounds kind of weird. For the first, you can't be watched by your own eyes (haha) and the second there's just that added word that really doesn't need to be there. My hair was always tied back in a ponytail of long auburn waves that fell to my back and would always find its way into my face. Which somehow had made me look more and more like my mother. Or so I've been told.


“Good morning kiddo#FF0000 ">,” said a cool voice from behind me, snapping me out my thoughts#FF0000 ">, “trying to bring in some business by making yourself pretty?”


“Flattery will get you nowhere old man#FF0000 ">,” I said with a grin as I turned and pouted at the owner of the store (and my godfather) Tristan Hall.


“Who are you calling old#FF0000 ">?” he retorted with a sour face which quickly turned to a grin. Just a thought, but you used grin in the last sentence. Maybe put some other synonym.


“No one#FF0000 ">,” I said quickly, but before I could get away he was on me.


I cried out in surprise but that was lost as Tristan pulled me face first into one of his signature bear hugs. Now at 200 pounds of pure muscle it was more along the lines of a python squeezing a twig than a bear hugging anything. But I couldn't help but smile and hug back.


#FF0000 ">He was a large man, and was in relatively good shape for an ex-Marine. #FF0000 ">You already clarified that he's large, so that part's not too important, then the other part doesn't make sense. "Relatively good shape after being an ex-Marine," maybe?His dark hair fell to the lower part of his neck and in front of his face, where two dark brown eyes sat, always watched the world around him. He was the average woman's fantasy come to life and had to fend off the likes of them when we went out. But under that hard exterior he was a big softie, kinda like a teddy bear.


A teddy bear who knew how to fire eight different automatic weapons and could drive a tank through a barrage of bullets.


“Now who were calling old#FF0000 ">?” he said squeezing me tighter causing my ribs to crack.


No one#FF0000 ">,” I gasped#FF0000 ">. “#FF0000 ">No one's old. Now let me go#FF0000 ">, #FF0000 ">you're crushing me”


He laughed a hearty laugh and let me go, patting me affectionately on the head before making his way back to the front counter.

From here I'll stop fixing all the little grammar things, you can find those on your own.

“Next time you say that I might not be so nice” he said with smirk “now come help me with these boxes”


“That was nice?” I muttered under my breath as I followed him behind the counter and into the storage room.

Tristan was already on the ladder when I walked in. In his hands was a brown box which I assumed was full of new books. He jumped down and landed gracefully beside me with a low grunt. I rolled my eyes and clapped sarcastically. He smiled and pulled the conformation paperwork from off the top of the box before handing the brown cube to me.


“Here!” he said placing the box cutters on top of the package with a grin “open it up, put one book on display in the front of the store, and then put a few on the shelf in fiction section”


I nodded and walked back into the store, slowly put the box onto the counter and flicked open the silver knife. I began to cut the tape off and was only about halfway down the box when the light shined into the box and gleamed off the book's cover. A shiver went through my body as the silver and red letters danced in the light.


“'No way” I yelled tossing the box cutters to the floor and ripping open the box like a child on opening a present. In the box were a set of glossy black hardcover books, all with the words “Hunter's Moon” in bold text across the front. The sleeve displayed my publisher's art design, a red room looming over a small silver metropolis that was Midnight City. A city in Europe where the my supernatural thriller was set. The city sat on the edge of the human and demon world sprung from the imagination of your truly. And no matter how much I looked at it, I couldn't believe that I could have written this.


But this was more than just a book with a pretty cover. It was my first published novel. It was two years of blood, sweat, and tears that I had to go through to get this novel finished. It was going out of my way to find an agent and going through months and months of waiting until my agent gave the manuscript to the publishers. And now (after a months of waiting) here it was in print, sitting in this box glowing in the florescent light. The feeling was beyond surreal.


“Congrats kiddo” said Tristan as he walked out of the storage room and handed me a glass of non-alcoholic cider. Damn him. Wait, damn him for what? For not letting you have alcohol? *Confused*