My uncle has threatened to show some of my writing to a published author friend of his. However, since most of my writing up to this point has been fanfiction, I decided to try my hand at writing something that doesn't involve ninjas or death gods. So, without further ado, here's my first non-anime related short story in almost ten years...Any
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Ie, take this:
Sometimes, it was easy to guess; the older, middle-aged woman in worn red plaid flannel pajamas, with her feet stuffed hastily into a pair of unlaced tennis shoes had been dreaming peacefully before the shrill ring of her phone had shattered the quiet, the young man in a rumpled charcoal-gray business suit, his wildly patterned paisley tie askew, had been at work, or perhaps in a meeting when his secretary had tapped quietly on the door. A pair of wide-eyed children, still in school clothes, backpacks at their feet, a postal ( ... )
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My uncle has been threatening to get me published for years, I have this horror of him showing stuff I wrote in high school (the last stuff I gave him--oh, the emo poetry!) to, well...anyone. While I'd like to someday get published, I'd also (more importantly) like to write something I'm proud of, which is why I'm writing again.
As a librarian, I'm exposed to lots and lots of books, some of them crap. I'd much rather be a Philip Roth or a Jasper Fforde than a Laurell K. Hamilton or a Nora Roberts.
Now, I need to find some balance between Ernest Hemingway and Dean Koontz (king of the tortured analogy).
Off to peel the hyperactive kitten off my leg...
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That wording kinda scares me. I don't see any kind of legit agent or publisher going along with "Yeah, they're kinda shy, call 'em up and talk 'em into it!" Keep him out of trouble, 'kay? :P
Heh, Hemingway and Koontz both make my brain hurt. Just don't pick up Koontz's posturing, proselytizing character types, or his tendency to insert his damned dog into every single book. :D
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And my uncle most probably lacks the ability to get anyone published, but that wouldn't stop him from molesting innocent people in a drive to show them my work. He's like an agent that I didn't hire. One I only see at Thanksgiving and bakes pies. The least I can do for these poor innocent people is not write crap.
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