A Healthy Dose of PMS ~#

[Chanthar]

^^ fun times
Oh -nods- I never get replies in the Writer's Forums -sighs-  

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

It's pretty useless really. The only feedback I ever get is from guilds (like the SuWriMos guild), but even then people are so wrapped up in their own stuff that nothing gets commented on. XD

I think we need to get this guild's story post forum up and running again. It could be good. =O But then, it might just fail like all the others. dramallama  

[DesertRoseFallen]

Oh guys, I wish I could do more for the guild than I am doing. I'm merely a mod, and the only one left. I have had thoughts to move all this information to a new guild, but I don't know if that will be against the rules...

 

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

But I think you're doing a fantastic job! Granted things are a little slow around here with only a few remaining members, but unfortunately there's not a lot you can do about that when you only have the powers of a moderator. :3 Honestly, I don't think there's much we can do other than just... keep going. =O

I love this guild. heart

And yeah, I think moving the stuff to a new guild might be against the rules, at least in the sense that if SugarRos comes back she won't be happy. XD

It's a shame we can't add more mods, though. And a new captain, or something. wahmbulance  

[DesertRoseFallen]

It's been so long since Sugar has been on here, more than seven months.
I'm going to try and get hold of the two vice captains...see if they can do anything. Thanks for the support smile

Wow...it's thundering loud here haha.

 

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

That sounds like a good plan. Maybe we can get some help. =D

It thundered here the other day, but only once. It was sad. D: I like thunder. Haha.

And, on another note, my novel is doing quite well. Already I think I've gotten into important plot, and so this is helping me to decide that I really do like this novel. XD Yay?  

[DesertRoseFallen]

A definite yay! I do love interesting plot lines!

 

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

Well, hopefully this plot with get more interesting the deeper into the novel we get. I hope it will get darker and more mysterious too and things begin to not-quite-fit and Adele gets more and more confused about her past, and her present, and her future. XD

I might post an excerpt in here, and see if it is interesting from the beginning. Would you tell me if it caught your attention? =3  

[DesertRoseFallen]

Yeah sure, I'm very honest about things haha, one thing my friends love me for.

 

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

Thanks. :3 I won't put much up. It'll be as though you were browsing in a book store or something (well, with a few more uncorrected typos and grammatical errors, haha), so you can tell me if it's at all intriguing.  

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

Okay, so, here's the preview. Please, if people are reading this, tell me what you think? =)

Gunmetal and Lace
Prologue
Kitty Taylor

The scariest thing about waking to darkness is the sudden, rather unexpected inability to see anything. It is not terrifying because you need to see - for you have been sleeping without seeing, after all - but because you cannot see even if you want to. When there is darkness, unforeseen as this, you find yourself reliant on your other senses: touch, sound, smell; this is perhaps equally scary. Especially when these things are not as you consider they should be.

I wake from nothingness. My head feels like lead and my tongue like freshly waxed leather, and much to my sleepy dismay I find nothing. Reaching into the new darkness, the one I am not accustomed to - nor do I wish to be accustomed to, in all honesty - I grasp the emptiness of cool air. Groggily I stretch my body, limbs moving in all directions with a stiffness I didn’t know they could possess; I can’t quite think right. I can’t really think at all.

It takes some time for my brain to begin to work as it should. My eyes grow used to the darkness, at least a little, and my nose is unblocked enough that I can smell the faint trace of musty damp that surrounds me. I try to sit up, straighten my back, and to my surprise despite the cramped feeling that is wrapped into the very core of my body, I am able to do so easily. With a vision of grey swimming before my eyes, I realise I am in a room, bigger than I had originally imagined. The strange thing, though, is not the smell of antiquity, nor is it the fact that I am in a room I am not acquainted with: it is the queer idea that I should be lying on the floor, the stone cold and wet against my skin, with nothing but a piece of material draped across my torso. Underneath this, I am indeed quite naked.

It is a shocking revelation to find oneself without clothing, especially in such a situation as this one. At least if I were by a roadside, one prone to highwaymen and vagabonds, I should be able to justify my condition, but as it stands I am unable to comprehend myself, or the world around me. I peer into the greyness, desperately trying to distinguish what is real from the shadows of my imagination. It is not as easy as it appears, because everything seems to be moving. I close my eyes and shake my head, the ringing in my ears a surprising comfort.

“Hello?” I figure the easiest way to confirm my loneliness is to call out, but the voice that croaks into the darkness is not my own. It is rusty, not smooth, and particularly unused. This is perhaps the queerest thing since waking. In any case, I am met with silence.

In some respects this is reassuring as it means that by climbing to my feet I am not exposing myself to any poor inhabitant. The only problem with this loneliness, then, is the general predicament that it leaves me in. I still cannot see very well, and by feeling my way around the room (which is large, square and seemingly empty of everything but an old wooden trunk) I discover that the only door is locked. From the outside.

“Hello?” This time, I can honestly say that I would welcome anybody coming to my rescue, naked or not. But, again there is no response and I am left trying to tell the sound of my echoing call from the gentle dripping of water somewhere in the background.

I can almost see, now. At least that is something, and it gives me an excuse to explore the room in search of clothing that may have been hidden during my first search. However, to my dismay I find nothing but the material that was draped across my chest. It is an old piece of clothing, I think, made of something cheap and relatively long-lasting - cotton maybe? It is soft to the touch, perforated with little bobbles and small jagged holes where the fabric has begun to degrade. It occurs to me then that I must have been in here for a very long time. It then occurs to me that I don’t even know where I am: inside a house? Maybe I am in a cellar, somewhere. But that isn’t very reassuring, and I soon begin to panic.

Wrapping what is left of the clothing around my chest, hoping that it covers more than it feels like it does, I quickly and frantically trot over to the wooden trunk in the far corner of the room. My legs are stiff, hard to use after so long lying down (and even though I do not know how long it has been, I know it can’t have been a normal evening nap) and throw open the lid. It swings back with a loud clang, clattering against the wall behind it. Inside the trunk I find very little: a notebook with only two pages, both empty, a shard of broken glass which I identify quickly, and push aside to avoid injury, and there at the bottom of the thing there is a piece of jewellery. Like everything in this room it is old, tainted with rust or some such thing which I can feel with my fingers. It feels like it was engraved once, but the darkness of the room is repressive and I cannot read it.

Depressingly, frighteningly, there is nothing in this box that will help me get out of here. No key, no bell to ring, nothing.

With a wail of despair I slam my hand against the lid of the trunk, almost enjoying the pain that sears through my arm in response. I then run back to the door, feeling my way blindly through hot, salty tears. I cry out again, calling for somebody, anybody to let me out. Modesty is in the back of my mind, if it is in my mind at all, and all I want now is to get outside. It is suddenly stuffy in here, not cold and damp, and the air seems to drip down my throat reluctantly, like treacle.

Before long I am exhausted, barely able to stand, and I fall to my knees. The stone bites into the skin, but I am beyond caring now. Nobody is out there, nobody can hear me. The water droplets are all I can hear, drip-drip-dripping against the harsh unaffectionate ground, and I can think of little else. Still crying, I allow myself to fall entirely to the floor, folding in on myself, and hoping that this is nothing but a bad dream.

I am only half-conscious when the drip-drip-dripping becomes louder, more like the sound of metal on metal, or metal on stone. It is then replaced steadily by a grating, grinding noise close to my head. I cry again, believing it to be nothing but a trick of the darkness willing me to believe that I am about to be saved. I hide my face in my hands; unfamiliar face, unfamiliar hands. Nothing is as is should be.

Especially not my rescuer.  

[DesertRoseFallen]

Oooo I am intrigued! I want to read more. I'm not usually much of a large description person but it suited the story. Did you miss out any glimpses of her? past on purpose? I'm used to seeing some past in the beginning of writing, but I read some weird crap xD

 

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

It was on purpose, yes. Since Adele has very little memory, and has to rely mostly on instinct, you only start getting more of her past as the story progresses. There are little bits of memory interspersed with the story as random events spark memories. As the story goes on there should be more and more memories, which should grow more important and finally lead to a revelation towards the end. It's almost, though, like there are two stories entwined in one, because Adele has no concrete memories of her past. :3

I'm glad you're intrigued. I still don't know whether to post more online, since that sometimes counts as first publishing. Though, an invite-only guild might be different. I don't know. XD It's the first time I've ever seriously considered getting something published. =O  

[DesertRoseFallen]

Haha, I always chicken out when I come to publishing. I know I am so not ready yet. The things I write aren't mainstream...so I guess that sucks.

But yes, I would like to read more smile

 

[Psychotic Maniacal Sanity]

I always chicken out, too, but I figure I might as well give it a go and see. Otherwise, I might spend years of my life not publishing, only to find that I could have published long ago. XP It's worth a try, I think.

I might post a little bit more up... It gets more mainstream after the beginning, a little less interesting, but hopefully that dullness doesn't last too long. >_>