#novel sample

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: The UnIntended Series {Book 1: UnExpected}

Okay, so I'm actually nervous to post this. It's wild. With my fanfiction, I don't really feel nervous having others read it, but this---😬.

Anyway, here is chapter 1. As of now, I'm not sure if I will post the 2nd one. Again it'll only be up for a day or two then I will delete it.

To anyone reading it please give me some feedback rather than a "like". I am partly using this as a focus group/beta read session so feedback is crucial. What did you think? Any part you liked or disliked? Would you want to continue it from the 1st chapter alone? If you came across it in a bookstore or Amazon, would you buy it?

Note I: This has NOT been edited beyond small grammatical issues. Also, I am not 100% sold on the name "Daryl" so don't let it be a hang-up.

Note II: Everything here has been officially copywritten so be careful, I'm the wrong one to try.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prologue

He was my addiction. My cloudy sky. My stormy night my thunderstorms. He was my chocolate brownie with the chocolate ice cream on top. He was my passion my need my obsession. He was my poison. My sweet, delicious poison and I couldn't get enough--wouldn't get enough. I needed him like I needed air water food. It was never enough. His sex was killer, his kiss was sugar, and his body was the best creation made by the creator. His love was death. He was--my ruin.

Chapter 1

“Ughhhh, deeper, harder, uuuugh, yes. Right there, right there. Don’t stop! God, yes, yes, yes, yessssssssssssssssssss!”

Though my vocabulary was quite advanced, no other words could form. The sensations had taken on a life of their own.

“Oh shit, damn baby”.

He drops on the bed next to me panting heavily filling the air with our combined scent. I moan deeply still feeling the power of him between my thighs, “That was amazing La”, Daryl says using the name he’s always called me since college.

I remember the day we met in college like it was yesterday instead of the nearly eight years it actually had been. I was coming up the steps in the rec room not looking where I was going then bam I ran smack into him. At that time we were both kids, barely nineteen with plenty more to learn about the world and the affairs of the heart. When I looked at him it was all over, then when he smiled that lopsided, slick grin of his, I was a goner. Signed sealed delivered I was his. He must have known it too. There was no way he hadn’t because the smug look on his face said it all.

He’d said, “I haven’t ran into anyone as beautiful as you around here, I have to know your name”.

Boy was it a cheesy line, but I was nineteen after all and it was the flyest line I’d heard. I was his.

“You’re just going to leave me hanging?”

Daryl’s voice brought me out of my memory, a memory that was once your favorite but was slowly becoming one you wished you could forget. Looking over next to me, I find his dewy brown eyes staring into me with a questioning look.

“Oh I’m sorry my mind was wandering, it was amazing, but--,” I stretch out rolling onto my side and bring my hand to toned his chest. Slowly I trail my fingers down his smooth skin over each ab muscle, down past his mind dumbing oblique indentations to his still alert appendage. The moan that escaped him was a deep throaty one that said he was more than ready for round three.

Smiling, I lean closer slipping the tip of my tongue along the shell of his ear. “It’s always been amazing, I’m always amazing”, I say in a self-satisfied way before continuing to lick his ear.

“Mmm, you’re bad. Trying to start something?”

That same lopsided smirk decorated his lips and my belly flipped.

“Nope, who said we were done to begin with?”

Without missing a beat, Daryl crashed his full lips into mine, but it was me who took control of the kiss. The passion between us was evident and I was sure that if the room had smoke alarms we would have set them off. Another sensual moan escaped his lips which made my nether regions clench from the desire to have him nestled there again. Just as his movements became urgent and his kiss needy, a loud sound filled the silence pf the space.

Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz.

“Mmm, ignore it,” I coax continuing the pleasurable attack my hand was doping under the black sheet of Daryl’s bed.

“Ah, baby,” he groaned out as my finger glided across the smooth tip of his manhood.

With more urgency, Daryl pressed himself against me then brought his large hand to trace along the right side of my body until he cupped my breast.

“Mmm,” I say tightening the grip of my hand around him.

Daryl’s response was to tweak my sensitive and aching nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The action easily brought more moans of pleasure from my lips. It also served the purpose of distracting me. When I felt his other hand skim across my stomach then dip lower and lower the anticipation in me had my back arching off the bed.

Once he made it to the sweet spot between my thighs a high-pitched sigh escaped me. Within seconds he had me panting and mewling from the skill of his fingers and within seconds I needed more of him. Daryl was good at many things, but the one thing he excelled at hands down was his ability to get me from zero to one hundred in thirty seconds flat. It was a skill he’d developed in college and had never relented in holding the record for.

Buzz, Buzz. Buzz, buzz.

I felt the absence of him before he pulled away but when his hand left my body he spoke against my lips, “It could be work, La”.

In this very moment you didn’t give a flying fuck if it was work. Right now there were much more important matters at hand. That was all it took to spark my anger. It was a small action, but it spoke volumes and brought memories of other times before where he’d seemed so aloof. Using all the self-control I possessed coupled with some learned tricks to decelerate my emotions, I clenched my jaw and silently willed my anger to remain in check.

With my eyes glued to him, I watch on as he glances at his phone screen then types in the unlock code. When his face illuminates white from the screen, I continue to watch and crane my eyes to get a glimpse of his screen to see just what it was that had interrupted your moment. Almost as soon as it opens there is a picture of a pretty woman with her legs spread eagle butt naked.

“Oh”,” Daryl rushes out as he jerks from me. The sudden movement has him fumbling his phone but with a stroke of last-minute grace he holds it close to him, hiding it from me. Too late.

The tight hold I had on my anger was suddenly not enough to contain it. With almost inhumane speed, I bolted upright and glared at him sending a thousand hot blades through my eyes in his direction.

“What the hell was that!?”

The heat on my face quickly spread down my neck until my chest felt like I was standing in direct sunlight on the hottest day of summer.

Daryl shrugs, “Nothing”.

“Don’t nothing me, I saw that. Who is that”?

He reached over the bed and placed his phone on the bedside table. “I don’t know La. Must have been a wrong number. It’s nothing”.

My nose crinkled from the stench of his lie. They always had their own distinct scent. I always knew when he was lying and unfortunate he was lying more often than not. “

“Oh nothing? That’s nothing!? So, it’s nothing when you’re getting naked pictures while you’re in bed with me?”

I hadn’t meant to scream the words but once they were out they bounced off the walls, echoing in the room.

“La, calm down,” Daryl cautiously encouraged, “She’s no one.”

Suddenly I felt as if I was going to be sick. The tight knot in my stomach spasmed, a familiar feeling. “No one! So if she’s no one, then what am I?”

Daryl rolled his eyes, and sighed in the exaggerated way he did when he was annoyed with the direction something had taken, “God here we go”.

When he dropped back onto the bed, you bolted to your feet. He was annoyed? Shit, I was past annoyed right now and I had every right to be.

 “Yes here we do, Daryl. What the hell is wrong with you? Who is that woman and why is she sending you naked pictures?”

Silence filled the space as he laid there staring into the ceiling completely ignoring me. He knew how much I hated it when he did this. I was convinced he did it because I hated it so much. I didn’t want to go irate right now, but I was seconds away from going atomic.

“Hello!”

Another sigh came from him before he sat up and reached for me. With his hand inches from my breast I leaned back and slapped it away. It was supposed to be a regular hit but because of my anger it was much more than a regular hit. It was a hard one that made the sting from it ricochet through your hand.

“You know what, fuck you Daryl.”

Without missing a beat, I turned and walked to the chair across the room where my clothes were currently draped over. It was time to go. I shouldn’t have even been here to begin with. Keeping my back to him I began putting on my clothes.

“Unfuckinbelivable! Every time is the same mess. The same thing!”

Angrily slinging my shirt over my head I do my best to keep the tears pricking my eyes away. I was tired of crying, tired of this circle.

“Don’t do this La,” Daryl began, his voice smooth as a hustler on the corner trying to upsell some weed, “Listen her name is Marcella, and we were hanging out a while back. That’s it, we haven’t in weeks though.”

Spinning around to face him my eyes narrowed, “Weeks? We’ve been fucking for years Daryl. We’ve been going around this for years. Years! Unbelievable. Oh La, I miss you, I love you, I’m going to change I promise, it’s just you. Bullshit!”

I felt so stupid to have believed his lies, to have expected anything to change. I felt dumb being here right now. My anger had morphed into hurt and it was becoming harder and harder to fight back the tears.  I should have known nothing had changed, that nothing would have changed. Deep down I knew it was the same bullshit. Every time I looked in the mirror I saw the truth shining back at me. I had been stupid for a long time.

I watch as Daryl slinks across the room to me with a somber look on his face that I knew was an act. For it to be real he had to feel remorse, an emotion you doubted he even fathomed. Raising my hands I try to keep him at bay because I know if he touches me even a little bit my anger will falter, and he will turn it all around. I didn’t want him to placate me with lies any longer.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Now I can’t touch you? Come on, you love when I touch you.”

He laced his fingers with mine before he pulled me closer to him. “I’m the only one that makes you feel good,” he cooed, “The only one that knows how to touch you.”

For emphasis, Daryl brought his hand around to cup my ass in a way that also brought my leg up to wrap around his waist. Groaning, I pressed my palm to his torso trying to push him off, but he wouldn’t budge. “I’m the only one that makes you drip”, he says his voice dropping to an impossibly deep baritone that instantly proved his words true. It was a voice I had always been utterly powerless against.

I hated his cockiness, hated that there was even an ounce of truth to his words, hated that he had me right where he wanted me.

“Stop it Daryl, I’m not playing.”

 “Neither am I,” he said against your ear making you shiver. “I haven’t seen her in weeks. As I said, it’s nothing.”

With that, he tipped my chin up, so I looked into his eyes and just like that, it was over. “I want you”.

I searched his eyes for lies though I knew the lies were to be found on his lips instead. I searched frantically and desperately but there were no lies in his eyes.

“You La. Just you.”

His lips crashed into mine, pulling me into a soul sucking kiss. Soul sucker. That was exactly what he is. Soul sucker. I knew he was full of shit; I knew it yet still I allowed him to kiss me, allowed him the time to worm him hands along my body until I felt his fingers creep up my skirt where I am bare and wet. Wet from wanting him, needing him. Damn it! I hated this; I hated him. A moan filled the room, and I am annoyed to realize it was mine.

Traitor. My body was a traitor, always had been. Daryl lifted me and instinctively my other leg wrapped around his waist. When his mouth moved to my neck the hard press of his girth between my thighs sends my head flying back giving him complete access to the spot he loved to exploit and that was when I knew it.

Fuck! It’s over.

Once he has my back slammed against the wall, he follows suit but grinding his hips against me so I can feel the thing I crave.  Without warning, he then slams into me with all the strength and force his powerful body holds. The action pulls a scream from your lips. It’s a scream that is raspy and high pitched all at once, a scream that never stood a chance of ending because before it could, he snapped his lips forward again reminding me that every word he spoke before was true.

“Aaah!”

The force of Daryl’s hips slams into me over and over, harder, and harder until I am seeing stars and unable to catch my breath. All I can do is hold onto him for dear life and pray to whoever was watching this show that you wouldn’t be forever scared by this man.

“You’re mine La!”

Slam.

“Mine!”

Slam.

“--Have been since you were nineteen and will always be mine,” he added, his lips brushing your ear, so you didn’t miss one word.

Slowing down, Daryl circled his hips again nudging your g-spot until you were sure you were going to pass out. In seconds you were clenching around him giving him the satisfaction of knowing you were powerless to him.

“This sweet spot is mine, Leianna, cause I do it the best. Me!”

The possessiveness in his voice could not be missed. He always did get off on claiming ownership. He loved it when I told him I belonged to him, loved when I bore his markings on my skin for others to see, and loved I went out smelling like him. This was nothing different. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as he overwhelmed me with the barrage of thrusts that served as nothing more than way to mark you, brand you as his.

Another orgasm claimed me sweeping me up into the frenzy of need that tied us together.

Bringing his hand to your throat he held you there against the wall making you moan louder and clench harder around him. “Say my name La, say it!”

He knew I liked it when he got rough. Fuck him, I thought as another moan fell from my lips. I hated him but I was loving every second of the pleasure he brought me through this show of assertion he was putting on, loved the feel of him pounding into me, trying to mark me. Fuck him and damn me, I loved it all.

“Say it,” Daryl badgered adding a slight amount of pressure. Not enough to hurt me but it was enough to make me wetter.

“Daryl,” I gasp out of breath as he keeps pounding into me against his wall.

“Whose is it? Who does it belong to?”

The air around us has become so thick that catching a breath is nearly impossible and the lack of oxygen has my head spinning.

“Whose!”

His shout brings me back to the moment. our eyes linger and I watch as his mouth falls open clearly enraptured with the pleasure he was finding in me.  

“Yours. Shit Daryl, it’s yours, always has been, yes, yes, yes!”

I feel the tint of shame wash over me. Shame for saying the words, shame for allowing him to put me in this situation, shame for never wanting him to stop fucking me, shame for wanting to stay in this bubble for as long as possible because it would mean he would stay here with me in this moment away from his lies and away from his asshole moves.

Digging my nails into his shoulder I aim to hurt him and with his shout I am pleased to know that I have. With one final thrust that sends my head banging into the wall, Daryl fills me, marking me as we both find our release. For long moments we clutch one another panting as we slowly come down from the euphoria of our bodies connecting, the euphoria I had only ever found in him.

When I am coherent enough I realize that Daryl had moved us back to the bed. I feel his lips press to my jaw, then my neck before he pulls away from my body and walks away toward the bathroom. I take another steadying breath then see him grab his phone from the nightstand before disappearing into the bathroom. Again the knot in my stomach spasms and I feel sick to my stomach as utter disgust and self-loathing washes over me. I was stupid, so stupid. I knew it, and he must have known it too because he knew he had me, he knew it.

The stinging of my tears pushed me into action. Standing on wobbly legs I took a moment to steady myself then fixed the clothes I was wearing. I approached the chair again to finish dressing then dug a note card from my purse and wrote across it with the red lipstick he liked so much. Gathering my things I walked to the bed ignoring the crumpled sheets and placed the notecard on his pillow. Looking around I took a moment to make sure I had everything then walked through the bedroom door towards the door.

I didn’t look back. What was the purpose of doing so? I walked with my head high and spine straight with a head filled with vows to never return but your heart whispered into the abyss of your pain that you’d be back.

[thepedanticbohemian]

THE OUDERKIRK HOUSE sample

CHAPTER ONE:

June 23rd

Mason County, Washington

I go down hard, face first, the toe of my hiking boot catching on a gnarled outcropping of cedar root. I land with an oomph amid poplar and oak leaves, evergreen needles, candy wrappers, and cigarette butts. I heave for breathe and inhale the odor of decomposition. I cough to keep from gagging. I know this smell too well but I never get used to it. I know I'm right again. Sadness grips my gut and I grimace.

I ease myself up, taking care not to dislodge the detritus covering the shallow grave. There hasn't been rain in Western Washington for nearly two months. The little mound looks fresh. The decomp odor tells me a week old, maybe two.

Here's just one more thing I wish I didn't know anything about. Experience is a two-edged sword. Sometimes it’s edifying. Right now it sucks a root.

The search and rescue volunteers and deputies gather behind me as I right myself, situate my hoodie, and look around. Their eyes are all focused on me, then upon the grave. I feel their collective gaze and try to get a grip on my anxiety. My skin prickles and I begin to shiver. I clear my throat and pull myself together, arms crossed beneath my breasts.

“Get Deputy Shepherd,” I say, restraining my urge to run away.

We're in a dense forest, slightly north of Shelton, Washington. On any other day, for any other reason, the hike through this wooded terrain would be beautiful. The oak and poplar leaves, cedar, and pine needles crunch under our feet. A warm breeze rustles the tops of the evergreens, their needles whispering as they move together. However, the weather is far too dry for this part of the Olympic peninsula this time of year. Record low rainfall reminds me there’s a burn-ban in effect for most of Washington state. One positive about that. No rain to wash away evidence.

The rest of the forest is a lush pallet of greens despite the lack of rain. Nothing but fern-clotted shade from so many old evergreens and deciduous trees. We're in the thickest part of the forest with no sunny spots to be found.

It can't be more than seventy here. Still, I have soaked through both t-shirt and purple and gold University of Washington hoodie. Like a lathered horse, I feel the wetness in my pits and rivulets trickling down my back. I understand it's all part of my anxiety, but I fidget in embarrassment. I swipe my palm across my soaked upper lip and chin.

No one wants to find a child’s grave, especially not like this. In these cases, my sole responsibility is to do just that. My visions of what the victim went through are unspeakable. Left arm missing below the shoulder, genitals mutilated and the wound…violated. All perimortem. I shudder and close my eyes but the images are all-pervasive.

And somehow, when I get it right, it’s bad and my fault. Just like when I get it wrong. Funny that. Do I like having bad news all the time? Hell no. I wish little Timmy so-and-so would be found alive and skipping around a park somewhere before he takes the candy from that strange man. We all do. It’s never enough for a grieving family, though. I don’t really blame them. What I can do even embarrasses me.

Five-year-old Noah Nixon went missing from the front yard of his parents’ Olympia home just shy of a month ago. Disappearing into thin air, the press trumpet, and not the first child to do so in the region. Rumors of a child killer circulate—fanned by the press—and people are scared. These types of killings have been going on in Western Washington since the nineties. Still no suspects. Law enforcement calls the suspect the Knife and Hatchet Man, because of his M.O. Using the hatchet to sever the left arm of his victims just below the shoulder. He uses the knife to do the rest of it.

Is it just me, or do we have more than our share of serial killers here?

This psychopath knows what he’s doing and is getting better at this shit than we are. Welcome to the age of television true crime. And such perps don’t joke around. They are serious about their work and will not be caught unless they want to be.

When posters and tearful TV pleas from his parents for Noah’s safe return fail, and even cadaver dogs came up empty, Mason County’s Sheriff, Pete Cody, suggested another tactic.

Me.

I’m Ruth Anne O'Neill and I was called into the case to see if I could find the boy. I’m a forensic psychic medium—not a tarot-card-toting, crystal-ball-gazing charlatan—the real deal. It’s not really my job, but it is what I do. I always try to convince myself my gift was bestowed for the betterment of all mankind, or some such high-brow shit. Oh, and I cuss like a sailor. My Dad was Navy, as is my wasband. I come by it naturally. Fuck is my favorite verb, adverb, pronoun, and adjective. As you come to know me better, you might understand why. Police humor is extremely dark and so is mine. Sometimes, in this line of work, fuck is the only word that suits.

Mostly though, my psychic gifts get me labeled as a witch by the elderly, small town Dutch folk where I live on Whidbey Island. That’s the largest island in the continental US, in the middle of Puget Sound. An otherwise neighborly, rural paradise, the folks point, stare, whisper, and generally shun me in the checkout lanes at Safeway. They say my pale green eyes are eerie and my short, sandy blonde hair makes me look like a dyke. I dress the part just to get a rise out of them. A gender non-conforming psychic is easier to swallow than a witchy hippie psychic, right?

Hell, if I’m really honest, this is no gift. It’s a curse I can’t escape even in sleep. I mostly have the respect of the law enforcement personnel I work with but get lampooned by the press and other non-believers.

I have this…thing…in my head, forced on me since I was six years old. All I really want to do is bake cakes and take care of the guests at the Hummingbird’s Nest bed and breakfast. I’m the chef and half-owner there in Oak Harbor, the largest small town on the island only by benefit of its two Navy bases.

The gift or curse argument aside, I’ve found twenty-eight children—three of them alive—with my visions and dreams. Out of two hundred and ten cases perhaps it’s not the greatest track record, but it is something.

No, that’s not right. Noah Nixon makes that twenty-nine totaling two hundred and eleven in the past ten years. At any roads, the press will lambaste the family and law enforcement for involving a flake like me in what is a serious matter; a missing, and now presumed dead, little boy.

More than just presumed, my intrusive inner voice tells me.

With so many days gone by and zero leads, Sheriff Cody knows we’re looking for a corpse. The smell rising from the debris-covered ground will prove he and I are both right.

“Please, please,” I whisper to myself, “just let it be a dead animal. Don’t let it be Noah.”

My gift-curse tells me better, of course, but it’s my mantra every time I find a grave. Don’t let it be little so-and-so. But it always is.

I try to picture a deer killed out of season and quickly buried after its antlers are removed as trophies. I want to think of the blue-eyed, brunette, cherub-faced Noah, running and playing, going to school, tucked in for a night’s sleep. Anything other than tortured and stuffed into the ground like so much garbage.

Of course, with the gift-curse thing, I’m not wrong once I see the final location of the missing person. I saw the grave in my mind before I fell onto it. It’s more than simply tripping on a root. I was in one of my absence seizures again. Goddamned things make me go all wonky and sometimes even blackout. As if seeing the horrors isn’t bad enough.

Deputy Hal Shepherd makes his way through the overgrown ferns and saplings to the grave at my feet. His olive green uniform jumpsuit has large rings of perspiration beneath his armpits. This makes me feel less self-conscious about my own horse sweat. He squats, ink pen in hand, and considers the scene for about five minutes. After that, he silently paces like a caged leopard around the small burial. He stops at the far side of the grave, glaring at me. He gazes icily at the grave, then pulls out his cellphone, hitting speed dial.

“Send in the forensics team.”

The crime scene investigation team is slow to reach our location, two miles in from the end of the fire trail. I chew my inner lip as they cordon off the scene with yellow and black police tape. I found the scene. Hooray for me, my inner voice ruthlessly teases me.

My visions led us here, otherwise, Noah might’ve never been found. The killer probably thinks he’s clever, picking such an isolated spot for his body dumps. Who would think to look in these woods other than some freak psychic like me?

The next hour crawls by with the click-flash-whir of cameras, and CSIs taking measurements. I watch from behind the crime scene tape as they use tweezers to pick up all the candy wrappers and cigarette butts for DNA and fingerprints. A handful of leaves and needles appear to have blood on them. They go into evidence bags, too.

Shepherd keeps himself busy walking the perimeter while speaking to Sheriff Cody on his cell. He lifts the crime scene tape and walks under it leaving the cordoned area. He spares me a hard look before walking father into the forest.

Those involved in evidence collection speak little beyond whispered instructions to the newbie on their team. The rest of us stand outside the perimeter, silent as the grave. No pun intended. Our busy presence has scared off the wildlife, even the birds. I shift from one foot to the other, my right boot feeling a little tight. I think the seam on my sock is rubbing a blister on my big toe. I think of all this to keep my mind off what's going to be dug up any moment.

Finally, one of the CSIs carefully brushes aside debris and dirt to reveal a greenish, naked, and bloated body. Those of us watching collectively gasp. I’d been right about the mutilation.

Then there’s a little girl's voice just behind me.

Ruthie.

More urgently:

Ruthie!

I look around like I’m crazy. I know the voice calling my name isn’t among the gathering. It’s a voice I haven’t heard since I was six years old. I put my hands over my ears to muffle the plaintive calling. Nope, it doesn’t help.

Ruthie!

It’s strident now.

“Stop it!”

I think I only say it in my mind. Then, my voice ricochets off tree trunks and echoes eerily around us. I hear the crackling sound of the white paper suits worn by the CSIs and nothing else as all eyes turn on me.

“Stop what, Ms. O'Neill?”

A tall, painfully lanky volunteer searcher in a red and black checkered flannel shirt looks expectantly at me.

“Huh,” I grunt, looking from his man-bun to his long beard as I stall for time to think up a good lie.

“Are you okay, ma'am?”

Ma'am? I’m not that old you damned hipster! Keep Portland weird I guess.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Was just thinking out loud. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure,” Man-bun asks.

I wonder hysterically for a moment if he’s coming onto me. I’m not on enough anxiety meds for that.

“I said it was nothing, okay,” I snap and turn awkwardly away.

My right boot squeaks like a fart and I close my eyes on my renewed embarrassment. To say I don’t want to be here now is a vast understatement. I quick march through the overgrown ferns the two miles back to the fire trail and police and CSI vehicles.

The plaintive voice of my late sister keeps resonating in my head.

Ruthie! Ruthie don’t go. You’re not finished yet.

My brain feels like the Vegas Strip. The number twenty-five is flashing there. That’s when I U-turn and drag myself back to find Shepherd.

Twenty-six if you count Noah, my sister’s voice chides.

I look around for her, knowing I’m not going to find her. A wave of torrential sweat hits me again when I get back to the scene. I can smell my stink and want to be anywhere but here. I need a shower, more coffee, well maybe not coffee. I want to be in my kitchen making my famous everything bagels, not helping find dead kids.

I aim myself unsteadily toward Shepherd. He’s all business and seems done with me now that I located Noah. I’m brassy enough, though, I’m rarely ignored.

“You should call Sheriff Cody. You’re going to need more CSI people out of Olympia. There are twenty-five other bodies here.”

[ellipuukangas]

Tistow is our daft, very niche Victorian inspired comic about a city that lives and breathes the weird. Stevedores, secret shapeshifters and long forgotten odd gods.

[jesperweidemann]

Writing Engaging Introductions and Compelling Conclusions Part 3: Understanding the Intention of Conclusions

The Purpose of Conclusions

Conclusions are the final opportunity to leave a lasting impression on the reader. They serve several critical functions:

Summarizing Key Points: A conclusion should succinctly summarize the main points discussed in the piece. This helps reinforce the information and ensures that the reader leaves with a clear understanding of the key takeaways.

Reinforcing the Thesis: The conclusion should restate the thesis in a new way, reinforcing the main argument or purpose of the writing. This helps to solidify the reader’s understanding and agreement with your perspective.

Providing Closure and a Final Perspective: A strong conclusion provides a sense of closure, wrapping up the discussion neatly. It also offers a final perspective, leaving the reader with something to ponder or act upon.

Elements of a Strong Conclusion

An effective conclusion typically includes the following elements:

Restating the Thesis: Paraphrase the main argument or thesis statement to remind the reader of the central point. This should be done in a way that feels fresh and not repetitive.

Summarizing Main Points: Briefly revisit the key arguments or points made in the piece. This summary should be concise and focus on the most important aspects.

Final Thoughts: Offer insights, implications, or a call to action. This is your chance to leave the reader with something meaningful to think about or do.

Techniques for Effective Conclusions

There are several techniques you can use to craft a compelling conclusion:

Echoing the Introduction: Refer back to the introduction to create a sense of symmetry and closure. This can be done by revisiting a story, question, or quote used in the opening.

Including a Call to Action: Encourage the reader to take specific action based on the information or arguments presented. This can be particularly effective in persuasive or argumentative writing.

Ending with a Quotation or Provocative Thought: Use a relevant quote or thought-provoking statement to leave a lasting impression. This can add depth and resonance to your conclusion.

Reflecting on the Broader Implications: Discuss the broader implications of your topic, considering its impact on a larger scale. This can help the reader see the significance of your writing beyond the immediate context.

Common Pitfalls to Avoid

When writing conclusions, it’s important to avoid common pitfalls:

Introducing New Information: The conclusion is not the place to introduce new arguments or evidence. This can confuse the reader and undermine the sense of closure.

Being Redundant: Avoid simply repeating what has already been said. Instead, aim to synthesize and distill the main points in a fresh way.

Ending Abruptly: Ensure that your conclusion provides a sense of closure. Avoid ending too suddenly, as this can leave the reader feeling unsatisfied.

Examples and Analysis

To understand what makes a conclusion effective, let’s break down some examples:

Example 1: Echoing the Introduction

Introduction: “When I was ten years old, I discovered a dusty old book in my grandmother’s attic. Little did I know, that book would ignite my lifelong passion for history.”

Conclusion: “Just as that dusty old book sparked my passion for history, I hope this piece has ignited your interest in the past and its lessons for the future.”

Analysis: This conclusion echoes the introduction, creating a sense of symmetry and closure. It ties back to the initial anecdote and reinforces the main theme.

Example 2: Call to Action

“Now that you understand the importance of daily exercise, I challenge you to incorporate at least 30 minutes of physical activity into your routine. Your body and mind will thank you.”

Analysis: This conclusion includes a clear call to action, encouraging the reader to apply the information in a practical way. It’s motivating and actionable.

Example 3: Quotation

“As Albert Einstein once said, ‘Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.’ Let’s keep moving forward, embracing change and growth.”

Analysis: This conclusion uses a relevant quote to leave a lasting impression. The quote is thought-provoking and ties into the theme of the piece.

Example 4: Reflecting on Broader Implications

“The impact of climate change extends far beyond our immediate environment. It affects global economies, health, and future generations. By taking action now, we can create a sustainable future for all.”

Analysis: This conclusion reflects on the broader implications of the topic, helping the reader see its significance on a larger scale. It’s insightful and forward-looking.

Crafting Your Own Conclusion

When crafting your own conclusion, consider the following steps:

Restate the Thesis: Paraphrase your thesis statement to remind the reader of the central point. Ensure that it feels fresh and not repetitive.

Summarize Main Points: Briefly revisit the key arguments or points made in the piece. Focus on the most important aspects and avoid unnecessary details.

Offer Final Thoughts: Provide insights, implications, or a call to action. This is your chance to leave the reader with something meaningful to think about or do.

Create a Sense of Closure: Ensure that your conclusion provides a sense of closure. Avoid ending too suddenly and aim to leave the reader feeling satisfied.

Revise and Refine: Review your conclusion to ensure it is clear, concise, and impactful. Don’t be afraid to make changes to improve it.

Additional Tips for Writing Conclusions

Be Concise: While it’s important to provide a thorough summary, avoid being overly verbose. A concise conclusion is more likely to leave a strong impression.

Stay Relevant: Ensure that all the information in your conclusion is relevant to the main topic. Avoid tangents or unrelated details that might confuse the reader.

Use Clear and Simple Language: Avoid jargon or overly complex language that might alienate the reader. Clear and simple language is more effective in conveying your final thoughts.

Create a Smooth Transition: The conclusion should smoothly transition from the main body of the writing. Ensure that the last sentence of your main body leads naturally into the first sentence of your conclusion.

Engage the Senses: When using descriptive language, engage the reader’s senses by describing sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and textures. This can make your writing more vivid and memorable.

Reflect Your Personality: Let your personality shine through in your conclusion. Whether you’re writing in a formal or informal style, your unique voice can make your writing more engaging and relatable.

Remember, the conclusion is your final opportunity to make an impact, so take the time to craft it carefully and thoughtfully.

< Part 2 ||| Part 4 >

[boinin]

Well, while we digest the TREASURE TROVE that Niko/Kunigami/Hiori's light novel backstories are... what characters does Tumblr think the next volume should include?

[storiesofsvu]

Another one cause it’s been a while…

**ETA: word used when in NARRATION! Not when one character is talking to another cause “such a pretty heat” makes zero sense 😂💀**

[ryanmaniulit]

The Grey and the Gallant sample comic I used to pitch the story to publishers! So much has changed but I still love this little snippit.

Book slated for Fall 2025 with ABRAMS books.

[aleksiremesart]

A small sample of my work-in-progress short storybook named Moon Memoirs. The story tells about two children of the Moon and their common dream of flying to the Earth.

Can one grow into a person only on Earth? Do flowers also bloom on the surface of the Moon?

[bmpmp3]

thank god for indie devs making like tiny little maximum 10 megabyte freeware games on itchio keeping the art of filesize optimization alive. ASSET REUSE FOREVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[thebarontheabyss]

The Art of War is not that different from the Art of Pancakes. Well, at least according to Hastur 🥞

[kinda-daily-warriorcat]

Any of y'all going to any of the in-person Warrior Cats meetup? I want to go but I feel very awkward about it because I'm 19 so I feel too old to do that. I don't want to be weird

A lot of people in various WC-centric Discord servers I'm in (like MAP/Zine or Roleplay servers) which have primarily adult/late teens fans are going so it should be fine? But what do y'all think

[meowmeowmeowimacat]

I thought of this and i'm super interested:

[ghostbustermelanieking]

i just got an email from an MFA program saying my sample isn't appropriate for fiction because it seems to be middle grade and do i want to reapply to their writing for young people genre

the sample in question being a HORROR SHORT STORY narrated by a six year old, on the run with his older brother bc his parents have been turned into vampires... it ends with the six year old being manipulated into letting his father in and the parents attacking them all. one of the final scenes is the older brother crawling around in his own blood. then the mom carries off the six year old to put him to bed, and the story ends with him being bitten

HOW IS THAT FOR MIDDLE GRADERS

[bunnymajo]

Divine Like Stars - July 28, 2022

Indie Magical Girl Novel I found on Amazon just now.

Meet New York's residential magical girls. Cerena, Husani, Alora, and Iris– are four high school best friends with their own sets of quirks and interests. Though they come from different backgrounds and never get along at times, the friends will always stay together no matter what is thrown at them. Even when a mysterious magical cat appeared in their lives, and several attacks happen in their city, the girls discover that they are granted divine magic. They must use their magic to stop the ruthless Abyss from destroying their world! Each girl must learn to navigate high school life, and learn to control the power that rests in their hands, or will they falter and let the Abyss empire take all that they love?

Copywritten under the label "Shoujonen" with Artwork by Maitsu, Suji-kim, Febby and Story by Jullian Amena

[jesperweidemann]

Master the Comma

The comma, a seemingly simple punctuation mark, holds significant power in shaping the clarity and flow of written language. Its correct usage can transform a piece of writing from confusing to coherent, making it an essential tool for any writer. Understanding the various roles of the comma and how to apply them effectively is crucial for enhancing readability and ensuring your message is conveyed with precision.

The Role of the Comma in Lists

One of the primary functions of the comma is to separate items in a list. When you enumerate three or more items, commas help to distinguish each element clearly. For instance, consider the sentence: “For breakfast, I had eggs, toast, and orange juice.” Here, the commas separate the items, making the list easy to read. The comma before the conjunction “and” is known as the Oxford comma. While its use is optional, it often helps to prevent ambiguity. For example, “I dedicate this book to my parents, Oprah Winfrey, and God” is clearer than “I dedicate this book to my parents, Oprah Winfrey and God,” which could imply that Oprah Winfrey and God are the parents.

Setting Off Introductory Elements

Commas are also used to set off introductory elements in a sentence. These elements can be words, phrases, or clauses that precede the main clause. For example, “After the meeting, we went out for lunch.” The comma after “After the meeting” signals a pause, helping the reader to understand that the introductory phrase is separate from the main action of the sentence. This use of the comma enhances readability by clarifying the sentence structure.

Joining Independent Clauses

When two independent clauses are joined by a coordinating conjunction (such as for, and, nor, but, or, yet, so), a comma is placed before the conjunction. For instance, “I wanted to go for a walk, but it started raining.” This rule helps to avoid run-on sentences and maintains the flow of ideas. Without the comma, the sentence might feel rushed or jumbled, making it harder for the reader to follow the writer’s train of thought.

Nonessential Information

Commas are also used to set off nonessential information—details that add extra context but are not crucial to the meaning of the sentence. For example, “My brother, who lives in New York, is visiting us next week.” The clause “who lives in New York” provides additional information about the brother but is not essential to the main point of the sentence. Removing it still leaves a complete thought: “My brother is visiting us next week.”

Avoiding Common Mistakes

Despite their importance, commas are often misused. One common mistake is the comma splice, which occurs when two independent clauses are joined by a comma without a coordinating conjunction. For example, “I love reading, it’s my favorite hobby.” This can be corrected by adding a conjunction or changing the comma to a semicolon: “I love reading, and it’s my favorite hobby” or “I love reading; it’s my favorite hobby.”

Another frequent error is the overuse of commas, which can disrupt the flow of writing. For instance, “The cake, was delicious” includes an unnecessary comma that interrupts the sentence. Conversely, omitting necessary commas can lead to confusion. Consider the difference between “Let’s eat Grandma” and “Let’s eat, Grandma.” The first suggests cannibalism, while the second is an invitation to dine.

Advanced Comma Usage

Beyond the basics, commas can be used in more sophisticated ways to enhance writing. When two or more adjectives equally modify a noun, commas are used to separate them. For example, “She wore a bright, colorful dress.” If the adjectives are not equal, no comma is needed: “She wore a bright summer dress.”

Transitional phrases such as “however,” “therefore,” and “for example” should also be set off with commas. For instance, “I wanted to join the team; however, I was too late.” This helps to clarify the relationship between ideas. Additionally, when addressing someone directly, commas are used to set off their name or title, as in “Thank you, Dr. Smith, for your assistance.”

Conclusion

Mastering the comma is essential for effective writing. By understanding the basic rules and avoiding common mistakes, you can use commas to enhance the clarity and flow of your writing. Whether you are listing items, joining clauses, or setting off nonessential information, the comma is a powerful tool that, when used wisely, can significantly improve readability. Remember, the key to mastering the comma is practice and attention to detail. With time and effort, you can become proficient in using this versatile punctuation mark to enhance your writing.

[brandyschillace]

SPOTLIGHT and SAMPLE CHAPTER! Please check out this lovely piece about my new book—includes a sample chapter and images drawn by me to illustrate the book (also at @netherleigh IG account): #mystery #cozy #autistic #british #samplechapter #fiction #book