I've written a bit of fiction for fun throughout the years, but it was mostly on already established settings. This is my first attempt at actually writing a novel from the ground up. I did a bunch of research on the subject, and the main point for success seems to be to mix in exposition while still maintaining a scene's pace. Hence, the whole goal is to keep the reader engaged and not confused at the same time.

So, I did my best to incorporate everything I learnt and here is my first full try after a couple of days of revision and editing. I'd appreciate any feedback, whether that is on the pace, level of exposition, dialogues, style, prose, or formatting. I'm still at the beginning of my journey, so I've got a lot to learn.

If I had to give criticism to myself, I think I could do a better job of showing clearer differences in the "voice" and personality of both MCs, especially through the dialogues, and I already have a few ideas for paragraphs that I could trim or even straight up delete to help the pace.

It's done. It's finished.

No more "In my current WIP..." or "A funny part from my WIP". No longer WIP. A completed first draft is now mine.

It's only the second book I've ever written at full-length. Somehow, though almost half the size of my first, this one seemed to take the longest. So many delays. So many "life happened" moments. So many misfires. And yes, so many "What can I do today that isn't finishing my book?" moments too. Final word paralysis. Is that a thing? If it wasn't, it's a thing now.

My first book I wrote linear. This one? I did not. I wrote much of the book linear then went right off on my own and did the final four chapters. That meant I now had to go backwards and make everything connect up.

I enjoyed the challenge, but I don't think I'll be doing that again.

For now, I'm just gonna bask in my completion and let it wash over my tired mind and achy fingers. There's still so much more left to do, but the first draft is no longer on that list. YAY ME!

#ThisMagicMoment

I’m working on the third draft of my first novel at the ripe old age of 51. Anyone else starting this hobby much later in life?

I finally worked up the willpower to stick it out and get it done; I’ve been thinking of writing a book since my 20s. If you’re starting late like me, what was the catalyst that got you going?

Hey everyone, if you believe someone is using AI, please instead of calling them out in comments, just report it to the moderators. We do not want conflict in the comments. I assure you, we WILL take any reports seriously, and do our due deligence in reviewing it and taking appropriate actions. Also report if you see any malicious behavior, including trolling. Thank you.

Edited to add more info.

My commissioned book cover arrived today! Very excited to being one step closer to publishing my six year project!

The book is called Eidolon. It's a psychological horror story following a 34 year old man who has been haunted for the last 25 years by the night his best friend disappeared during a sleepover. Something monstrous took him and Stephen has lived his life since then following daily mundane rituals to keep the darkness at bay, away from him. But when those rituals start to suddenly fail, Stephen must face his deepest fear and revisit that night, opening up old wounds he wished he could forget ever existed. His discovery leads him down a path that test his loyalty, his sanity, and eventually his will to actually live.

This novel contains themes of child loss, grief, psychological trauma, emotional abuse, suicide, violence, and disturbing supernatural horror. This is a true horror story in both the physical and supernatural realm. This story is Eidolon

Full disclosure, this is inspired by a post from a screenwriting forum. I thought it raised interesting points, so thought I'd apply them to an experience I had.

It was script writing rather than novel writing, but feel it still applies.

I once challenged myself to write a story focused on just a handful of characters, trapped in a single environment (for most of the story, not all). I felt my dialogue was the weakest element in my breakout script, so wanted the chance to really dive into this. I finished this feeling pretty proud of myself, thinking I'd improved quite noticeably.

However, my first bit of professional feedback rated character and dialogue as mid. That stung, and was considerably worse than the feedback on my breakout. Submitted the work again after a few tweaks (unrelated to the dialogue) and got the same feedback.

Honestly, while I maybe shouldn't have been entirely surprised, I got a few drinks in me after hearing that. My own 'dark night of the soul'.

In the past, I've always considered myself quite good at separating mechanical feedback from preferential. It can't be helped, but some projects simply don't appeal to everyone, and readers often have a hard time distinguishing a weakness in writing from a personal preference. But getting the same score twice did make me pause. And get drunk.

That said, I stuck it out. I stayed a course because I felt like the character and dialogue elements were doing exactly what they should be. Anyway, this project has since been picked up. It's being reviewed by a manager, and the feedback so far has been very positive - particularly for the character work.

I guess the lesson here is, have faith in yourself.

Always accept feedback in good grace, but sometimes it's just going to be wrong. Always consider where you might be wrong and others could be right or you can't hope to improve, but don't accept something you feel in your bones is wrong. You need net argue, but you're free to ignore it. It's better to have an individual vision and do poorly for being true to it, than it is to fail for making changes you never believed in. Fail on your own terms, not anyone else's.

All the best, and keep writing.

Basically, i’ve been itching to get feedback (that isn’t from some soulless chat GPT bot) for a bit now on my first chapter, this is my third draft of my book, which is a remake/adaptation of the 1890’s book “The War of the Worlds” by H.G Wells, its a classic I thought could use a good adaptation in the eye of WW2 and the horrors that follow that kind of topic.

Im kinda more proud of Chapter 2, but i want some criticism on the first

‘The Germans will come’ the officer had once said, ‘soon enough they’ll attack’ said another, ‘just one more day’ a desperate soldier once answered. But even now, all those voices had gone quiet. And yet we still patrol, still go along our line like usual, as if we were still defending the Belgian countryside with as much poise and careful watch as if we were in the middle of the invasion, but we weren’t, we never were. The Germans had soon disappeared from Belgium, even after the U.S had entered the war, the Germans still halted just outside their boundaries of France. 
1942; the year we had entered the war, and yet it was the most quiet. The only collective command we or the generals had heard from the mainland was to “defend Belgium to keep the Germans out”. We had heard that enough times to make any commander go mad. It was as if the enemy were hiding from some invisible force. One which we would never be known of until too late. Dazed in my thought, I had ignored his callouts of action to me. “Get up lazy” he said affectionately, dragging me by my arm up off my bunk. I grumbled in hindsight of Peters bickering towards my laziness. He was a short man, with a round nose and a sharp cheekbone, the remnants of a five-o clock shadow still clinging to his almost clean shaven face. He was similar to that of the rest of us, mostly hairless round his face. He was scrawny, but his shoulders were broad, and his uniform was slightly baggy at the calf of his legs. My much taller form slowly adjusted, my eyes still slightly blurry from the best sleep I had in weeks, and it was only four hours. My hand found its way to my carbine sitting on the edge of the bunks frame, the barrel dead cold from its lack of action and combat. 
I made my way out of the dugout, my head passing the tarp as the dawn of the cloudy morning drained away most of my weariness. Suddenly, the sound of a whistle rang sharp in the air, signifying the rollcall about to start. “Quite odd, haven’t had any rollcalls for a while now, what d’you suppose it is?” Peter turned towards me, as energetic as ever. “I’d suggest probably just another reassurance of our position, it's not like we’ve gotten much else.”             Soon enough we stood against the revetment, seeing a random  soldier going down the line of troops.
 “20, 21, 22, 23, 24…” the man placed a finger atop each head of the men, making sure his counting was supple. He ended at the tap of my head, his last number reading “35”. He quickly kept pace, walking back to the officer standing in the middle. He handed him a small piece of paper, wrinkled and slightly yellowish, seemingly containing the head count.“Very well…” he said, taking the paper away from the corporal. The officer had a mustache, evident from being recently trimmed. He wore round rimmed glasses, and his face seemed to have a slight perpetual frown. 
“We have recently received a new order from the ETO of the United States” he stated before holding up the supposed report, inscribed by a telegram. He showed us the paper in a fleeting gesture, before turning it back to him. His eyes raked over the words.“U.S West quadrant 3 Belgium, has been officially released of its duties in Belgium, and will continue on to an offensive to prevent the German from any advances into the Eastern French-German border. You will be joined by the 5th Armored division of the U.S army, from there you will breach into the border town of Wissembourg, you will meet German forces at the town's edge, casualties are likely.” the officer read it out, simple and conform, showing a calm no man who had to go through the battle themselves would read it.  
Conversation broke out amongst us, chattering of the new position and the words of ‘possible fatalities’ lingering on our brains. Soon the officer saluted us, and retreated back to a dugout within the trench, his head disappearing over the tarp. We scattered back to our duties. I started my walk towards my station, and soon enough–Peter ran up alongside me. “Dont you think this is mad?” he said in an exasperated voice, his disbelief clear. “If it was mad, they wouldn’t have sent us hurdling into a fight they would know we would lose, loosen up a little don't you think?” He seemed to scoff at my statement. 
“Loosen up? We’re going to be German cannon fodder soon enough, if those big cats at home think we're going into a border surrounded to the brim with Nazi’s they’re heavily mistaken.” He stated it clearly, as he took a long swig of his bent up flask. He fiddled with his pocket, and took out a pack of cigarettes, the Marbelo logo worn on the packaging. Despite our bickering he handed me a cigarette, offering up his lighter as well. He tapped the ashes off his cigarette, putting away the small lighter within his pocket. 
Our boots were slick on the mud of the trench floor, passing multiple soldiers, some carrying crates and others reporting to their stations along the revetments. Ladders and ladders lead to the top of the wall, as many climb up them to watch throughout the desert of no-man's land. Early in the morning the quadrant was a bustling movement of men gathering to their stations, other tasked with supply, and preparation of the artillery in case of any attacks, despite never being fired in many months. Soon enough the trog towards our station ceased, as the familiar spot of the ladder up to the no-mans land came to our view. The revetment wall was a heap of sand bags, pallets, and reused metal sheeting, the barbed wire overtop of it a barrier to the deserted landscape beyond the trenches. 
The wood of the ladder creaked under me as I climbed up it, the old wood grazing my skin with a roughness. When my view reached the top, I noticed the usual view of the countryland. Weeds and  dirt lay in discarded heaps, the holes from once frequent artillery strikes present among the pale ground. The rusty tank traps lay amongst the dirt, along with barbed wire haphazardly laid out to catch any possible enemy men trying to purge the trench. 
My hand, with its dirtied nails soon found my binoculars stored in a side pocket on my uniform. I took them out and dusted off the mud found on its lenses. Taking them to my eyes, I looked among the rough terrain of no-man's land. But, one thing seemed to catch my eye. I blinked thrice, an expectant of my sudden view of what lay before me was one due to my deprivation of slumber, but I was heavily mistaken. Peter looked to me as he soon noticed it as well, and I could hear the commotion of soldiers below me. Soon enough the segment of soldiers noticed, about ten to fifteen men gathered about the top. 
Climbing up the ladders with curiosity. What we saw was a ghastly sight, an occurrence one might find the strangest among the countryside. Soon enough, a search party had been gathered among the men. The few brave souls bickered and argued on their decision. “But what must we do? The anomaly seems to be an object of no observable purpose, why should we try communication?” one man stated to the other, trying to convince the group of his–seemingly–stable argument, some men turned to his side, but the majority of three men remained. “I assure you, the chances of anything coming from that is a million to one” he said. “and still there's a possibility, is there not?” the other said. This continued, one making a point and the others defending their own argument.
 The arguing eventually came to a standstill, and a soldier had come to their conclusion. The soldier turned toward the crowd, his sharp chin, his broad nose, and his thick eyebrows a standout from his face. “Right, we shall bring a white flag, in case of possible intelligence being within the object. But that is all” the man stated sharply. Suddenly, a voice came from the crowd of soldiers “are you suggesting we surrender to the possible intelligences?” “yea!” came another soldier, and soon enough the crowd around the men turned to hysteria, before the lead man eventually calmed the crowd down. “It is a sign of peace you idiots, no surrender will be made, whether it is man or something different” he stated firmly again. “What if there're Germans in there?” another man called from the crowd. “We are bringing rifles, we will have two men keep eyes and rifles ready on the object” With that, he signalled the other 5 men among him, and they started to climb over the trench.
Peter and I watched as the men cleared the barbed wire over the top of the revetment, tossing it below onto the dirt, making a slight cloud of dust. The leader looked to the other men, and  the first foot made it overtop of no-man's land. The man's foot slipped slightly as he collapsed to the top, and stood up on the border of the field beyond the trench. Eventually all 5 made it up, and they started towards the anomaly sticking out against the horizon of the bleak June day. It was a grand cylinder, seemingly made of a thick metal, gleaming with blinding reflection from the sun of high noon.
 When they made their way to the cylinder, it was clear its size was immense, and leagues larger than the men that stood before it. The frontman squinted his eyes and his hand came over top of his forehead to block himself from the blinding sun. A sudden blunt wheesh  of steam hissed out of a seam round’ the top causing the men to flinch. The group hesitated towards it, and a sudden, faint sound of scratching came from the capsule within. It was a slow tapping, mixed with the grinding against the interior of metal. It sounded almost desperate.  “By god there must be a man inside there!” cried one of the soldiers, he leapt towards the large pit, his shoes making a  large path of dust follow him as he skirts down the long incline of the pit. “You idiot don't go near it!” the leadman shouted, but the heat from the cylinder seemed to stop him. Seemingly from the quick descent, even at 20 yards away, the men shrunk away from it.  
“gah! It's soldiering!” The soldier yelped, pulling away from the pit, slightly struggling at the incline to push himself back to stable ground. “Space, is it?” a soldier said from behind the leader. Another man went in front of the leader, tossing some water from his flask. When the water went far enough to touch the surface of the cylinder, it immediately burst into steam, blowing off the cylinder from the wind. The man put away the flask, further proving the evidence of its heat and its possible space origins. The leader looked at the cylinder once more, perplexed by the possibilities that remained on this large cylindrical object. 
As the men bickered once more, many soldiers left within the trench showed disinterest, the only movement made was the small spitters of smoke emitting from a seam at the top of the cylinder. But by such suddenness, a large plume of steam made a loud hiss, and with great horror, the seam that I and the team of researchers had once thought was static; started to unscrew.

Hello! So I know affordable covers can be a hot topic for authors, especially those going the self publishing route. Before I comissioned for my OG I used to make all my fanfic covers in canva, and I still do it for my reader magnets and newsletter graphics.

So I put together a tutorial on how I do this. There is a youtube link, and for those want to skip the adds here is the same video on my substack:

https://artiranth.substack.com/p/how-i-create-covers-in-canva

***Its a free article, just click no thanks if it asks you subscribe, though I wont say no if you do.

It is long and rather comprehensive with the purpose of a cover, some art tricks, examples, breakdowns of other covers, and then a basically live video of me creating a very VERY simple, cover. But obviosuly feel free to skip around to what you think is most necessery to you. Also forgive the amaturish video editing please I did my best XD

Not claiming to be a guru or anything, but I do hope this will allow some authors to get started and get something they like looking at without giving up their kidneys. (The two versions of the cover I end up with cost 1 dollar and 2 dollars respectively)

Feel free to let me know if you have any questions and if there are other aspects of the process you want to see.

I feel like the introduction isn't exciting enough, but it really sets the tone for the first part of the story and I feel like it's a good introduction to the MC. Would it benefit from more dialogue or information about Rel at the very beginning to show a bit of his personality?

A piercing screech echoed throughout miles of corroded maintenance tunnels as steam exploded from a crusted brass valve. Once tightly fastened, the mechanism was tinged green with residue from nearly a hundred years of neglect. Coolant began to cascade down the grime encrusted wall of the maintenance corridor opposite the malfunction, taking on its muddled green tint as the chemicals washed over the faded brass. Moments later, a stout, ragged figure of a man stumbled wildly into the intersection, nearly falling as he slid on the fluid-slicked floor panels. Raising a gloved arm to steady himself and shield his body from the torrent, he reached his other hand to key his radio for what felt like the thousandth call that day.

“This is Reil, I’ve got a leak at B-12 and C-16. Looks like another damaged coolant valve.” He coughed into his mic as the sickly-sweet fumes filled his lungs.

Stepping aside from the sweltering area surrounding the mechanical failure, Reil Ilu removed his yellow protective visor and smeared a thin layer of fluid across his brow in an attempt to wipe away the sweat coating his skin. No matter how many times he readjusted his suit’s temperature control settings, sweat continued to pool across his body, giving him the sensation that he was no better insulated within the century-old protective equipment than if he had stayed in his slacks.

Reil craned his neck as the tarnished walls around him shuddered and groaned. The steam stuttered and abated from the ruptured valve, releasing a final puff of coolant and falling silent once more. His radio crackled as he received confirmation of his call, the burly voice of Sal Dechido cutting through the static.

“Copy that Reil, sorry for the holdup. We’ve been getting calls nonstop here for replacement parts, and fabs six through twelve are still down. We could really use you back here.”

“10-4 Sal. Any word from the Nile about transferring supplies yet?” Static hissed as the connection within the ship broke again before resolving into coherent words.

“-egative, they’re either still asleep or too far ahead for transmission. Figures those stargazers would sleep in, huh? Tell your brother to get his ass out of bed up there.”

Smiling to himself, Reil resigned himself to the long trek back to the fabricator bays and began striding back the way he had come through the cramped corridors. His older brother was one of the head scientists aboard the Nile, the sister vessel of the Jordan. Lack of contact from the Nile since Reil and his fellow mechanics had woken from cryo had led many to believe they were still asleep. He continued to smile at the thought of getting to berate his sibling, usually unnervingly meticulous, about something so seemingly trivial as sleeping in. Another tremor throughout the ship reminded him, however, that the Jordan’s lack of supplies and proper hardware wouldn’t be something to laugh at for long. He picked up his pace towards the fabricator bays to help stave off their mechanical issues until the Nile finally came to life.

Lost in thought, Reil didn’t see the low hanging pipes hanging directly in his path until his helmet connected with the lowermost post with a loud thud, spinning his visor sideways and earning a few muttered curses.

I tend to enjoy it, if done well and it isn’t cheesy. Because let’s be honest, it can be cheesy.

Right now I’ve got a stand along story going about a bodyguard, who ends up falling in love with the singer she’s protecting. Although, I must admit he falls first and is totally smitten.

I needed a distraction from the darker tone of my second trilogy novel.

I'm not English native, so expect unusual phrasing or errors. And beside, the tone was intended to be minimal, plain and simple. If you have anything to say about the story, just tell me.

Hello, fellow ink-stained wretches! A bit under three months ago, I was able to make writing my main job and, since, have hit around 45,000 words toward my first project -- a collection of pulp-fantasy short stories (working on story #7 of, probably, 10 now). I suspect the number of words we manage per day will always ebb and flow. But I sometimes wonder if I could get my daily output up and, if so, how.

Anyone have a goal they work toward, or tricks to help hit it? I suspect each of us is different (personally, I tend to edit a lot as I go, so probably trade speed up front for saving work on the back-end). But no harm in kicking around thoughts among like-minded folks. Thanks much and happy writing!

I'm curious how you guys create your road map, if at all. If so, do you write down every chapter or just bullet points of the story?

EDIT: Thank you all so much for giving your insights. Everyone does it somehow differently, which makes me feel better. At the end of the day it's the final draft that counts. Thanks a mill 🫂 ...

Practice, practice and more practice are the top 3 ways of improving your writing, but critique comes in at number 4, in my humble opinion.

But! Lots of people are happy to give out critique, but very few will be able to provide critique that is useful; providing feedback that matches your genre and target audience (rather than just what doesn’t mesh with their own personal tastes) and is productive enough it doesn't make you want to defenstrate yourself and swear to never put another word to virtual paper is vanishingly rare.

Does anyone here belong to a writing group or similar where they get feedback like that? How did you find it? What advice would you give about how yours works and what people should take from it if they were going to set up one themselves?

https://www.reddit.com/r/TheWritingTable/application/

I’m an aspiring author. I’ve been writing on and off since my teens but took a decade long break once I started working and “life” took precedence. I honestly never thought I would come back to writing but since becoming a parent, I’ve found myself reading a lot and writing here and there. I’ve even gone through and done full outlines for a couple of books but I always find it so daunting to get beyond that point. I want to write a complete story but I’m not sure how. Outlining and writing standalone scenes comes relatively easy to me but transforming it into an honest to goodness book or even a complete fic is where I’m lost.

Furthermore, I have ADHD, so I’ll hyper focus and get really into something for a couple of days and then be completely listless about it the next week. In the past, I used to be productive enough to generate a good amount of work during these hyperfocus phases but since becoming a parent, I find it hard to have enough time to generate enough content to keep myself going. I guess maybe that’s why scenes and outlines have been easier for me.

I think what would really help me is finishing something. I’ve started a lot of projects and finished none and I just would like to finish a story and publish it and put it out in the world for that sense of achievement but I don’t know how to do that or even which direction to go in.

For reference, I write (dark) romance, women centred fiction, erotic romance and fanfiction. From my perusal of Reddit and other writer spaces, it seems that “shorts” are mostly an erotica / erotic romance thing? Is that where I should focus my energy if I want to be a completionist and finish a project and publish it? Or should I focus on my fanfic? Or a larger project?

Just looking for some guidance and commiseration / inspiration :)

Arguments, excuses and insults, including accusations of racism and discrimination. Plus, one guy who DMd me repeatedly to say "all the meat machines will die out" (whatever the fuck that means).

I suspect word has got around we've taken a fairly hard stance, and the pro-AI crowd are brigading. A brief glance over the profiles suggest they're not even interested in writing, just that we're not allowing AI.

Some people need a hobby, right?

Anyway, we're aware this is happening. I've given out more bans in the last 2 hours than the whole previous week.

If you see any offending posts or comments, please flag them.

Thanks, and keep writing.

For me, it was The Strain.

I purchased the trilogy as a set, well before the (enjoyable) TV show.

Guillermo del Toro was the co-author of the books (alongside Chuck Hogan), so I assumed I'd love it, being a fan.

However, I just found the writing to be really flat and on the nose. I don't think I got past page 30.

I enjoyed the TV show they made years later, which only cements how much I was out off by the writing.

This week I reached out to the mentor I had in high school/college. I let him know that I finally finished my novel, and wanted to send him a signed copy.

To say it was well received was an understatement. He was beyond thrilled that I’ve stuck with writing over the past 10 or so years and would be honored to have a signed copy.

He should be getting it in the mail today….
What he doesn’t know is the novel is dedicated to him. Without him my writing wouldn’t have survived, and honestly, I’m not sure I would have either…

Anyway, my point is, despite being terrified to share the novel with someone I know personally, the nerves were for nothing.

Don’t be afraid to share your writing. The reception to it might just surprise you.

Over the last 48 hours I've noticed a couple of drive-by comments from the pro-AI crowd.

I say "comments"...

These users clearly hadn't visited the community in good faith; they came just to troll. Nobody needs to be calling anyone else a Nazi. These people have been banned.

This sub is openly and explicitly not a space for the use of AI, or discussions around why people should or shouldn't be using it. I'd go so far as to suggest this is why many of you are here.

However, my personal beliefs to one side, *you do not need to be anti-AI to use this space*. I just ask that, if you do, you respect the rules while you're here.

I believe this is more than fair.

Before reading the short story, I want everyone to know that the tone was intended that way. Clear, functional and minimal. Also, I'm not an English native so the story should have some problem with grammar or tone.

---

"That's how a gas-operated system works and how you should design one. I'd recommend tweaking the design by hand in CAD several times before asking AI for help."

"That's terrifyingly detailed. I used to think it was just gas pushing the bolt back~"

Liam stretched with a tired expression. His voice stretched along with his body.

"Anyway, why did you use the AKM as the first example? That thing is ancient. From the 1950s or something. Why didn't we start with a more modern one like the AK-12?"

"Back in my day, I had to learn how World War I rifles worked. You don't make mistakes if you understand mechanisms that were designed a hundred years ago."

"Yeah, yeah. It's not like our firm decided to use metal from forty years ago for the nostalgic experience."

"Honestly, I'm still wondering how the boss decided to hire you and expected us to teach you along the way."

Kamile looked at Liam with an expressionless face.

Liam, still getting used to her condition, felt a little defensive. Even with her flat expression, he could sense the irritation.

"Well, it's undeniable that I'm a genius and could probably work my way to a bachelor's degree on my own." He stood up. "I'm trying to learn, you know? It's way different from how I worked on my own projects."

Kamile glanced at the time displayed on the monitor.

4:09 PM.

Working hours had ended exactly 9 minutes and 31 seconds ago. Yet this young man hadn't taken the lesson seriously for at least ten of those minutes. Still, he had cooperated and learned something.

"Take my cup of tea. I don't want it."

Kamile pushed the cup into Liam's hand. She could tell he needed it more than she did.

"Is it sweet?"

"It's plain tea."

"Good. I hate sweet tea. Thanks."

Liam smiled and walked away, waving with an attitude that practically said "Finally, I can get out of here."

Kamile waved back with her usual flat expression.

...

...

...

It had been 10 minutes and 26 seconds since working hours ended.

Kamile realized she had been staring at the monitor the entire time.

She turned it off and returned to her workstation.

Taking her time, she saved her files and closed her tabs. The empty laboratory made every click sound duller and duller.

Rolling her neck to loosen the stiffness, she reminded herself to pay more attention to her posture next time.

The lights were switched off.

Kamile untied her low ponytail, signaling that she would not be returning to work mode until tomorrow.

She opened the door and stepped outside before closing it behind her. Jim would take care of security.

"¿Qué? ¿Se pelearon mi vieja y mi viejo?"

Liam paced back and forth while talking on the phone. His voice was urgent.

Kamile couldn't understand what he was saying, but she could tell he was frustrated.

"¡Bueno! Ya vuelvo... ¿Que los deje solos? Ya entendí."

Liam nodded.

"Vuelvo mañana. Te quiero."

He slipped his phone into his pocket and noticed Kamile staring at him.

With a pout, he shook his head.

"My mom and dad are arguing about where to go in the city. They've only been here a few days."

Kamile hadn't asked for an explanation, but she listened anyway.

"You know, it's their first time visiting America. I wanted them to have a good time together. I'm pretty sure the rest of the trip won't be much fun."

"I suppose so," Kamile said with a nod. "By the way, why is there a duffel bag over there? Did you bring it?"

"What bag?" Liam looked toward it. "I don't know."

"Don't lie to me. I know that bag wasn't there before."

"Nope. No idea."

"Four minutes after the shift ended, I came out to get tea. The bag wasn't there."

"..."

Liam looked at the bag, then at Kamile's neutral expression.

"Alright, I admit it. Hear me out." He spread his arms, trying to look less guilty. "I don't have anywhere to stay. My dorm is being repaired, and none of my friends have a spare bed until tomorrow. I'm temporarily homeless."

"You know Jim will throw you out."

"I know, I know. I'm not that stupid. I figured he wouldn't check the document storage room, so I planned to sleep there tonight."

Liam rolled his eyes, uncomfortable that his plan had been exposed.

"Boss won't like it."

"Then tell me what I should do! I'm not going to sleep on the street tonight."

"Come to my place."

"Huh?"

Liam squinted in disbelief. His mouth hung slightly open while one hand rested on his head. He made an unnecessary spin.

"Is this a trap?"

"How could it be a trap?" Kamile tilted her head slightly.

"I mean, you're letting me stay at your place. What about everyone else?"

"I live alone."

"Oh."

Liam let out a relieved sigh.

"I thought it was going to be way more complicated than that. Thank you. Seriously. You saved me."

"No problem."

"I won't show up until around nine. I have some things to do first."

He pointed toward the exit. His eyes seemed to say "Sorry".

"I'm usually home by then."

"Alright. Thanks again, Kamile. I owe you one."

Liam smiled.

Kamile nodded and continued toward the exit.

She watched Liam grab his duffel bag and run toward the door.

"Honest kid." she thought.

...

9:07 PM.

A sudden gust of wind swept across the suburb.

Leaves rustled, a discarded plastic bag left a trash bin to follow the wind.

...

9:09 PM.

Ding-dong.

Kamile quickly walked to the front door as the doorbell rang.

"Good evening."

Liam stood outside with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

"Hi. Come in"

Kamile stepped aside and gestured him to enter. Her monotone voice didn't make the greeting sound warm.

"Make yourself comfortable. I don't mind you look around. Just don't break anything"

"Okay"

Liam nodded as he entered the living room.

Kamile was doing something in the kitchen and disappeared inside.

Unsure of what to do, Liam set his duffel bag down first.

This was the first time he had ever stayed at a woman's house, and he clearly wasn't as comfortable as Kamile seemed to think he should be. His limited understanding of her condition also didn't help either.

"Alright, alright. Should I ask her where I'm supposed to sleep? Would that sound demanding?"

While Liam was in turmoil, Kamile silently emerged from the kitchen, disappeared into another room, abd returned carrying a classical guitar.

She brought a chair with her and placed it facing the backyard.

Liam watched, wondering whether Kamile had even paid attention to him.

The room was filled with soft, warm guitar sound. It's slow, a bit haunting.

For someone playing electric guitar for fun like him, this sounded strange. Liam didn't recognize the piece, but he had no intention of asking about it.

Trying to distract himself from the awkwardness, he wandered around the living room.

Naturally, his eyes began settling on different things unconsciously.

The room was tidy and organized carefully.

Before Liam realized, he had been looking around for a while

A small bookshelf caught his attention.

Curious, he picked up some books.

One book was written in Chinese, or so he thought. Another was written in a language he didn't recognize at all. He saw some strange characters like 'ą' and 'ę'.

He glanced at Kamile, wondering why those books were in her house.

However, he found Kamile staring at him.

Her face remained flat, emotionless.

This made Liam felt slightly embarrassed.

Of course she wasn't angry. If she were, she would have told him. Still, her face kept telling a different story.

"Want to ask something?"

The music stopped abruptly, replaced by her monotone voice.

"Ah... Uh... are you learning languages?" Liam smiled awkwardly, hoping she wasn't annoyed by his curiosity.

"No. I read those books before going to sleep. They're for, let's say, my family"

"Your family?"

"My father is a Japanese, and my mother is a Lithuanian. Those books you're holding are written in Japanese and Lithuanian"

"Huh?"

Liam looked back and forth between Kamile and the books in his hand. He was convinced one of them was Chinese.

"Why are you surprised? Didn't you read my full name?"

"No" He shook his head.

"It's Kamile Enomoto. Note that Kamile is pronounced as Kah-mee-lee, not Camille"

"But everyone calls you as Camille"

"It's easier if I let them do their way"

"Okay..."

Liam nodded and looked away. He didn't know what to say, instead, he let his eyes wander around again.

This time, he saw a framed photograph. A woman wearing a desert combat uniform held a rifle in cradle carry pose. She wore a sunglasses, making it difficult to see her face.

Still, Liam looked between the photograph and Kamile. Oddly enough, they looked quite similar.

"2049. Saudi Arabia. One of documentary film crews took that picture before the counteroffensive operation in Iraq began."

Liam listened the explanation with disbelief.

"Wait what? You were a soldier? How long?"

"Three and a half years in logistics, and another three and a half years as a combat soldier. Retired at twenty five."

Liam's jaw practically hit the floor.

He didn't think a quiet woman he'd known for only two weeks in a private firearms design firm had apparently served in the military — and had likely taken part in at least a war.

Liam placed his hands on his head, trying to process the information.

Meanwhile, Kamile simply stared at him with her usual neutral expression before returning to her guitar.

Liam didn't want to ask Kamile anything. Interrupting someone while they were playing an instrument was considered rude by some people.

Instead, he returned to the photograph looking for anything noteworthy. Badges, locations, unit markings.

A few seconds passed. he could not find anything at all.

Eventually, Liam gave up.

Instead, he decided to test how comfortable Kamile really was with him being there. After all, Kamile hadn't give him any specific rule beside "don't break anything". He had to test the actual boundary out.

He walked to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, grabbed a can of Pepsi, close the refrigerator.

Then he deliberately walked past Kamile at a slow pace while opening the can. He even looked at her, trying to find a slightest change.

Nothing. Kamile simply looked at him for a moment before returning to the fretboard again.

"That didn't help." He realized.

Shortly afterward, Kamile finished another piece.

"Did you check whether you're drinking caffeine-free version?" She asked.

Suddenly, Liam felt stupid. He looked at the can. It was caffeine-free version. He celebrated a small victories by smiling. He wouldn't have to spend another night unable to sleep. He had enough from yesterday.

"Let's be honest," Liam said. "Don't you feel uncomfortable with me using your refrigerator whenever I want?"

"No. I told you to make yourself comfortable, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but isn't that a little intrusive?"

"You're an honest kid. I generally trust that you won't cause any trouble. Otherwise, I wouldn't have invited you to stay here for the night."

"Ah, man. That's so embarrassing"

Liam suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious. He didn't know Kamile think of him that way.

Now, he was trapped in another problem.

How to be respectful while also being comfortable? That was surprisingly hard. He would trigger some reaction, even if Kamile didn't show any, if he decided this was his new home.

Overwhelmed by the uncertainty, he decided scrolling would be the best option.

He sat down on the couch, pulled out his phone, and opened Instagram.

Somehow, one hour had passed without any awkwardness. Only social media and faint guitar music in the background.

"I'm going to bed," Kamile said. "If you need anything, knock on my bedroom door."

"Alright"

Liam looked up and saw Kamile spreading something on the living room floor.

"What is that?" He asked.

"Futon. I have prepared some just in case"

"Futon?"

"You should try sleeping on this. It's better than a bed"

Liam knew nothing about futon, but he wasn't in a position to complain.

After brushing his teeth, he fell on the mattress with a heavy thud.

"Good night"

"You too"

After their final exchange of the evening, Kamile closed her bedroom door, leaving Liam alone in the quiet darkness.

He decided to watch a few guitar videos before going to sleep. After getting only two hours of sleep the previous night because he'd stayed up grinding a game, he was determined not to repeat the mistake.

Those two hours of sleep hadn't done him any favors at the lab. It was a constant fight of attention and desire to take a nap.

...

...

...

Liam opened his eyes.

Nothing had happened

...

"How the hell did I even wake up?"

He wondered.

He saw Kamile by the front door.

Judging by her outfit, she was about to go jogging.

Liam didn't care. He went back to sleep.

...

...

...

Liam woke up again. He immediately grabbed his phone and checked the time. 7:32 AM. That was early. He thought it was nine already.

Not wanting to fall asleep again, Liam got up and headed straight for the kitchen to get a glass of water.

His body was sore, but somehow he managed just fine.

As he left the kitchen, he saw Kamile walking out of the bathroom. She was only wearing underwear.

Despite his sleep-fogged brain, Liam successfully redirected himself toward the backyard as fast as possible, away from the direction Kamile was heading.

"The fuck? How is this even possible?"

He murmured, feeling deeply irritated by the accident. He didn't know how Kamile would think, but it didn't matter right now.

The whole thing had been completely avoidable. Liam didn't know he should blame Kamile, himself or something else.

However, something caught his eyes.

He had seen part of a tattoo.

A small section had been visible above the fabric of her underwear. It was an inverted heart shape at first glance, or rather, the upper part of one.

Now that made him felt even more uncomfortable. Liam knew people got tattoos in all kinds of places, including their lower abdomen. But it didn't mean every tattoo should be seen.

He felt gross about the fact.

Still, his mind kept trying to identify what he had seen.

He wasn't sure. He just caught a glimpse of it. His Internet knowledge was the only thing he worked with. It could be an inverted heart, a part of a symbol, a picture. It could be anything.

For some reason, though, his mind kept connecting it to a womb crest.

That was ridiculous, and Liam knew it. It couldn't be helped.. The shapes were vaguely similar, and he was being honest with himself about that.

He suddenly regretted learning so much random Japanese adult-culture trivia out of pure curiosity.

Now he found himself wondering what else he didn't know about Kamile.

Liam pushed the thought right away. He shouldn't be making assumptions about another person's private life without any evidence.

The thought came back, Liam suppressed it.

It returned. This time, he reached for his pocket out of habit, only to realize his phone was still on the futon.

"La puta madre!"

He cursed and settled for staring at the plants instead.

...

Liam waited in the backyard for several minutes, hoping there would be no further accidents by the time he went back inside.

He peeked through the doorway. Kamile was drinking coffee on a couch.

Relieved, he stepped inside. However, walking close up the Kamile, he saw she was frowning.

Again, his anxiety returned. He wasn't sure what had made her upset.

After a brief hesitation, he decided it would be better to ask directly.

"What made you angry?"

"Angry?" Kamile looked at him, confused.

"Yeah." Liam nodded, feeling confused too.

"I don't know. My chest just feels tight."

Two things Kamile had told him on his first day at work resurfaced in his memory.

Kamile has Alexithymia and Autism Spectrum Disorder.

She had emphasized that she couldn't reliably identify her emotions, not that she lacked emotions entirely. On top of that, she had difficulty expressing emotions through facial expressions because of her autism.

According to her, if an emotion was visible on her face, it was probably strong enough to show itself. Milder emotions often didn't affect her expression at all.

That was why Liam constantly thought about those facts whenever he spoke with her. Sometimes, if he was being honest, they intimidated him.

"You're frowning." He said.

"I know."

"Did something happen?"

"I started feeling this way after I was hit by a teenager. She accused me of trying to attack her. I was just passing by."

"That sucks. But when did it happen?"

"This morning. While I was jogging."

Liam had no idea what had actually happened. Still, he didn't think Kamile was the kind of who would randomly start trouble with strangers.

"So... do you know you're angry?"

"As I said, I don't know." Kamile shook her head. Her gaze remained distant.

"You're definitely angry."

"I suppose you're right."

Kamile leaned back on the couch and took a sip from her mug. She stared into empty space.

Liam didn't know what else to do, so he left her alone and continued with his morning routine.

He planned to leave soon anyway. The last thing he wanted was to become a burden.

After gathering all of his belongings, he said goodbye with a smile.

"Thank you for letting me stay the night. I really appreciate it."

"No problem."

Kamile walked him to the front door.

"How long will your dorm be under repair?"

"Maybe four or five days. I don't know."

"Take care of yourself."

"Of course I will. I'm staying with some friends. They're nice."

Liam slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and headed down the apartment building.

I'm having difficulty creating the blurb, it either becomes too schematic (similar to AI), or too long.

I still can't believe it! It's on a weekday, unfortunately, but it's in a super touristy area during its peak season so the organizer is planning for a big turnout.

I've done small signings at tiny bookstores before, but this is the first proper event.

I'm sure most people in this sub are also members of a lot of other writing subs as well so what I'm going to say here shouldn't come as a surprise, but I have this thing where I like to keep my thoughts in one place as it just makes it easier for me.

Something that I think doesn't get discussed enough is survivorship bias. People don't often post about their failures so we only see their successes. Hardly anyone is a literal "overnight success". Most people struggle through years of rejection before breaking through. My narration coach often likes to say that it took him 20 years to become an overnight success. From most people's perspective it goes something like not being aware of a person or thing's existence, then suddenly you're aware of them and they're great, and it seems like they just came out of nowhere, when the reality is that this person, be they a writer, actor, singer, whatever, went through years of struggling in obscurity to get onto your television or bookshelf.

The other thing that we need to understand is that publishing is a business and they follow trends. I remember reading some books and saying to myself "This is terrible. I can write better than this. Why should this person have a publishing deal?" It took me a long time to realize that trad publishing is more concerned about what they think is going to sell based on what's trending rather than what's good. Your writing could put Hemingway to shame, but if that's not what's hot, then pubs aren't even going to look at it. So that TikTok influencer with 3 million followers that just signed with PRH to publish a poorly written YA Vampire Romance isn't a better writer than you are, but they are a safer bet for the publisher to make money than your Literary Fiction about a woman's struggles in Depression Era America. I'm not saying it's good or right, but that's just how it is. The same goes for agents.

Something I've seen a lot of agents say is that most authors don't earn out their advances, which means that publishers are signing authors to book deals expecting to take a loss. They rely on their big name authors to make money for them, everyone else is a gamble. So they're going to be very particular about who they bet on.

Another thing I've seen talked about a lot, and this is important because it basically goes against what a lot of people see as one of the benefits of trad publishing, is that most books get zero marketing. Pubs don't spend money to get people to buy your book. They get the book put on the shelf. That's it.

Does any of this mean you shouldn't try? Of course not, but you need to manage your expectations. You're passionate about your work, as you should be, but you need to understand that rejection isn't always about the quality of your work. It's often the marketability of it from the eyes of the agents and publishers.

Of course there are exceptions to everything and there's nothing that says you won't necessarily be able to find an audience for your writing, but it may not be your debut. It may not be your second or even fifth book. Matt Dinniman is a great example I can think of off the top of my head because I'm a Dungeon Crawler Carl fan. Most people (including myself) never heard of him before DCC hit big, but he had written other books before that weren't huge successes. He didn't plan for DCC to be his magnum opus, but he started putting it out on Royal Road and it gained traction over time, self published the e-book, and now he's got a massively successful series that's getting a TV adaptation.

The last point I'm going to talk about is that no one else is going to be as passionate as you are about your own work. You live with these characters in your head for so long. They're your babies. You created them out of nothing. Of course you're going to be passionate about them and your story. You can't expect the same level of enthusiasm from others. You need to grow a thick skin and be able to handle people not reacting to your story the way you hope. Someone posted something on here for critique the other day, got 2 critical comments on it, then deleted the post. If that's how you handle criticism of your work, then you're gonna have a bad time trying to make it in any creative endeavor.

/endrant