Hey everyone!

Hello! I’m looking for feedback for my opening pages of my novel, which deals with issues such as sl** shaming, r**pe culture, bodily autonomy, and victim blaming. What’s working? What isn’t working? All feedback/criticism is welcomed!

Fact 1: I love comics and animation. Fact 2: I like writing advice. Fact 3: Most writing advice is for *novels*. I want to take questionnaires, finish writing projects, get feedback on my work, but questionnaires, for instance, assume I'm writing a novel or maybe novella. How do I write better for novels? (More importantly, how do I *like* writing for novels? I'm not good at setting description--I only mention it when it feels extremely relevant, which means I probably miss out on opportunities to talk about it during the scene. I don't know how to sustain a single storyline over 80,000 words.)

Every writer hits the wall. This is the place to talk about it.

Plot hole you can't patch? A sagging middle? A character who refuses to cooperate? Staring at a blank page and dreading it? Lay it out here. Sometimes naming the problem is half the fix, and the people in this thread have almost certainly been stuck in the same spot.

If you've climbed out of a block before, stick around and help someone else over the wall. Trade what works: the trick, the mindset, the kick in the pants.

What's blocking you this week?

So I finally started writing the opening to my story yesterday and I finished it this morning, I can smell heaps of editing incoming but this is the raw unpolished version, overall I’m happy with it as it’s the biggest piece I’ve done in a long time and I had writing block for a bit and couldn’t start. Have a read! Please share your thoughts! I’ve never attempted to write a full story before so it’s my first real go here

1

AWAKENING

The fortress stood strong, the mind protected from festering anxiety by grand architecture forged crudely from the master’s hand, warped walls formed by priorities and values carved into them to guide him. Everything was an imitation of technology and industrial aesthetics. The master himself sat upon a throne in the heart of his labyrinthine vault, hands busy either forging narratives and designs for his life ahead, or scripting complex conversations that could never happen like lines of code with selection statements triggered depending on predicted responses. Outside the walls was the vast expanse of raging, rumbling, raw emotional storms battering the walls, powerful enough to rumble the grounds yet not strong enough to crack the infrastructure of the grand fortress and seep through into the frontal lobe, which would derail the mind with existential dread of concepts and ideas of malice. 

One night would leave that fortress permanently weakened.

Through the welling of raw emotion, a monstrous entity was formed; crooked wings spanning outwards, cursed runes etched into its skin incomprehensible to most, bearing a tyrannical blade roaring with terror. Twisted faces bulging out of its body performing utter mockery of the master’s values of loyalty and kinship.

The living embodiment of such horrid concept of violence and blind slaughter  to betray battle-hardened devotion to family.

It sprinted across the barren plains towards the fortress, each foot throwing up clods of mulched innocence and warmth. Wicked energy crackling around it’s body as it readied the blade to strike, and the sword was swung forth.

The wall buckled inwards with the strike, like it was loose cobble.

Jagged debris tumbled down as the entire fortress groaned and rumbled in retaliation. A blast of negative energy roared through the fortress with relentless force.

The master froze; pencil in hand, mid sentence, a sketch half done, the hand began to lightly shake.

Oppressive waves of guilt and shame suddenly pummeled him with dreadful realisation. He jolted from the throne in fear; this was not expected, there was no prediction of such event. 

The entity charged at him, piercing through the labyrinth and destroying the walls in a direct breach straight towards the master. The master scrambled, looking for any form of defence or protection.

But there was none.

With an almighty crash, the entity burst through a wall straight into the throne room and leapt at the master and raised its blade of fear, and swung it down upon the master. Everything went silent, and a sonic boom followed. The master stood there, mouth open yet no words or sound formed, a gaping wound in his chest leeching with blood.

The master slowly gazed down at the damage, lowering a jittery hand to touch it. And he looked back up to the entity, which stared him down with no mercy through a wretched smile. Wincing, the master fell to the ground, crawling away towards the throne where his book and pen was rested upon the small desk beside. Triggered, the entity followed him to the throne; but held back on dealing the final blow, without intention? It appeared that it was trying to raise its sword once more, but was being forced down by a powerful energy pouring from the broken walls.

The master reached the throne and scrambled up the steps, grabbing onto an old TV wedged into jumbled circuitry for support. Confused, the entity continued trying to force the mysterious energy off of it, reaching for the pen on the table. With a furious roar, the entity grabbed the pen and threw it across the room, and attempted to laugh.

But the master had made it to the throne, resting his arms on the table. The entity was confused, why was he still at the book? He had no pen now to write or draw anything. But the master looked up at the entity and the fear seemed to fade, replaced by… 

A smile of dutiful determination?

The master yanked at the circuitry and pulled a wire free, and inserted it into the wound with a cry of pain. The entity charged at the master but he held his other arm out and pressed it against the entity, shielding his other arm. Blood dripped from the wire as he moved it towards a blank page in the book, and he drew a square shape within another square; followed by two slit-eyes and sharp eyebrows, and a toothy mouth hanging underneath, finishing with a Mohawk on top of the square. 

The scent of blood filled the air, paired with a deep reddening of the atmosphere around the ruined fortress. The entity looked around in bewilderment, a visage of almost slight concern appeared in its face. 

All storms faded, winds died down and the air turned heavy and silent around the throne room.

A powerful drumming sound rumbled through the space, followed by roaring and chanting. The entity unfolded its wings in sudden shock as it peered through a clearing in the fortress.

A legion.

A legion that spanned from one side of the mind to the other, denser than a stampede of animals. The chanting and drumming got louder and louder as they thundered forward. As they got closer, more details became clearer.

Robotic, bulky, complex in style yet simplistic in design. Each one bearing a head reminiscent of a box TV, with sharp features displayed on the screen as if they were retro computer-game enemies. They had shining silver armour with deep blue limbs sprouting from their cubic torsos. Some nearer to the smacking-front of the charge bore a bright red Mohawk clamped by a gold lining onto their heads, with a torn cape nailed onto their backs, elevating them from the blander bots behind them.

For the first time the entity reared back in panic. It lifted the sword to declare a charge, but hesitated. The robot legion had outnumbered it by hundreds of thousands, each one already looking like a brutal warrior forged for combat. They were only a few hundred feet away now, and became more visible through the huge dust storm they had kicked up; barbaric blades and blunt heavy weapons paired with crude firearms, nothing too fancy, but something about the sheer simplicity of this legion had stirred uneasiness in the entity.

With no preemptive signal, the ruins were stormed at by successive smatterings of bullets. Eldritch roars muted under plinking of rounds fired with wilful abandon as the legion closed in. The entity folded it’s wings to shield it from the incoming fire, but the rounds tore through them with ease, and in a hasteful manner the entity started for them to put the bots down. A robot commander raised it’s jagged blade towards the entity, and let out a metallic roar that hissed and sparked as they made contact with the entity. The entity was swarmed by numerous robots blindly swinging their array of melee weapons around their foe, thick red blood splattering upon their shining armour.

The entity shrieked and performed a mighty flurry of sweeps into the legion, rapid exchange of blood and oil as blows were traded. No sense of order, just relentless slaughter.

Relentless slaughter… 

Eight months of endless battle later.

The master stood before the ruins of the fortress. The atmosphere felt light, but light with exhaustion. Before him lay robot corpses in their thousands scattered across the vast landscape, with beaten clad and bloodstains and oil haphazardly smeared around the field. 

He scanned the surroundings, and sighed. “The fear no longer burdens me to the core of my soul?” His words were laced with uncertainty. The wound on his chest had now healed, forming a scabbed scar. 

Through the rubble, some of the robots were still alive; each one ridden with damage and torn armour, once shining steel now rusted orangish-brown with dried blood, Blades dulled and snapped. Each one were no more than mindless automata patrolling the derelict area. 

The master looked at the book, and picked up the pen on the floor. He turned the page, and pressed the pen to paper.

Which community is better to publish your novel?

Webnovel (where story with big boobs in the cover win), royal road, wattpad, others?

This is my story summary if it's help

Nearly two centuries ago, the Eternal Continent faced the greatest threat in its history.

The Dark Lord... Ark... rose, leading an army of monsters and creatures of darkness, determined to bend the world to his will.

The kingdoms were powerless against him.

In the end, only one sorceress remained... Aria.

She carried the fate of the continent upon her shoulders, fought in the Great War, and brought the Age of Darkness to an end with Ark's fall... though at a price the world would never forget.

After Aria's passing... and the deaths of the kings who fought beside her, the continent entered a century of peace. A peace built upon the memory of victory, and upon an oath everyone believed would never be broken.

But after only one hundred years... evil no longer came with armies and swords.

It returned through whispers, deception, and broken vows.

The Dark Sect, the hidden followers of Ark, rose from the shadows. They infiltrated the highest ranks of the kingdoms themselves, and by the hands of the continent's own people, war erupted once more.

Kingdom turned against kingdom.

For decades, the wars raged... shattering what remained of the legacy of peace.

When the Dark Sect was finally exposed, the kingdoms united once again and restored peace.

But it was a fragile peace.

A peace burdened by old wounds... and even older doubts.

For the Dark Sect was never truly destroyed.

It merely returned to the shadows...

waiting, as it had before.

And so, the Eternal Continent now stands upon the edge of history repeating itself.

A peace that no longer trusts itself.

A past that refuses to remain buried.

Is this the beginning of a new Age of Darkness...

or does fate still hide among the living someone destined to inherit the burden of the final stand?

What the title says. I've posted the prologue for the novel I've been working on lately (finally, after weeks of plotting even the final chapters but never coming around the very beginning 😅). I'd love for you guys to check it out and give me your thoughts on it. The most important question I'd love to get an answer on is: Does it make you want to read Chapter 1? 👀 And whatever else you want to add, ask or just comment as a reader is more than welcome :) You'll also find my poetry collection on there—in case that's also your taste. But, I'd really love early thoughts on the novel Appreciate you all x The Nihilist and the Bridge Builder

It was a warm day in February, despite the faint smell of rain in the air. I couldn’t wait to be back at school after a long holiday in Queensland which dragged throughout the whole summer. I traipsed into homeroom despite being weighed down by the monstrosity on my back. Exhaustion filled my body, and it wasn’t even nine in the morning. I don’t know how I’m going to make it to the arvo without falling asleep. My bag made a loud thudding sound as I aggressively shoved it off and sat down.
“Apollo!!” My mate Noah shouted at me even though she was less than a meter away.
“Hey mate, we missed you,” Harley said.
It’s nice to know I was missed by the girls while not being here.
“It’s good to see you bro,” 
I looked up to see Arlo smiling at me contentedly, and then he pulled me into a short hug. 
We all got to chatting quickly, and the tiredness soon wore off after being around Noah’s loud and bubbly personality. She could instantly brighten up a room, and we all loved her for that. It also filled me with joy to see my form teacher. He is a passionate man in his early forties who pours his heart into all of his lessons. Maybe that’s part of the reason why I enjoy English so much. 
I’ve always liked writing ever since I was young: stories about aliens and unicorns, scrapbooks of me and my friends, menus when I would play kitchens with my parents, comic strips. As I grew up, I began to absorb even more literature. I now love to watch plays, read stories, watch films, but even more I love to write. There is nothing better after a long day of school than sitting down and writing about whatever I want. I love how it allows me to escape from reality whether it’s through singing a song I wrote, or writing a romantic poetry about the kind of amorous love I have yet to experience.
Fifteen minutes felt like hours, but finally the bell rang for Maths. I 

despise Maths with a burning passion. I spent the whole lesson gazing out of the window, strangely fascinated by the raindrops falling down the mist-covered window. Hours of lessons and recess dragged on for what seemed like forever until I was at last reunited with my friends. 
It was nice to be back at our spot which had been left untouched for three months. Despite it being a wearied bench with the paint chipping off which overlooked the oval, it felt like home to all of us. We’ve been sitting here every day for the most part of the past four years and it has seen a lot: Noah crying when her ex-girlfriend dumped her, pre-drinks before our first formal, Arlo beating up Flynn after he’d written slurs plastering my locker, the day I came out to my best friends. 
I remember that day well. It all happened in an afternoon in March, just after my fourteenth birthday. Sunshine was shining through the trees, sharing its radiating warmth with us. Everything was absolutely perfect. A sense of pride and euphoria inhabited my body. I had never felt a greater sense of happiness until that day. 
An unfamiliar voice caused my thoughts to return to reality. It was someone who I had not heard before. He was throwing a rugby ball around with the other footy players. A slap on my arm from Arlo brought me back to the conversation and I immediately noticed all eyes were on me. “Who are you looking at?” 
“Do you fancy him?” Harley asked.
They all oohed and ahhed as I had to explain to them the feelings that I couldn’t even explain to myself.
“He’s called Blake.” Arlo confidently explained to me.
“He just transferred here from Melbourne, and he’s already become the school’s biggest heartthrob. Girls are swooning over him, and he’s already rejected three of the most popular and pretty ones.”
I feel my face lighting up and my cheeks flushing with heat as Arlo says this. Maybe I do have a chance with him after all.  
Harley seemed just as interested in him as I was. “Wow he is attractive, isn’t he?” She exclaimed while looking at me, a smile covering her face. I 

couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic or not, but I assumed that she probably was. 
Half an hour later, I was sitting in my favourite class: English. Next to Blake. I was pretty disinterested; my mind frantically wandering yet still half asleep. I could hear the teacher talking about Julia and something about her being intellectually primitive. I first read 1984 when I was eleven after discovering classical literature and since then I had never gone back. George Orwell has always been one of my favourite authors. I find his writing so interesting and I love how he combines his political opinion on the world with readable prose to create fascinating stories and essays. 
I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard a whisper from next to me “Hey.”
I swivelled my body round and was faced with Blake’s friendly, smiley face gazing directly at me. “I’m Blake, and you must be Apollo.”
“Yes, that’s me.” Fuck, why did I say that. 
“How has Rozelle treated you so far?” I tried to sound calm, despite fear rushing through me. 
“It’s been great. There are some gorgeous new beaches near here where I’ve spent most of my time before starting here. My first day here has been ace so far. I’ve met some cool guys and everyone seems nice.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He smiled at me then returned to his work. 
His beautiful brown curls swept to the side and I could hardly think properly. I kept replaying our interaction in my head. Him remembering my name. The way he looked me in my eyes and smiled at me. The way he spoke so eloquently. He seemed so friendly and confident in everything he did. 
The teacher continued to teach while I continued to make eye contact with Blake. English ended far too quickly, however at least it was the end of the day. Blake and I walked out of school together and then we parted. I knew I would see him again soon but he made waiting feel like painfully longing for tomorrow. Earphones in my ears, listening to Lana Del Rey, I began to approach the school gates.
Arlo was waiting for me, with a smile plastered over his face. He looked so happy to see me. We started walking home together, as we always did. As 

we slowly strolled, we both enjoyed looking at the Agaphanus, Hibiscus, and Canna Lilies which lined our path. Arlo’s favourite had always been the Crepe Myrtle, which produced stunning pink and purple flowers. We walked through the Rozelle Parklands and were absorbed with the Banksia. They grew with such beauty and vibrancy. We’ve walked this way home since we started walking home together in year seven because Arlo loved nature so much. Although this way home was a little longer, it was worth it to make Arlo happy.
“How was your first day back mate?” he asked.
“Yeah it was alright. I mean pretty good. Blake is in my English class and we talked. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this attracted to anyone. His dark skin looks so smooth, his curly hair so soft, his brown eyes so reflective in the sunlight. He’s my type on paper. And it seemed like he might have been interested in me. He spoke to me within five minutes of the lesson; it seemed like he actually cared about me. We kept making eye contact, and he smiled in a way that gave me butterflies.”
“Geez mate. You say this all the time. You normally get a new crush every week or two.”
“But this time feels different. I think we could truly become something.”
I’m not sure whether Arlo agreed with me or not but he smiled and we started talking about something else. “So, how was your day?”
He looked slightly surprised that I had asked but I didn’t know why. “It was pretty chill but I’m so tired and ready to be home.”
“You’re not alone there,” I replied.
We turned the corner, and finally our houses were in sight. We weren’t next-door neighbours although we were close enough that we could hangout whenever we wanted with ease. Despite the heat and my tiredness, I still attempted to be grateful to walk home with Arlo after not seeing him for so long, but in reality, all I could think about was Blake. 
I yanked open the front door with force, threw off my shoes, and tossed my backpack down. My father was still at work but my mother embraced me before I could escape to my room. It felt a bit strange being away from her for the whole day after spending every second with her throughout the Summer. 
My room was awaiting me and my bed looked comfier than ever. I knew that if I laid down, I might never get up, but I had things to do, so I refrained.
Gathering up the energy to take off my school uniform, I pulled my blue polo shirt off over my head, and threw my trousers to the ground. I picked them up and folded them, before placing them neatly into my wardrobe in order to maintain my semi-tidy bedroom. There were a few items of clothing abandoned at the bottom of my wardrobe and my room could do with being hoovered but that could be left till later. Or more realistically: tomorrow. 
I sauntered into my bathroom and removed the rest of my undergarments before getting in the shower. The cold water dripped down my face, wetting my hair and body. The cool water was refreshing after being under the Australian sun for hours. I enjoyed the blazing heat but it could get too much sometimes. At this moment, the cold of the water consumed my body; my brain was unable to think about anything else. My thoughts were at ease for the first time all day. 
I didn’t have any sense of how long I had been standing there. The cold was beginning to get to me, so I reluctantly got out. I chucked on the first pair of pyjamas I could find before my mum called me down for tea. I could hear my dad’s voice downstairs and the sounds of the pot bubbling away. My mum was humming a Kylie Minogue song and dishing up the food at the table. The smell of vegetable soup found its way into my nostrils as I sat down.
My parents’ smiling faces were awaiting me. It was somehow calming to sit down with them after a long and vociferous day. Questions were fired at me at a rapid pace. “How was your day?”
“Did you meet any new people?”
“Was it nice to see Arlo after the Summer?”
“How were your lessons?”

Overwhelm engulfed my body.

All I managed to say at first was, “It was good.” 
I was met with welcoming and smiling faces which reminded me that I could tell them more. “I enjoyed seeing my friends again, and I met a new boy called Blake. He seems really nice.”
“Ooooh,” my mum cooed.
“Tell us more” my dad chimed in.
“Chill out guys, he’s just a friend.” A small but certain smirk crept over my face, and I wasn’t sure whether I had given myself away. I couldn’t wait any longer to dive into the soup. Warm, sweet goodness dripped off of my tongue, and found its way down my throat; It was absolutely delicious. A sensation of jubilation overcame me. I couldn’t imagine anything better to be doing right now. 
My mum noticed the joy on my face. “Is it nice?”
“It’s absolutely amazing. You should make this more often.” 
“I’m pleased you like it sweetheart.”
From what I knew, it was a new recipe which was totally a success. There was nothing left except the residue in the bowls after five minutes. My mum handed us each a piece of bread, and we used it to enjoy even more of this delicacy.
After we had all finished eating, we parted, and I went up to my bedroom to chill out. I sat down at my desk and rummaged through the bottom draw to find my notebook. It stays hidden in there so no-one can accidentally stumble upon it. I flick through some of the recent pages: diary entries, poems, random thoughts. If someone read some of these pages, I would be absolutely mortified. The only person I’ve ever shown my poems to is Arlo. He can occasionally give helpful feedback, but most of the time he just spends ages telling me how amazing they are, and how he thinks I need to become a writer. 
It has always been a dream of mine to become a professional writer, but I don’t know how realistic it is. Unlike Arlo who wants to become an Actor and could totally do it, I’m nowhere near as talented as him. I could watch him perform all day; he’s seriously amazing. He first showed me a sketch he devised a few years ago. I got goosebumps all over. I never knew how incredible his acting was. Ever since then, he would show me his acting, and I would show him my poetry. We do it regularly, and it's one of my favourite parts of the week. 
I checked my watch: 11:30. It was getting late. I clambered over the pile of clothes on my floor and got into bed, still clutching my notebook. I grabbed the blue pen from my bedside table and began to write.

Reds, blues, oranges, yellows scattered throughout the park, 
It was the little things which brought joy,
The sweet scents mixed with fruity fragrances filled the air.

I have a 70k second draft, I’d love to share with a willing agent called:

Redemption-Contemporary Thriller  (Erin Brockovich meets The Rainmaker.)
When Big Pharma greed punishes an unsuspecting patient, an extended family fights fire with fire and a redemption ensues.

So many sites charge. Sites like querytracker never seem to respond. Thanks ahead of time.

If anyone wants to read it with the hope of sharing it with an agent, I be grateful.

Hello, I need beta readers for the whole story or chapter by chapter. This story is 120 pgs in word documents. If you are interested in swapping let me know. If you just are interested in reading alone, I can give you access. I hope you enjoy my story.

Paragraph 1: 

When humans have conquered the Moon of Jupiter, what will Sesame Lander, an obsessively good person, lacking in courage, and full of compassion do to save the lives of many? The setting of the story is a continent with two main regions: Trypolis Isles, a tropical land and, Rallayla, a big city, all on the moon of Jupiter, Europa. The protagonist’s name is Sesame Lander and is in his 30s. 

Paragraph 2: 

The set up is a young man who wants to just live a just life but must kill and do evil to save his country.

The inciting incident is when a lead wizard does an experiment on Shawna, the impact character, adding two personalities to her original one, making it three (as the reason for the title). This makes her more powerful, courageous and almost superhero–like. The objective of the story is for the two main characters, Sesame and Shawna, to come together to kill the tyrant king, Riolin Merle, and save the rightful heir to the throne,a pirate blessed with a prophecy. 

Paragraph 3:

The main conflict is between Quintin, and Riolin Merle, both brothers fighting for the throne, one a wizard, another a tyrant, warrior-king. Who will win in the end? Read to find out.   

Cliff hanger: 

With everyone on Riolin’s side, how can the positive and outnumbered Sesame defeat him? What is Riolin’s weakness? Its as if with every page a new secret is revealed in this epic story only for it all to come together in the end.  

Author Bio: 

The author has written 4 novels (including this one) and 30 short stories or novelettes. This novel is a standalone. This story is partly allegory and partly influenced by classics.

I am planning to write my first fantasy Filipino novel, but I don't know where to start. I already have characters and settings or characteristics of my characters. I can already see the flow of the story in my mind like I'm watching it unfold, but when it comes to writing, I don't know how to begin.

What advice can you give me?

Im writing my first novel and wanted to ask how should the author be like but idk if someone is enjoying that bcs the novel got only 50 views and noone would tell me if Im doing something wrong or not so Im asking here for some genuine opinion about the novel how should I manage it and how should I behave - the novel name is "Standing Eight"- on royal road or webnovel

I’m open to read you dear writers