Hey sis,

I don’t want you to look at me. Close your eyes. Close the door. And walk away. But remember the time I made you laugh so hard you peed. Remember when you pushed me down the stairs and I broke my ankle, but it was okay because you reminded me of the time I locked you in the basement on Halloween. I want you to stand back when they pick my lifeless body up, put me in a bag, and carry me away. Stand back and wrap your arms around yourself, remembering how I hugged you too tight and kissed you sloppily on the cheek with the insides of my lips because it annoyed you. No, don’t remember any of that. You’ll be sad. You’ll want to cry. I’m sorry, I was selfish. I still am. I’ve always been. But you knew that, and you also know you’ve never been able to accept my apologies. So, instead, you can look at me. You can hate my dead body. You can cry. It’s okay, you were never selfish and I despised you for that. But now I love you for it, because you won’t be selfish. You won’t hate me. Maybe you’ll forgive me. You’ll listen to me, you’ll remember me, and you’ll cry for me.

@dream

Imogen stood in the middle of the ruins of an old castle by the name of Castell Dinas Brân clutching the emerald and silver pendant of two snakes coiled around each other dangling from her neck and a trunk in the other. (The author knows that this isn’t the best first sentence, or first paragraph, for that matter, but it gets better, trust me.)

There was the sound of a branch snapping, causing Imogen to turn. She saw a genderly ambiguous person with tan brown skin in a tailcoat and trousers wearing a red cape. Ey walked over with a bone parasol, swinging it around like it’s nothing. The gold chain of a pocket watch dangled out of eir pockets. Ey stared into Imogen’s soul with storm grey blue eyes, and if Imogen had looked close enough, she would have seen eir true form as a skeleton.

Ey strolled straight up to her and stopped right next to her. Ey stared at her for a second and then turned eir attention to the place where the portal was supposed to appear.

Imogen narrowed her eyes at em for a moment. Then she turned back around, cleared her throat, and raised her wand to the air. Closing her eyes, Imogen focused on reciting the incantation to call the planes and cause them to warp together. “Magic is love./Magic is life./Open to me, O Witching World, to grant me knowledge for a life full of strife.” (The witch who wrote the incantation and carved the door to enter the world was bitter about her all-powerful knowledge and blamed magic for her depression. To her, ignorance would have been bliss and she was trying to save people from turning into her. In a sense, she was right. Most drama seemed to stem from people fooling around with magic, more specifically magic potions.)

As soon as she had spoken the words, ancient, black, ornate double doors with the number 9 3/4 and brass lion head door knockers emerged out of the ground, causing the ground to ripple like water. Around the frame of the door, it read “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate,” which meant “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” (Told you this witch was bitter.)

With a sigh, she stepped forward and put her hand up to one of the knockers. Suddenly, the lions came to life and roared at her, trying to scare her away. She hit the heads on the nose with the end of her broom, causing their mighty roars to turn into pained whimpers, and grasped the brass handle of one of the lions. Bringing it down three times, the doors opened and revealed bright light that she was blindly supposed to walk into.

As soon as the door was opened, the person brushed straight past Imogen, bumping her shoulder against Imogen’s, and stepped through, disappearing into the light. (It may be worth noting that one can only enter through the door if they were a witch or they had magic.)

Imogen looked straight up at the narrator. “I’m not going in there. I’m not naive like all other chosen ones. I know that as soon as I walk in there, the author is going to make me get run over by a carriage. No, thanks.”

(Doesn’t really matter to me whether you go in or not, but it matters to the gods. Also, it matters to the writer. So, if you’d please...)

“Fine. I will. As long as the author doesn’t try to run me over with a carriage.”

(Tch. Fine. I don’t care. I don’t write this shit. Ahem.) Imogen stepped through the door and a new world unfurled before her. She strolled through the cobblestone streets and stared at the buildings that had been constructed in the medieval style with white walls and wooden supports as well as thatched roofs. There was a hustle and bustle to the town with carriages passing her by, but the place wasn’t crowded by any means. A sweet aroma of freshly baked bread as well as the fragrance of marzipan beer, the witching world was famous for it, hung in the air.

Sighing again, Imogen pulled her acceptance letter from Medusa Gorgon’s Academy for Young Witches out of her pocket and read it over once more. It said that she would need a copy of Inconceivable Monsters Who Live in Dungeons and You Should Try to Avoid by Gecko Slizard...and a bunch of other books that the author doesn’t care to mention, and that Imogen just skipped right over. It also said she would need a wand and the first thing she saw was the sign for “Wilde’s Wand Shoppe.”

When she stepped inside, the smell of dusty magic and the warmth of the fire crackling filled her senses. The shop looked rather small and quaint from the outside, but it had a lot of personality. The shelves were packed with boxes upon boxes upon boxes of wands, all different shades, the colours of the rainbow to be precise. There were tall sliding ladders in a few different places. Though it might have seemed chaotic to some people, it was an organised chaos and that spoke wonders to the shopkeeper’s, Mr. Wilde’s, character.

Before she could even ring the bell on the desk, there came a feminine voice from the back of the shop that said, “Oh, dear!” After a few moments, a man with face make-up and a white wig pulled back into a ponytail with a black bow emerged from the back on a sliding ladder. “I am so sorry, darling! I always seem to be losing track of time!” He leapt off the ladder with stag leap and stuck a perfect landing. He grabbed the monocle hanging around his neck and put it up to his left eye, scrutinising her for a moment.

Then a broad but genuine smile filled his face. “Aren’t you just adorable, darling?”

Imogen rolled her eyes. “Don’t call me adorable,” she said with a slight curl of her lip.

For a moment, the shopkeeper just stood there and narrowed his eyes at Imogen. Then it was gone in a flash and he had returned to his naturally gay (and in this case, the word can be taken either way) self. “I know the perfect wand for you!” With that, he vanished into the stacks and, in seconds, returned with a pristine white and gold bordered box in hand.

Opening it and pulling back the thin cloth, she revealed a black elder wand with a dark twisted handle. (This is the ‘elder wand.’ Wonder what that says about Imogen.)

The shopkeeper leaned forward over the counter. “That was made specifically with you in mind and was carved from the elder tree, Elder Spruce. It even wept when we cruelly harvested its bark to make this wand. That’s good luck. Cherish it.”

“Thanks,” Imogen grumbled as if it were an obligation to say. The wand was interesting, the rarest of its kind, but it was what she had been expecting so she wasn’t surprised.

From the back of the shop came another man’s voice, “Oscar darling...”

Oscar giggled. “Drop sixty-nine quazar on the counter when you leave. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do believe I am being summoned.” He stepped onto the sliding ladder and disappeared into the back.

With a scoff, Imogen scooped up the wand in its box and left the shop without paying (if you read the prologue and knew what I know, you could easily puzzle out why this character does what she does. But without needing any previous knowledge, all I can tell you is that this character is not the usual lawful good protagonist). She pulled the list out of her pocket again and checked it over before entering the building with the sign that read “Wit Beyond Measure.” (You’re not going to get it unless you are familiar with how the word “wit” was used by Shakespeare.)

As soon as she had stepped inside, a raven flew at her face. Imogen raised her wand about to cast a spell on it.

“Huginn,” a strong, confident female voice rang out in the silence of the shop. “Stop terrorising the customers.”

Begrudgingly, the raven returned to its mistress’s shoulder, but not before it cawed in Imogen’s face. There was another raven on the woman’s other shoulder that was glaring daggers at Imogen. The woman had a striking beauty about her with quiet confidence. Her piercing, ice-cold, sapphire blue eyes (man, that’s brooding YA hero level type of description) were on the book in front of her, but had they been aimed at someone, they would freeze someone to the spot. A silver crown set with a sapphire in the centre was placed on top of her regal, wavy black hair. She wore an elegant black dress with a simple black cloak. It had the symbol of Elder Spruce in brass clasping it in place.

“My name is Odwina Ravensbeak,” she said without looking up from her book. “These two troublemakers are Huginn and Muninn. Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

Imogen nodded as if she were listening, but her attention was already on the shop. It was a quaint, little bookstore with two floors of books. The lower floor was directly under the second floor, making it appear like a cute reading loft. She ran her fingers over the spines of the beautiful, ornate, one-of-a-kind, leather books, and her fingers rested on the leather-bound copy of SHUNKspeare plays. After looking it over for a moment and arguing with the narrator for a bit, she pulled the book off the shelf, walked up to the second floor, and grabbed the books she would need for school, without really taking the time to check their prices and conditions.

Imogen slammed the stack of books on the counter, causing Odwina to glance up from her book and stare at her with slight inquisitiveness in her eyes.

Then, with a sigh, she marked her place, taking the time to get it as perfect and pristine as possible, and rung Imogen up. “That’ll be 250 quazar,” she said.

“Are you kidding me?” Imogen asked exasperated, to which Odwina just shook her head. “Why are textbooks so fucking expensive?”

Odwina shrugged. “No one knows. It’s as mysterious as the dark side of the moon.”

Imogen crossed her arms. “Yeah, well, there’s no way I’m paying that. I can just conjure my books for free.”

Shaking her head, Odwina clucked her tongue. She held up the copy of SHUNKspeare’s comedies. “But can you conjure this up?” Imogen paused and Odwina smiled mischievously.

Finally, after a moment that felt like forever, which the narrator swore she did it just to agitate them, she dropped the coins on the counter, grabbed the brown bag of books and left the shop. When she stepped out of the shop, a dark brown skinned, frizzy-haired witch with an eccentric, mischievous glint in her brown eyes was standing outside the shop waiting for her. She wore a red jacket with the crest of the school on it and a black ruffle skirt. She wore short black high-heeled boots with a bit of lift in the toe. With her wand in hand and her arms crossed in front of her chest, she looked like she meant business.

When she saw Imogen, she looked her over. “You’re the chosen one?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “But you don’t meet any of the qualifications.”

Imogen crossed her arms. “Oh,” she replied. “And what exactly are those?” (It appears the author has created two sassy, overly confident lesbians for this story. I may have spoiled something about the plot, but I’m a goddess. There’s no way she can get rid of me. It’s a part of the author’s pact with me.)

“Usually the chosen one is a boy...”

“That’s because of the stupid patriarchy. I’m defying my gender role, giving the book the uniqueness it needs to stand out.”

“Chosen ones are usually incompetent in their abilities when the novel starts...”

“So, I did a little bit of studying up on my stuff. Can you really blame me? Girls have to work twice as hard to prove themselves.”

“Though, it appears that you have overly confident down, so I guess you’re not completely a lost cause for chosen one.”

“Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”

The woman sighed. “Come on.” Then she started to walk away without even bothering to check if Imogen was following her. Imogen rolled her eyes and thought about how stupid it was that they had sent someone to escort her when she could have just gotten to the school on her own, but she followed the woman anyways.

They made their way through the town the author still has yet to name and into the No-No Woods. As soon as they were in the woods, the sun fell away, and the shadows grew longer. The branches reached towards her like hands. An owl hooted, even though it was only midday. She could hear a witch cackling and a sweet melodious voice drifting on the breeze. She also caught a glimpse of a red cloak through the trees. (The author is really trying to drill this image of the woods being dangerous and menacing, isn’t she?)

When they were out of the woods and away from danger, (See? What did I tell you?) they stood in front of a two-story stone building (fitting considering who the headmistress was) with Romanesque features such as turrets. A few students flew in on broomsticks and found their groups. A few were casting spells, turning their fellow students into animals. Familiars followed their masters and mistresses into the building.

Imogen glared up at the narrator. “Why couldn’t I have flown in on a broomstick?” she demanded.

(Do you know the spell to cast for operating a broomstick?)

She shrugged. “Maybe not, but the readers don’t need to know that.”

(Operating a broomstick is enchantment magic. You’re not an enchantment witch.)

She curled her lip. “Nothing saying that I can’t try.”

(No, but it is strongly discouraged. You can’t account for anything if you break the rules of magic. The author would probably have to roll on the Wild Magic table. Now, where was I? Ah, yes.) Erica turned to Imogen and gave her a piece of parchment folded into thirds with a red wax seal with the crest of the school on it. “Read this. And go see Headmistress Gorgon. Good luck.” Then, without another word, she disappeared amongst the students and into the school.

With a sigh, Imogen gently broke the seal in the letter and opened it. It read...well, the author decided that you didn’t need to read the letter word-for-word. Instead, she decided to give a summary of what was contÁined into Medusa Gorgon’s Academy, which she already knew, and that she had been assigned to room 208 with Áine Brackenbridge as her roommate. It also had her schedule at the bottom of the page. Lastly, the letter contÁined vague information on how to find Medusa’s office.

Shaking her head, she placed the letter in her pocket and headed into the school. As she walked, she passed hundreds upon hundreds of doors. (So many doors and only ten of them were actual classrooms. I’ll bet the rest of the doors went to other fantasy worlds. Or to the Underdark.)

She also ascended several flights of stairs. Each flight had their own personality. She rode on a few staircases that tried to make her dizzy, but she wasn’t taking their shit, so she cast an obedience curse on them to make them stop. There were a few timid staircases that they had to use very specific incantations for. There were a few dramatic staircases that any obeyed their passenger if they sang a very specific Broadway show tune all the way through. They were the most frustrating because one also had to find the exact key the specific staircase preferred. One missed note meant one would have to start to over again.

When Imogen got to the top of the stairs, she turned to yell at the narrator again. “What the fuck?” she demanded. “Do you make every student go through this?”

(Not every student, but you wanted a challenge and that’s exactly what I’ve given you. Maybe next time you’ll think about talking back to me.)

“Maybe, but probably not. Scratch that, definitely not. I won’t stop fighting you until I develop as a character and that won’t happen until I meet my love interest.”

(Well, you’re in luck cause that’s coming up soon.)

“Wait. What?”

As she was standing outside, Headmistress Gorgon’s office about to knock a red-haired fairy came flying at her from inside the office. (Yes, it’s a cliché. It’s supposed to be. Fun fact: this clichéd meeting was in the original drafts as well.)

The fairy bounced back after running into Imogen. “Whoa,” she said. She offered a hand to help Imogen up. “I’m sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

Imogen looked at the red-haired fairy girl and stared into the girl’s emerald green gaze that was obviously supposed to be mesmerising and that just made her angry. Her short stature, silver wings, and freckles were supposed to make her more attractive to Imogen, but it just aggravated her even more. She hated how the author seemed to know her well enough to play matchmaker for her.

She shook her head and dismissed the fairy, standing up and brushing herself off. “Nope,” she said.

The fairy blinked. “Excuse me?”

“No. I just can’t do it. I’m out.”

With that, she opened the door and walked in without knocking. She was in such a rush that she blew straight past Vice Headmistress Marjorie Lewis, who was at her desk engrossed in her spell drive working on her latest fanfiction. When Imogen strode into the office, she caught Headmistress Gorgon off-guard, causing her to look up in surprise with black snakes rearing up and hissing.

I just made an account as a result of searching for online writing contests for me to enter. Amidst the whirring of the gears in my mind, I realized that it had honestly been quite a while since I had really written anything. I have a particular story idea that I've been developing; I have characters, a story outline, and I've played numerous dress up games in order to give myself a visual picture of what my characters look like (my favorite part of creating any story really). I have started numerous fanfictions over the years (ranging from Harry Potter, to The Avengers, and Firefly), but never really finished any of them. A few years ago I started writing my first book, and I had writing more than ten chapters when a couple of things happened in my life that really influenced my writing. The story I had been working on, I had (subconciously) embedded my (now) ex-boyfriend into the main love interest. I've kept many of the same elements (time period, namely) in the story I am working on now, but I feel as though I've really hit a wall, creatively, and I'm hoping that joining a writing community such as this will help me improve, develope, and polish my writing skills.

Thank you so much for reading my post! I appreciate any comments you might have about helping my creative juices start flowing again.

I wanted to formally introduce myself. My name is Anslee, I live in the USA, I just turned 17, and I've been writing for a decade now.

When I was seven, I wrote a play for my Webkinz dolls. While I don't remember exactly what it was about, or how to find the video my mom recorded, it had something to do with dinosaurs and the Bahamas.

When I was in 3rd grade, I was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome (high functioning autism), ADD, and was told I had a possibility of growing up with anxiety and/or depression. I ended up developing anxiety from bullying and social contrast, but I am also getting tested for depression in a few weeks. When I hit 4th grade, I was taken out of public school for a year when my teacher physically assaulted me out of aggrivation of my differences. That's when I stopped screenwriting and moved onto short stories and fanfiction.

I dropped writing for a while after that. I didn't get really into it again until high school. I now have written one novel (it's a fanfiction, but it has 133 pages, so in a technical sense, it's still a novel) and I'm writing another.

My current works so far are:

-Beautiful Minds (Dystopian-esque novel to raise mental health awareness)

-"Stay Determined" CharAsriel Undertale fanfic that shows my interpretation of Chara's backstory

These are the only two I'm working seriously on. If you'd like to find them, "Beautiful Minds" is on fictionpress.net (username: VocaloidMaster13) and "Stay Determined" will be on my fanfiction.net (user: VocaloidMaster13) when it's finished and/or on my fanicfiction Wattpad account (user: ToriSansCharAsriel).

Hi everyone and anyone who may be seeing this. My name is Lizzy and I write all the time. I would even say it's my favorite hobby.

I'm a Wattpad writer, and the farthest my work has gone is 19K reads, and a top 1000 ranking of 941 in the Fanfiction Genre (Wattpad of course)

Besides fanfiction, I write action, horror, thriller, mystery, poetry, and romance.

Now that you know my writing a bit, I'd love to get to know some of you.

Sincerely,

translucent