First, there's a common misconception that I want to address before I even begin.  I've heard way too many people try to claim that they don't write for an audience or that they only write for themselves.  In my mind, this usually translates to something like, "You or someone else gave me a critique I don't agree with, so I'm trying to justify why I'm going to ignore it."  You're going to have a hard time convincing me that you don't care about anyone else's opinion of your work if you PUBLICALLY SUBMIT IT ONLINE. I don't know if you've noticed, but dA (and any other site like it) is essentially structured to be used for peer review.  That's

The nights had been getting colder as the land turned towards autumn. Frost gave the trees a ghostly edge, cladding the stark branches in their hoary winter finery. Breath plumed from the mouths of men and horses and fetching water from the streams and rivers which crossed the plains meant hacking through the thickening ice at the edges. It was yet to snow, but the smell of it was the in air and there was a presence, a weight, to the grey clouds overhead. None travelled now without provisions and gear for long nights and days under snow, accompanied by a guide who knew the way of the grim Northlands out of Rhegan. The turning season had elev

"Jeremy! Jeremy, aagh, don't lead them toward me!" "Sorry, sorry!" Jeremy yelled back, panting as he tried to focus on playing his fiddle and running backwards, away from the zombies who had begun to notice his music, at the same time. "Ha! If you can't handle them, comrade, send them over here!" Alik cackled happily, aiming a tiny gun at a group of zombies who had begun to stagger towards Roy and blowing them all sky high with a single shot. "Alik, stop being such a creep when we're trying to concentrate on not dying!" A new voice, this one feminine, shouted from behind Jeremy. A gunshot cracked from where the voice had originated from, a

"You surely are hard to find, aren't you, Windrider?" Putting the glass back on the tavern bar, Sywyn glanced at the young man who sat on the wooden stool beside him. Brown curls flickered in the firelight, and clear green eyes returned his gaze, inspecting him and looking for a reaction.   "I see you do recognize me. I must admit I really wasn't expecting so much," he said smiling, "it saves me the embarrassment of introducing myself again, at least." The scarred elf looked away without a word, while his new companion kept staring at him with genuine curiosity. "It's not like I thought you were going to be happy seeing me eithe

I watched him go, unable to ask him to stay. It was for me and our home he was going away. How could I ask? He wouldn't have been swayed. Not from this task. So behind him I stayed. He cast one look back at me, one glance telling me his love. That was all there was to see, as I prayed to those above. Return him to me, safe and sound. My love, the warrior.

The Melolin officials met the next morning, at the scene of the murder. Tanoko Diischan, Zaake Tuloh, and Hanaken Zelot. They all worked for the Melolin Guard, the center of security, but unlike the daily patrol soldiers, they had…. Different talents. Tanoko was a quiet but intelligent woman, her brow always hardened as if burdened by some great thought. She had long, straight black hair, kept plain and without jewelry, and her eye's were a depthless brown. Zaake was a man of about thirty-two summers, serious about his occupation, but trying to keep things in lighter perspective. He had an average face, intently-focused black eyes, and h

On Basic Sentence Structure for Fiction   (Grammar Nazis BEWARE!) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Everything I ever learned about writing Fiction DIDN'T come from school; not even college. In fact, the way one writes fiction is almost the complete opposite of everything I learned in school about writing. In order to make my stories crystal clear in my readers' imaginations, I write in precise Chronological Order, in the order events actually happen, PLUS in the order that the eye sees it. Case in point, when describing a character, I describe them from top to bottom, in the order that the eye notices them. Face, hair, upper body, arms, hands, then lower

Everyone's heard that characters should have goals, something they want and must strive for, overcoming obstacles and antagonists in order to obtain. Because, well, a story is the record of your character's journey toward achieving a goal. While all of this is true, I think a lot of writers lose sight of an even more important aspect of character. That is, motivation. Sure, you know what your character wants. Why? That's the gist of motivation. What is the psychology and reasoning behind your character's goal? If your character is driven to make money, is his motivation greed? To pay off a debt? To support his family? Motivation is your c