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ummm im new here (on this groop i mean) so um i gess ill just post the link to my storyhttp://www.goodreads.com/story/show/4...
tell me wat u think!!!
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Go Good Charlotte! Love Dont Wanna Be In Love!Sry just had to say that!
And ill comment to ur story in a sec
lol! i luv that song
I know isnt it so good? My friend turned me on to them
rlly?? so did mine
did u comment? Sry I love reading all the comments, it helps me out.
um no..il do it rite now
no prob i like readin comments 2
I'm not sure but the next story i do i'm thinking of doing it in a third person subjective narrative.Third-person, subjective
The third-person subjective is when the narrator conveys the thoughts, feelings, opinions, etc. of one or more characters. This subjective approach is found in third-person limited, a type of third-person subjective narration in which the perspective is that of just one character; in that mode, the reader is "limited" to the thoughts of the focal character, as in the first-person mode. The subjective approach is also often found in third-person omniscient narratives that switch between the thoughts, feelings, etc. of more than one character.
This style, in both its limited and omniscient variants, became the most popular narrative perspective during the twentieth century. In contrast to the broad, sweeping perspectives seen in many nineteenth-century novels, third-person subjective is sometimes called the "over the shoulder" perspective; the narrator only describes events perceived and information known by a character. At its narrowest and most subjective scope, the story reads as though the viewpoint character were narrating it; dramatically this is very similar to the first person, in that it allows in-depth revelation of the protagonist's personality, but it uses third-person grammar. Some writers will shift perspective from one viewpoint character to another.
The focal character's thoughts are revealed through the narrator. The reader learns the events of the narrative through the perceptions of the chosen character. Third-person uses pronouns such as "he", "she", "they", "them", "him", "her", "their", "herself", "himself", etc. to describe the focal character(s).
Because, i would hate doing only one point of view, yet omniscient you have to describe to much. So you think i should use this, i want some opinions.
also i will be sure to read up on all of your guy's stories, this is pretty much the first day i have been on goodreads for a while though.
the main part that i like about it though is these.- the narrator only describes events perceived and information known by a character. At its narrowest and most subjective scope, the story reads as though the viewpoint character were narrating it
-Some writers will shift perspective from one viewpoint character to another.
-Third-person uses pronouns such as "he", "she", "they", "them", "him", "her", "their", "herself", "himself", etc. to describe the focal character(s).
yeah i got that . . . i usually just shift veiw points
this is a peice of mah story... the vampire alchemist...
I stumbled to my feet weakly, boots squeaking apon the damp cobblestones. A single liquid silver eye scanned the street in utter distaste at the dead and dying. The world, the dark alleys, my relm reeked with the stench of decomosing flesh, filth, all the nastiness of the world magnified a thousandfold. It was all I could see, and, strangely, I didn't mind. May be it was just the thought that I was a part off all of this, no more that a barely walking corpse, rotting away slowly, with every unfortunate event that has occured since I turned, or may be it was the sudden exeptance that I was hopeless, that I couldn't do anything about it, that had eludded me during life. I wasn't sure, I didn't know, and, to be honest, I didn't want to. Some, no, most of my kind where simply depressed, with only the desire to meet their ends as quickly as possible, starving themselves fruitlessly in the gallows, yet I was simply insane, although strangely concious of it. I desperetaly wanted be rid of this existence I had been condemed to, and yet someting held me back from it, wouldn't allow it. I wasn't the kind to surrender, nor the kind to forget, and as ironic as it was, it was our unwritten rule, to never give up, to never surrener, to never give in to our own thoughts, feelings, to any one who dared to stand in our way. Funny thing is, I've relized, is that the same code is what had condemed me to such an existence in the first place. Youd think that I'd not care anymore; many humans would kill for my life, to be what I am... Yet, then again, they are probably the biggest idiots I had ever laid eyes on. Who would actually WANT this undeath? Well, I guess I have my answer, but that does not mean I, in anyway, like it.
Thousands of thoughts screamed out at me, as I made my way down the more discreet alleys, pitch black tunnels beneath the thick fog and midnight sky. Pain, hunger, suffering... nothing I wasn't use to, ofcourse. I wasn't sure if the Plague still reigned over London, and if it was, I could not tell. Seeing through the overwelming din of thoughts, and the overall stentch of the grimy, rat infested slums was a tiring challenge in itself, and I'm not even sure why I bothered with so much on my mind already. Who gave a crap about the Plague anyways? Humans, obviously, but what kind of disease would bother those already cursed?
I stumbled to my feet weakly, boots squeaking apon the damp cobblestones. A single liquid silver eye scanned the street in utter distaste at the dead and dying. The world, the dark alleys, my relm reeked with the stench of decomosing flesh, filth, all the nastiness of the world magnified a thousandfold. It was all I could see, and, strangely, I didn't mind. May be it was just the thought that I was a part off all of this, no more that a barely walking corpse, rotting away slowly, with every unfortunate event that has occured since I turned, or may be it was the sudden exeptance that I was hopeless, that I couldn't do anything about it, that had eludded me during life. I wasn't sure, I didn't know, and, to be honest, I didn't want to. Some, no, most of my kind where simply depressed, with only the desire to meet their ends as quickly as possible, starving themselves fruitlessly in the gallows, yet I was simply insane, although strangely concious of it. I desperetaly wanted be rid of this existence I had been condemed to, and yet someting held me back from it, wouldn't allow it. I wasn't the kind to surrender, nor the kind to forget, and as ironic as it was, it was our unwritten rule, to never give up, to never surrener, to never give in to our own thoughts, feelings, to any one who dared to stand in our way. Funny thing is, I've relized, is that the same code is what had condemed me to such an existence in the first place. Youd think that I'd not care anymore; many humans would kill for my life, to be what I am... Yet, then again, they are probably the biggest idiots I had ever laid eyes on. Who would actually WANT this undeath? Well, I guess I have my answer, but that does not mean I, in anyway, like it.
Thousands of thoughts screamed out at me, as I made my way down the more discreet alleys, pitch black tunnels beneath the thick fog and midnight sky. Pain, hunger, suffering... nothing I wasn't use to, ofcourse. I wasn't sure if the Plague still reigned over London, and if it was, I could not tell. Seeing through the overwelming din of thoughts, and the overall stentch of the grimy, rat infested slums was a tiring challenge in itself, and I'm not even sure why I bothered with so much on my mind already. Who gave a crap about the Plague anyways? Humans, obviously, but what kind of disease would bother those already cursed?
Heres the prolouge of my other story
On a dark, foggy night I was walking down a dirt path. I had no idea what was going to happen to me. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I saw a pair of red eyes. I turned my head but they were gone. I saw them again and walked over shaking out of fear.
Then, I saw a blur and then right in front of me was the thing that had the red eyes. It was the prettiest person I had ever seen, but at the same time It was a monster. The monster was as pale as a ghost and had purple under his eyes.
The monster smiled at me and sniffed the air. He stepped forward. I was too scared to do anything. Then, the monster became a blur and suddenly he was gone.
I felt an ice cold hand on my neck. At once, I was thrown against rocks. The rocks made three streaks down my back. I put my hand up to my injuries. Blood stained my hand. I screamed.
The monster came close to my face and smiled. He grabbed my head and put his lips to my throat. I felt teeth peirce my skin. I screamed.
A wolf howled nearby.
Then everything went black.
On a dark, foggy night I was walking down a dirt path. I had no idea what was going to happen to me. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I saw a pair of red eyes. I turned my head but they were gone. I saw them again and walked over shaking out of fear.
Then, I saw a blur and then right in front of me was the thing that had the red eyes. It was the prettiest person I had ever seen, but at the same time It was a monster. The monster was as pale as a ghost and had purple under his eyes.
The monster smiled at me and sniffed the air. He stepped forward. I was too scared to do anything. Then, the monster became a blur and suddenly he was gone.
I felt an ice cold hand on my neck. At once, I was thrown against rocks. The rocks made three streaks down my back. I put my hand up to my injuries. Blood stained my hand. I screamed.
The monster came close to my face and smiled. He grabbed my head and put his lips to my throat. I felt teeth peirce my skin. I screamed.
A wolf howled nearby.
Then everything went black.
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Popularity has two sides, sometimes it can stink and sometimes it rocks. Me, I hate being popular. I hate boys pretending to fall all over you just because you are popular. I hate the sterotype that I'm stuck up, when I'm not. I hate all the non-populars feeling bad because there not popular.
You know what, popularity shouldn't even matter. I shouldn't be popular just because I'm the head cheerleader. I hate cheerleading anyway. I only do it because my mom was a cheerleader and it makes her happy. I'm not even good at it.
Even if I hate it I can't stop being popular. So as I walked down the hall everyone was staring. I was expected to be perfect, the kind of girl everyone should be. Big mistake, I'm not perfect. I'm just human.