|My New MMD Series: MMD: Face-Off!|
Homestuck OC~PHOTOS CAN BE FOUND HEREHomestuck OC~ by ppoonnddd
Here's where I got the template.
Name: Kate Digger
Derse or Prospit?: Prospit
Fetch Modus: Piano
Strife Specibus: Litkind
Game Entry Item: Kazoo
Sprite: Bachsprite (originally a mini bust of Bach)
Title: Page of Heart
Medium: Land of Desire and Keys
Eye Color: Purple
Hair Color: Black
Skin Tone: Pale
Symbol: White music note
Guardian: тетя (her Russian aunt)
Pets: Guinea Pig named Oliver
Home: Illinois, small apartment
Typing style: starts and ends her sentences with quotation marks, will swear in a combination of French and Russian
Relationship status: Single
Writing Lesson: Writing ConversationsWhile I am not a professional by any means, I have been writing for many years and, more recently, beta-reading as well. In all of my experience, I've noticed that a lot of to-be authors make some really silly, simple mistakes. In an effort to help out, I'm going to be putting up a few "Quick Tips" that might help you improve your writing and get more readers.Fehnwrites
For this "Quick Tips" entry, I'm going to focus on conversation and the use of quotations. Here we go
Punctuation in Quotations
When a character is speaking, their statement is often followed by, "she said" or, "he mumbled". However, you have to keep in mind that this is still part of the sentence!
Incorrect: "Wait, I have to tie my shoe." she said.
Correct: "Wait, I have to tie my shoe," she said.
Even though her statement ended, the sentence carried on to tell the reader that it was she who spoke. That's how it works with a period, but with exclamation marks and question marks, many people choose to ignore t
I'm Gay, So WhatI'm gay, so whatBahar1
Have I ever hurt you?
Was it you kicking me in the parking lot
Or was it me doing it to you?
I'm gay, so what
Have I ever called you names?
Was it me playing dirty games
Or was it you making false claims?
I'm gay, so what?
I don't live at your house
Your life is yours, mine is mine
And I choose my own spouse
I'm gay, so what
Are you that disturbed?
I'm not the weird one here
Don't try to be my puppeteer
I'm gay, so what
You wanna kill my kind?
I'm the better person among us
See yourself superior nonetheless
AttractedI'm attracted to Jude LawBahar1
But only in his movies
I'm attracted to the moon
But only to its bright side
I'm attracted to flowers
But only when they bloom
I'm attracted to rain drops
But only in a rainbow
I'm attracted to you
But only for a short time
Pinkie Pie set the bouquet of flowers down at the base of the statue and stared at them for a long time. They were the best roses that the florists had on demand. The colours were the brightest she had ever seen for roses. Their petals shone a vivid red in the morning sun, the perfect contrast to their bright green stems, wrapped in a small, white silk band that prevented the thorns from jabbing her mouth.
She sat down in front of the statue, staring at the flowers, not sure if she wanted to look up. Everything was so bright that day; even the grass stood out more than normal, its bright green felt stretching out towards Ponyville. She looked at everything on the barrow except for the statue. Finally, tears welling up in her eyes, Pinkie Pie started to speak softly, her voice barely above a whisper, for if anypony knew she was there, she would have to explain why she was there, why she brought flowers, and why she had done so every week for the past two
the mechanisms of ocean waves When I was little, I loved sea foam.sylveda
Running forward to the shore, I would watch waves lap up at my feet and then recede, dragging the sand under my feet back with it. Sea foam would fringe the edges of these silky waves like lace, and I would grab at it, cup it in my hands. I would remember the origins of Aphrodite (born of sea foam, risen out of the ocean as the most beautiful goddess of all), and I would cradle it, hold it close to me, as if I could absorb it into my being.
By the time I brought the sea foam up to my face, it had leaked through my fingers, dissolved. Leaning down, I would cup it again and again and again, gathering fragile lace like a fine seamstress, hoping to maybe sew it onto the edges of myself, make myself some semblance of Aphrodite. Yet it crumbled, leaked through my fingers, leaving only the trace of salt behind.
Eventually I gave up on the sea foam. One cannot keep chasing after things that just barely exist.
My father told me never to plunge int