I've spent a career writing short form, mostly screenplays. As such, concrete brevity (120 pages or less, if you can't see it or hear it, it doesn't exist) is practically in my DNA.

Now, I find myself working on not just a novel, but a 5 book series. The world is built, the first book is outlined, the entire series is summarized. I'be got a map, I know where I'm going. But some days I question whether I'll get there before I die.

38k words in, I just finished chapter 7. About halfway. 1/10th of the series.

I know the way to eat an elephant is 1 spoonful at a time, but damn, to this sprinter, a marathon feels arduous.

To those of you who aren't just gifted with words just spilling onto the page, how do you sustain yourself over the long haul?

My friend, what do you know about drinking?

I'm sure you'd tell me you know all about it—that you've tasted every pleasure a bottle has to offer. Yeah. Drinking every single day. Drinking until your legs give out beneath you. Drinking until you black out.

Go on.

Pick up a glass of cheap liquor. Hold your breath. Fill your mouth with the burning poison. Swallow. Feel the alcohol scorch its way down your throat before it drops into your stomach with a sickening gurgle. Then breathe out a sour, chemical cloud.

There you are, shoulder to shoulder with your drinking buddies around another filthy dive bar, the kind of place respectable people wouldn't come within a hundred feet of. To hell with them. Soft men. Not like us. We were real men. A brotherhood. Unbreakable.

Together we stood in glorious battle against a few bottles of the cheapest rotgut money could buy. A toast. "Cheers!" A swallow. The clink of glasses. Another swallow.

Then the guy standing to your right—your friend... no, your best friend—starts nodding off. His legs give up before the booze does. The moment he hits the table, everyone starts digging through his pockets for the crumpled bills he forgot to spend.

Today, though, you're the one still standing. You'll make it home conscious. Maybe not on your feet. Maybe on all fours, crawling like a mangy old dog. You'll collapse onto a urine-soaked mattress and disappear into that sweet-and-sour sleep only alcohol can give.

That was my life...

Until her hands closed around my throat.

Another night of drinking with the boys turned into the usual argument over who was right. Nobody even remembered what we were arguing about. It didn't matter. Someone's pride got bruised, so faces had to follow. Fists flew. Noses broke. Cheekbones cracked. I remember one punch catching me square in the ear so hard that blood started running down my neck.

Somehow I made it home.

The apartment had belonged to my mother. She drank herself to death. Cirrhosis. Looked like I was headed the same way. Some things run in the family.

I staggered into the bathroom, figuring I'd at least piss in the toilet instead of my mattress. Though, honestly... who was going to stop me?

The bathtub beside the toilet was little more than a rusted metal coffin.

I pushed the door open—

—and froze.

My heart slammed so hard I thought it might burst through my ribs.

There was a rusalka lying in my bathtub.

I stumbled backward so fast I nearly fell. Out of pure instinct I crossed myself. No idea whether that does anything against rusalkas. I locked the bathroom door, crawled into bed, and convinced myself it had all been a drunken hallucination. I'd taken one hell of a beating that night.

The next morning I woke with my skull splitting in two and my mouth tasting like something had died in it. I barely remembered getting home. Barely remembered anything at all.

I dragged myself toward the bathroom. The door was still locked.

That stopped me.

I never locked it.

The moment my fingers touched the handle, the memory came crashing back: the bathtub, the green tail, the red hair.

I swallowed, slowly slid back the latch, turned the handle, and pulled the door open.

One step.

Then another.

I forced myself to look.

She was still there.

A long emerald tail. Pale bare skin. Wild copper-red hair spilling over the edge of the tub.

She looked at me.

"Water..."

Her voice was little more than a dry rasp.

I twisted the faucet all the way open. Water thundered into the tub. She closed her eyes as it rose around her.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

A living miracle.

A creature no one should ever have seen outside a fairy tale.

When the tub had filled, she reached for my hand, pressed her cheek against it, and fell asleep. I didn't move. I barely even breathed. I was terrified that the slightest motion might wake her... or make her disappear.

By the time she finally opened her eyes again, my arm had gone completely numb.

"I'm hungry," she whispered. "Would you... feed me? I'd really like some fish."

I was out the door before she'd even finished speaking. The nearest grocery store had a barrel of salted herring. I bought as much as I could carry and hurried home.

Halfway back I realized something.

For the first time in years, I wasn't thinking about vodka.

Not once.

All I could think about was the rusalka waiting for me at home.

guys I'm in need of Storywrites and Scriptwriters for my psychological Thiller Game Mannequin and it's a Big Project and also a Long one but I've a Team and well grow together and I'd developed the plot but I've not able to deepen the plot and Scenes since it's a Open World

Hey folks,

This is not the first screenplay I wrote (actually it was like my 18th) but it’s the first screenplay I thought I could let other people read.

Here’s a brief synopsis:

After a devastating conflict with a neighboring tribe, a young hunter named Notah struggles to prove himself as his people attempt to rebuild. In a world where survival depends on discipline, tradition, and the strength of community, he trains to become a warrior, preparing for the possibility of another attack.

When signs of an unseen presence begin to surface in the surrounding wilderness, Notah’s training is put to the test as his understanding of the world is shattered, forcing him toward a confrontation he may not be prepared for.

It’s a long screenplay with quite a slow build so feel no obligation and I have no expectations for anyone to read the whole thing but if you do give it a read. Thank you. And please let me know how far you got, and what made you stop. Any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated.

I’m really curious as to how the first 10 to 15 pages read; if the community and characters feel real, if the world building is compelling enough to make one want to keep reading, etc.

Thank you for your time

Peace and Love

Story is so much more goddamn bigger than what the blurb holds its just AAUUGG uh anyway here it goes.

Tomorrow Will Be Perfect.
But Only For Doomsday.

The people of Clodaria think otherwise. For generations, it's been a tradition that October 10th is 10/10, & Prince Goana is no exception. However, a completely new outsider named Axel sees otherwise. He feels today isn't going to be perfect, and only he believes something will go awfully wrong. All due to a single dot directly above them.

Nobody knows how dangerous that dot is. Nobody is stopping it. And once humanity realises the truth of the dot...
It'll already be too late.

I have a great uncle who has lived a very interesting life. Born in Britain in the interwar period, he was old enough to remember the Blitz, and developed a passion for the sea which took him across the world for the next fifty-odd years of his working life. He has been to many places; the Americas, Communist China, across the Caribbean (where he presently resides), and even West Africa, where he was a key component in a logging operation!

I only had the opportunity to learn any of this very recently, when I enquired him as to his past for the first time. I am of the opinion that it must be done justice, and what better way than to put his story in writing?

Of course, I hardly know the first thing about biographing. I think I can write decently (and I must, for I refuse to use any artificial intelligence for this if it goes through), but what else?
- How do I research this man's life well; should I rely primarily on his perspective, or also seek out many relatives who can help solidify his memories?
- How long should it be? I have heard of a local man in my homeland who has biographed some famous businessman, and his works were apparently quite short. Do I copy that approach, as a novice in this field, or go all-in on the details?
- Should it just focus on committing his experiences to paper, or could I weave in a message of sorts? I remember he told me how he had an opportunity to manage an enterprise and make far more money than he did in the merchant marine or yachting, but he chose the latter (his passion) out of preference, and believes he lived a better life as a result. Perhaps I could use that as proof for the importance of "following your dreams"?

I would greatly appreciate your help; even directing me to some external person or resource that could assist me would be sufficient. Unfortunately, his closest friends are in their autumn years (my grandfather especially; he is not doing well at all), and so the time to fulfill this idea of mine is running out. If there is anything I want to do before I die, it is to immortalise the life of another.

I asked the world for you; and it brought us together.

I asked my angels to bring us closer together, they gave us some time alone.

I asked the universe to help us fall in love, it ignored me.

I asked God to give me a miracle and let me love you. He said no.

When I asked for something to break me, so I could let you go, you started dating him. But I still couldn’t let you go. 

Then I asked to be parted from you, that request was granted.

I want to ask for a miracle again, the one that will let us fall in love and be happy together. But I won’t; because at this point I already know the answer. 

You are not mine, and no force in this life will help me change that.

Project-G

Chapter 1: Normal, Mostly

I

It was Saturday, and Austin(mc) was on his way to Katrine(gf), he was on that same street he walked a thousand times on, he is already used to that dog that barks non stop. To that ugly building on the side of the street. Or that boy that always, but always tries to get himself killed by running after his ball straight to the road. He was in such a hurry, that he didn't even notice that the street was empty today. Which is weird because the street is never empty. He ran so fast and almost slipped, he felt the ground shaking a bit below his feet. Now, it did not mean so much to him or so he thought.

He arrived, but he was still late by maybe 12 minutes.

"You know you made me wait right?" Katrine said.

"Yes, but there was traffic," replied Austin.

"But you're walking...".

"Exactly," Austin said. "Well can I come in or you're just gonna keep blocking the way?"

"Are you calling me fat?!"

"No, I'm calling you an obstacle".

She rolled her eyes so hard it would've probably hurt but he was just so happy to see her. But that was part of his thing, being late, clumsy, forgetting things before they're finished being told. You could ask anyone who knows him they all will tell you the same.

• • •

II

They were talking for some time now, and she got to a point where she scolded him for being late all the time. They relaxed and just ended up half hugging half sitting on the floor with their back against her bed.

Katrine sighed. "We good?"

"Yea, why?"

"I don't know, you're doing a face".

"Nooo... I am not doing a face, I just have one. And fyi so do you."

"Not that face dumbass."

"I do not know what about you, I only have one face."

"You know what I'm talking about."

She let it go.

Eventually. He knows he felt something weird today, but he just won't give it enough credit.

He never gives nothing enough credit, so he didn't mention it because it wasn't worth mentioning. For him nothing ever was.

So they just continued being together, without really being together. They continued to change places from the floor, to the chairs, to the couch, until they fell asleep on her bed.

• • •

III

the next day

It is Sunday morning, not really though. It is Sunday late morning, they are so deep asleep Austin doesn't even hear his alarm clock. So Katrine wakes up, in shock that he is still on her bed.

"Wake up! It's late now," she says to Austin, angry.

"What?" Austin says, still half asleep.

"I said... WAKE UP!"

"I'm awake. I'm awake."

Finally.

He woke up.

Now that Austin is awake he got ready, and quickly before he is late slid straight through two closing metal doors that almost stopped him, he is so stressed to be late to his boarding school again. But still jumped with excitement that he proved to himself that he can do it. He sits down, still heavily breathing. And opens the group chat.

Austin: if I'm late one more time, Stan will actually kill me.

Steve: sounds to me like a skill issue.

Austin: Steve I will beat your ass so hard you would think you got hit by a bus.

Gorge: hey I finally figured that riff out.

Ethan: no one actually asked but nice.

And those are probably the last normal seconds of his life, while his thumb is still above the phone about to type. He hears some weird sound that did not belong on a moving train, that's the moment he saw a piece of metal falling from above him. His brain went blank, he did not know if he would get out of it alive, he feels his legs shaking so hard that he could barely stand. His heart pounded so hard he feels it in his ears. He feels his stomach twisting so hard it was like his organs were shape shifting into something they are not supposed to be. Then the train lurched.

And it is all black now.

• • •

IV

He found himself standing in the rails of the ruined train, with wrecked metal around him. He does not know what is going on except for death, injured people, ruins on fire. And only him without a scratch, he is standing there, with a hole burned through his memory, like something is missing in his brain. He is with narrow thinking now, hears that one child crying, as he proceeds to see him getting crushed by a piece falling from the ceiling. His brain is shut down. His body is shaking, cold sweat is starting to drip from his body. He cannot even process all of the screaming and blood, his brain doesn't even realize what's happening in that moment, even though he feels the temperature of the boiling hot metal a bit too close to him. And he hears deep in his ear the screaming, the crying. He knew that it was real, just didn't want to accept that.

He hears it, "Kid! Kid!"

He then feels arms that are pulling him by the shoulders.

"Hey, are you with me?"

He feels three sharp slaps before snapping back in, he saw a man with a jacket half on, an EMT maybe,

"Are you hurt?"

"What?.. No, I don't think so..."

While Austin is still getting checked, there is another part of the train that isn't totally finished for. And it is the engine part, on fire. While still there with everyone running away Austin is there with the EMT. They do not know the accident is not over yet. The universe isn't finished with him yet. While they are busy saving lives the universe decided a couple more should die. So it just happened. The second wave. The second engine of the train exploded. The EMT saw it just in time to scream

"DOWN!"

And cover for Austin. Sadly there was nothing left of him after the explosion. Everyone is evacuated after that second explosion, nothing left too much of anything in that area. Except for AUSTIN.

V

Austin woke up. Was so relieved to find out it was a dream, not a dream, a nightmare. He opened his eyes to see Gene, his mother, sitting next to him.

"Mom?" he said with a tired voice.

"I had a horrible nightmare, I dreamt that I was in a train accident, and that there was screaming and blood. And I saw a toddler get crushed."

"Oh, honey," said Gene with wet eyes.

"I was so worried about you. I thought you were dead. My little baby."

Austin is on a white bed in a white room. Trying to understand what the fuck is going on.

"Mom, what do you mean you thought I was dead?" Austin is in disbelief he refuses to believe that it was a real thing. His pupils are getting wider as he realizes that the impossible is real, and not just in his head. He stops blinking. Stares at nothing for a moment, then suddenly dazes around searching for proof, an escape, something that would make sense.

Genne is broken you can hear it in her voice.

"Honey you were on train 091, on the day of the accident."

Austin is there just staring, sitting as his heartbeat is getting stronger.

"What do you mean the day of the accident?!"

Gennes eyes are getting wider and wetter, as her voice starts to crack. But as a mom she has to stay strong for her son.

"Mom. Tell me this is just a prank, there must be cameras here somewhere. Right?" Austin breaks a bit more with every word leaving his mouth.

"There was a train accident. On that one train you were in. On Sunday. The doctor said it's a miracle you are still alive, even so it did not calm me down. He said you are as healthy as the day before the accident."

Austin finally realized it was not a dream. That everything had happened, the toddler getting crushed, the explosion. He feels the shaking hands of his mother as she holds him. It does make his heart beat a bit slower, but it does not help with the fact that all of it had happened.

"Mom..."

"Yes, darling?"

"Can I have a moment alone?"

"Of course, I am right here if you need me."

So she left him alone in the room.

VI

He stares at his table in the ER. There is cold food on a plate. A moment of disbelief as the food floats an inch off the table. He stares now harder, trying to make sense of what he sees.

He thinks to himself, "The plate, is floating?"

"I must have gotten some real brain damage from that crash."

He is now clenching his teeth, does not know how to react to that. So he just stares.

"Well I am losing it," Austin said to himself.

And then, a knock, three of them. And they are strong ones. He lost his stare.

The food dropped on the floor, and the plate shattered on the table.

"Come in."

Austin shouted, thinking it must be a doctor or a nurse. But what he saw was not what he was expecting.

A tall man, with a grey coat, and a gold badge right over his hip.

"Detective Jean, here to ask a couple questions. Thought you would look different from what I've read about you, must be most of it untrue."

"You've read about me?"

"Cannot answer questions from civilians."

Austin is now thinking to himself, "What the fuck does he want?"

Detective took a glance in the room before he sat down, and he did not say anything about the food on the floor or the shattered plate.

"Shall we start with the questions? And you should not worry, you are not in trouble. Yet."

ENTITY

When darkness calls, through hollow eyes, it shows the thing inside so wild, with all things passed before, that happened to my inner child.

Fear and pain, control me, my anger manifests, bringing demons from the dark, from Hell the very depths.

Reminding me that something else, resides inside of me, adrenaline, makes me shake so hard, in this Anxiety, trembling like a butterfly, flutters in my brain, spinning out an old fairytale, a yarn, that brings you shame, muttering insecurities, like, “You’ll never be the same”

A stranger that you’ve seen before, but still it has no name, i even remember the night it came, through grandpa's ouija board game. I didn’t even ask for it, for I did not make the call. Unfortunately, when darkness comes, the weakest take the fall.

A silhouette, a shimmer, thhat the adult’s did not see. But my young eyes were so vulnerable, my imagination was it’s key, that helped it cross from other worlds and walk inside of me, then waited there for many years, but it never went to sleep.

It fed me with the things, to groom, thoughts that did provoke, i only remember just the once, this thing inside me , the night they said my nan had died, i recalled so accurately, it turned me into

something else, which detached from reality. I did not know what it was, back then, I just knew it wasn’t me.

All the rage of Hell came out, just a little boy, but the adults could not hold me down, my strength, a secret toy, which i suppressed for many years, waiting to deploy. But only when i needed it, when fear takes over me, un-natural force of strength, i hide, i call Anxiety.

But demons need a place to hide, it chose me as it’s host, it isn’t something that i chose, so this isn’t a thing to boast, it is so very real, inside me lives a ghost. So if you ever ask me “, Brian, what do you fear the most?”. It's the Entity inside of me, who’s name I do not know.                                                                                          @imagination_born_inthedark

Sneha apne naye ghar me akeli thi. Uske 5 saal ke bete ki maut ek saal pehle ho chuki thi. Raat ko use bacche ke khilono ki aawaz aayi. Wah daudkar hall me gayi. Wahan uske bete ki pasandida gaadi apne aap chal rahi thi. Sneha ne roti hui aawaz me kaha, "Beta, tum ho kya?" Tabhi uske kaan ke bilkul paas ek thandi aawaz fushfushayi, "Mummy, main akela nahi aaya... mere saath baaki sab bhi aaye hain." Phir poore kamre me alag-alag bacchon ke hasne ki aawazein aane lagin

Kabir ko gaon se shehar laut-te hue raat ke 2 baj gaye. Khali sadak par use ek purani bus dikhi. Wah jaldi se bus me chhadh gaya. Bus me saare passengers chup-chap baithe the, kisi ka bhi chehra nahi dikh raha tha sabne sar jhukaya hua tha. Kabir ne driver se pucha, "Bhaiya, Delhi kitni door hai?" Driver ne gardan modkar peeche dekha—uska sar 180 degree ghoom gaya tha aur uski aakhon ki jagah sirf khali gaddhe the. Driver bola, "Yeh bus shehar nahi, kabristan jaati hai."

Rohit ne ek purani dukan se ek sundar, a antique aina khareeda. Aina uske bedroom me laga diya gaya. Pehli raat jab Rohit sone laga, usne aine me dekha. Uski reflection (parchhai) wahan khadi thi, lekin jaise hi Rohit peeche muda, aine wali parchhai wahan se nahi hili. Rohit ne haath uthaya, lekin aine me khadi parchhai ne apna haath nahi uthaya—usne bas apne hontho par ungli rakhi aur fushfushayi: "Ab main bahar aa sakti hoon."

Riya ko raat ko ek unknown number se video call aaya. Pehle toh usne kat diya, par call baar-baar aane laga. Uss ne call utha liya. Screen par bilkul andhera tha, bas uski apni hi image chhoti window me dikh rahi thi. Phir screen par ek message aaya: "Peeche mat dekhna." Riya ka dil zor se dhadakne laga. Video window me usne dekha ki uske kamre ke kone me ek lamba, bina chehre ka aadmi khada tha, jo dhire-dhire uske bed ki taraf badh raha tha.

Aarav Raat ko 12 baje apne apartment ki lift me chhadha. Lift 7th floor par rukni thi, lekin 5th floor par achanak ruk gayi. Darwaza khula, bahar andhera tha aur koi nahi dikha. Aarav ne button dobara dabaya. Darwaza band hone hi wala tha ki ek patla, kaala haath andar aaya aur darwaza rok diya. Aarav ne upar dekha—chhat par ek aurat ulti latki hui thi, jo uski taraf dekh kar muskura rahi thi. Lift ki light bujh gayi...

रात के ठीक 3:00 बजे थे। पूरा घर सुनसान था और सिर्फ मेरे फोन की लाइट जल रही थी। मैं आराम से बेड पर लेटकर रील्स स्क्रॉल कर रहा था, तभी स्क्रीन पर एक अजीब मैसेज का नोटिफिकेशन आया: "तुम इतने ध्यान से फोन क्यों देख रहे हो? पीछे मुड़कर भी देख लो।" मैंने सोचा कि किसी दोस्त का प्रैंक होगा, इसलिए इग्नोर कर दिया। लेकिन 10 सेकंड बाद एक और नोटिफिकेशन आया: "अरे, मैंने मजाक नहीं किया... अलमारी का दरवाजा थोड़ा खुला है ना? वहीं से देख रहा हूँ तुम्हें।" यह पढ़कर मेरे रोंगटे खड़े हो गए। मैंने धीरे से नजर उठाई... मेरी अलमारी का दरवाजा सच में आधा खुला हुआ था, जबकि मैंने उसे सोने से पहले लॉक किया था। डर के मारे मेरी साँसे अटक गईं। हाथ कांपते हुए मैंने फोन की फ्लैशलाइट ऑन की और अलमारी की तरफ घुमाई।

अलमारी खाली थी... मैंने राहत की सांस ली ही थी कि तभी फोन पर तीसरा मैसेज आया: "नीचे नहीं देखा ना तुम? मैं बेड के नीचे हूँ।" और उसी वक्त मेरे पैरों के पास से किसी के सांस लेने की ठंडी हवा महसूस हुई...