The Writing Mafia

  Instrumental By Germaine As quiet music filled the house, a cat black as night crept out of her basket. Pausing to stare at the nearest window, she watched the sun slowly burst out of the horizon. Warm light filled the room. Purring, she turned and padded downstairs to greet the pianist, who stopped playing only to stroke her. The cat nudged back his hand. In return, he smiled and continued to play. The cat rolled her eyes. Upstairs waited for her. When she reached the top, a white cat with bright green eyes met her. The black cat’s striking blue eyes flashed with recognition as she mewed a greeting. “Harpsichord! Finally, you’re awake.” “Woodwind, you were always an early riser. It’s no wonder that you’re already up.” Harpsichord answered. Woodwind purred at the compliment. “Come on, let’s see if Oboe and Bass are awake yet.” Oboe, a raven, was sleeping on her perch. Flashing Woodwind a mischievous grin, Harpsichord let out an ear-piercing screech. Oboe'

DO NOT KILL FLIES. You may have read that in the ‘about us’ section under my name and been confused. I am going to explain myself and my reasoning. I have a strong belief that flies should not be harmed or killed, they are cute and friendly. Yes I did keep a pet fly. Why should you not kill flies?     Firstly, they are cute. Have you looked at one closely and observed? They are tiny and delicate. Things people think are cute often include big eyes, and have you seen the size of fly eyes?!? The eye-to-head ratio is more than Baby Dory!!!      For my next reason, I'm going to look at the opposing side: why should one kill flies? People usually answer one of three ways, 1) they spread disease 2) they contaminate food 3) there's like a million of them.      Well, guess what? Humans spread disease too! And lots of other animals. Just look at all the sicknesses that came from Europe, brought by people, and affected the persons who lived in the Americas. Far more death than is

I wrote this for school when I was almost 16 and I think the fact that I still like it speaks to some degree of quality. I hope you enjoy it, too. It's got a very different feel to my novel, so it was nice to have some variation while writing it. Palaces and Purposes With shallow breaths and bare feet unmoving on the marble floor, I gazed at the dais. What were they? Strange contraptions, some made of wood, with strings running parallel down the middle, across large holes. Others were all of metal and seemed to be twisted into knots. Still others seemed to be nothing more than smooth sticks with evenly placed holes down their lengths. All were relatively small and looked lightweight. What kind of crazy country had I come to that a platform in such a vast, opulent hall, beautiful beyond any of my imaginings, was home to simple wooden chairs and these objects of no conceivable use? All my instincts, trained and honed by months of unnoticed thievery and silent spying, scr

In the first idea that I had for the novel I am currently writing - which, admittedly, was when I was twelve - the only things I knew about my MC's personality were that she was a girl and she was 'feisty'. And evidently, I thought that was enough to go on. Surprise, surprise: It wasn't. Now, she is only the most main of my three main characters, rather than the only one. Her name is Taika and I love her. While she is most definitely 'feisty', she has so much more to her than that now. It's interesting to contrast this to when she first burst into my brain and refused to leave me alone. She was unrealistic, extremely two-dimensional and quickly gave up her spunk to become bland and forgettable. Needless to say, I didn't know her particularly well before I began writing with her. I guess I either thought she was fine how she was or that her well thought through character arc would just sort of come as I wrote. Given the fact that I am curre

I admit it. I am the sort of person who uses the situation they are in to help them think up a solution. I was trying to think up an idea for what to write about in my first blog… so I ended up resolving my problem by writing about thinking up ideas for writing.    What is there to write about for thinking up ideas for writing? What to write? What to write? Okay, I’ll stop with the irony now. To write a good story you need to be enthusiastic about it. How to be enthusiastic? Write in a genre you really like (You do not have to do this but it often helps to build enthusiasm). Think up an idea(s) you think is good. (Then you will be excited about it). Well, the first one is easy but thinking up an idea is far easier to say than do. I know it first hand. My plots take months and months to plan sometimes. I cannot exactly think up ideas for everyone who wants to do a story. So, I’ll advise you on ways you can think up ideas. Write something t

People are stupid. Really, really stupid. And this isn't me pretending to be Khepri or Mina, looking down in disdain on all the poor, ignorant peasants around me (you'll get that reference later) - I am 100% including myself in 'people' here. And this isn't to say that people aren't wonderful creations of God, beautiful, unique, brilliant and individually filled with huge potential. I believe every one of those things is true, but we are also stupid. For example, I once lit a match in church, during the service. Why? Because it was there, obviously. What else was I supposed to do with a match? Don't worry, I didn't burn down the building or anything, it was just an incredibly dumb move. And it wasn't all that long ago, either. (More than a year, but definitely while I was a teenager, not a young child.) But doing dumb things isn't the only way in which humans prove that we're idiots. We also forget important lessons, and this is the t

She holds her elegant neck high above the masses which she saunters through. Like a diva at a show she flaunts her plumes, casts a wary eye about for rivals, and turns up her nose at her drab brown and cream comrades.  Behold, an animal of distinction and refinement. Here is the ostrich, queen of the winged kingdom. Around her, antelope bow their heads in shame, cringing at their inferiority. Where she steps the grass seems to wither in embarrassment. Even the sun seems reluctant to disgrace her chestnut and ivory feathers. Stop. Look around. Sour musk lines the brisk breeze. She lowers the foot which was held aloft a moment ago, her previously serene expression now one of incandescent disapproval. The antelope prick up their ears. A glimpse of golden pelt in the grass and an explosion of hooves signifies the beginning of the chase. She runs like a demon, head pointed forward and wings outstretched. Long legs kick up turf, spraying it into the streak of gold fur behin