I'm writing a novel

To pay for uni.

Actually...I'm writing two, a dystopian novel reminiscent of 1984, We, Atlas Shrugged, etcetera, and a fantasy I've currently re-written six times and am still not please with.

Right now, I'm trying to focus solely on the dystopian novel, one or two pages a day, so that it'll be completed before, or at the time, I start uni. I'd like to publish it, make money off it, and use that money to pay for uni...or at least some of it.

And now, if you can stomach it, I'll post an excerpt of something I wrote recently as a warm up exercise for the real deal. There's not much of a story in this, but it's got a bit of action in it, and a nice bit of description, which highlights my style of writing I guess.




Society of Coal (chapter I)

Claustrophobic stone alleyways carved labyrinthine and dark through London town. Their smell was pungent and uniform; rotting waste, excrement, alcohol and petrol all combined into a grotesque cocktail with power enough to knock a person hailing from the country out cold from shock. Mould smothered the crumbling grey brickwork and simple chalk graffiti embellished the mucky canvases with vibrant anti-government messages and veritably crass pictures. Down these crime-ridden passages, thieves and scumbags lurked behind trenchcoats and ball room masks. Opium bars and brothels provided activity and thus more traffic down the alleys than they rightly deserved. Although it was perhaps no later than three in the afternoon, these paths were draped in shadows that flourished and bloomed over the urban landscape. It was down one alley such as these that an unusually eloquent looking fellow strode through, turning out from a narrow yet unusually tall house and commencing an almost leisurely stroll. He sported an expensive brown coat with flaps down to his knees obscuring the upper half of his black tailored trousers. A golden pocket watch drooped from within the coat, swung lazily in time with the character’s steps and shone gently in the gloom. Anyone with an ounce of sense would keep such trinkets well hidden from plain sight in broad daylight let alone the dangerous backstreets of a capital well versed in the complexities of crime. But nevertheless, this man walked relatively freely amongst the dissidents, drug addicts and whores, most of them ignored him entirely while a few glared with tired eyes from behind knotted brows.

An urchin tore down one of the flagstone paths in bare feet and ragged, stained clothes. The man oustretched a pale hand with five long fingers and placed it firmly on the boy’s shoulder who struggled to render himself free. The grip only tightened and he looked up angrily.
“Watchu want aye? I’m busy can’t you see!” The child yelled powerfully.
The man stood silent for a few seconds and stared with an expression of apathy, “I’ve been walking down these wretched streets for five minutes now and there isn’t an exit onto the main road for as far as I can tell, direct me towards decent civilisation and I’ll give you a tanner for your efforts.”
The boy cocked his head to the side slightly then shrugged his shoulder and marched in the direction he had been running down. He walked perhaps ten paces then stopped and turned at the man as if he regarded him stupid.
“Oi, follow then, we gotta go down ‘ere and if you get lost I’m not lookin’ for ya’. Oh an put that watch in yer jacket or we’ll both be bloody mugged won’t we?”
The man complied and then marched up to the urchin, brogues clacking down the cobblestones.
After perhaps a minute of silence the boy spoke without raising his eyes from the dirty street floor, “So, what’s yo’r deal then? You ain’t from round ‘ere, West London...maybe, or from one of the counties, why stumble through this ‘ell ‘ole? Oi an’ what’s yer name?”
“I hardly see how that first one is any business of yours,” the man replied dryly, “however my name is Silas Lucius Fletcher.”
The boy nodded. “You?” Silas asked out of politeness rather than interest.
“Eli.”
“Just Eli?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know my parents so’s I don’t know my proper name but my mates sometimes call me Pinch ‘cos I’m good at stealing things.”
“Eli Pinch aye?” Eli nodded.

For the first time since the two had met, Silas smiled - albeit briefly - but a smile nevertheless. Pinch caught it out of the corner of his eye and relaxed slightly. He had been wary of the man at first, most people don’t walk through Tower Hamlets with pocket watches dangling from their clothes, most people wouldn’t even wear hats unless they were made of cheap tweed, but Silas bore a moderately expensive bowler hat on his head which covered most of his jet black hair from sight. Perhaps this guy was just stupid, Eli figured.

The pair turned another corner beyond a boarded up bakery shop and a weak expanse of natural light bathed the street in colour. They had reached a break in the forest of stone buildings where a little grey bridge ran up above them. There was an empty space between the last house and the bridge of about twenty or thirty feet and the sun tried to break through the clouds of pollution that hung lazily in the sky. The street was still cut off from proper London by tall brick walls but they were wide apart and creeping plants broke through the cobblestone path to clamber up the crumbling brickwork. Above, the noise of motorised activity filtered down from the road above the alley and cars and bikes sped by. Exhaust fumes culminated, cooled then dropped over the bridge and spread out in a bleary ground fog, fanned by gentle winds from beyond the underpass. Eli wandered through unhindered but Silas withdrew a handkerchief and coughed into it as he passed below the cars. He wondered how the boy was still fit enough to stride through these paths without dying from dust in his lungs.

Beyond the bridge the path got wider still and the party hoped that it marked the end of their little endeavour. Silas needed to get on while Eli simply wanted his payment from the strange man. Unfortunately, all was not well and just as the duo could hear the commotion of the public bustling down the main streets, three men made themselves apparent, stepping out from the few shadows that remained. One character bore a large scar on the left side of his face and wore an eye patch no doubt a remedy to the same wound. He was relatively short compared to the two bald men who flanked him and had a black moustache, curled at each end to the point that it might have been comical should he have been alone. The two burly fellows to his sides were grinning with big gaping mouths, teeth missing and tongues swollen from fights. Eli stopped uncertain whether or not to progress but Silas tried to walk by.

“No no, no, don’t be rude, you can’t just pass us by without saying good day can you?” The moustachioed man asked in a tone of mock pain.
“Good day,” Silas mumbled without stopping.
One of the bigger blokes stopped in front of Fletcher and puffed himself up, now he stood still eyeing this basilisk with a powerful stare.
“Don’t you know there’s a toll on this road?”
“No I did not.”
“Yeh...three guineas...or I don’t know, perhaps a pocket watch.” At this Eli placed his head in his hands and muttered to himself. “We’ve been watching you,” the gang leader continued, “be lucky it’s just the watch we want, you don’t look like you’re very apt at looking after yourself, getting a scrawny little child to lead you through the underworld? We could gut you right here and no one would know.” He withdrew a long white knife from his pocket and swivelled it in the light so that it glinted at the point.
Eli flinched and his expression morphed into one of animosity, yet at the same time he was somewhat curious as to how his newfound companion would act. Silas touched his pocket with his left hand but then paused as if he was thinking to himself, then withdrew and folded his arms.
“Why not let us pass and not face any trouble?” He reasoned, “you don’t really want to go to jail and I don’t have time to be held up.”
The moustachioed man guffawed and his compatriots gurgled with dim-witted smiles that spread rapidly across scarred faces.
“Gut him,” he chuckled, wiping away a mock tear from his eye.
The two big men advanced and one made a clumsy swing with a fist the size of a medium sized rock. With unprecedented agility Silas ducked from the blow and retreated back about twenty feet while his enemies advanced. Pinch scampered away behind his coat clad ally and crouched in a dark corner under the bridge like a cat might curl up, bare its teeth and spit at an enemy twice its size.

“Hurry up and get him!” The ringleader cried out in exasperation as his two brutes blundered clumsily forward. Unfortunately from them Silas was quick on his feet and darted away beyond the bridge and back into the urban forest of warped buildings. In the dark he seemed almost at home, quite unexpectedly. His two foes who had quickly lost Silas slowed to a steady gait, peering feebly over upturned dustbins and peering into the shadows. Meanwhile their prey was quickly evolving into the predator. From his trenchcoat pocket, Fletcher withdrew a gold plated block from his pocket, it was relatively small, perhaps six inches in length. But with the flip of a catch a narrow barrel extended out and a little trigger dropped down. The pistol unfolded itself into a funny looking four shot revolver, ready loaded, Silas merely waited.

If you could tell me what you think of that there above, it'd be much appreciated, it's not related, but it would give me some idea of what a potential audience might think of my style.

I'm a bit of an amateur novelist myself.

I liked your piece quite well! It had a good flavor to it, things all worked well together aesthetically.
The only error that stood out to me was when you said that Silas looked 'eloquent.'
Eloquence is a manner of speech. Perhaps you meant elegant?

Anyway, minor error aside, I did quite like it. I'm curious as to what happens next!

Unfortunately, that's as far as I got, I got bored with it and don't intend to finish it. As far as I'm concerned, there was no where to take the story even if it was something I was going to work on. But thank you for the kind feed back.

Follow-through is definitely the hardest part of novelling. >_<
I've got half of a novel on my computer that I'd really love to finish, but I've no idea where the story ought to go.
But yeah, any time you wanna bounce ideas around.

I followed through...in my pants. =(

Yeh, that'd be great, and ditto, apparently it's always easier to write if you've got someone to talk to while you do it.

I bet it was the hardest thing in your pants, as well as in novelling.
Maybe second hardest.

Hrm, perhaps when I get home I'll copy-and-paste an excerpt from my unfinished novel and see if anyone's got input on where I could go with it...

My vagina gets hard...I should get that seen too >_<

Also, yeh, that'd be great, I'm sure it's awesome! (Y)

I'm not convinced that this excerpt won't be a little on the long side, but it's one of the few action-y scenes with the main character in it. He's been uncooperative. He went shopping at one point, so I sent thugs to beat him up for being boring.

Anyway, the story is set on a giant boat/island called the Traverse, which is sailing across an infinite sea of clouds on a near-eternal journey from one island to another island.

As they wandered deeper into the underdecks, the smell of mildew became more and more pronounced. Otto led on as if he knew the way exactly, but they had been walking for hours, and Dory couldn't even remember the number of different passageways they had come through. He had heard stories during his training, of Wrights getting lost on deep patrol, and no one ever found them again. He was beginning to see how that was possible.
"I'm getting tired." Ashley whispered.
"Anyone else?" Otto stopped and adjusted his pack.
"I uh... well I'm always. But yeah." Noah's owl-eyes were unfocused, and his head swayed a little.
"We'll stop for water, then." Otto sat down with his back against the wall. He retrieved his canteen from its place on his belt, and unscrewed the cap. Dory, Noah, and Ashley followed suit.
Dory felt a little more accustomed to the subtle rocking of the ship, but whenever he thought about it, he began to feel dizzy again. A thought occurred to him.
"What's it like down here during a storm?"
Otto shrugged.
"It's not too bad. The Traverse is big, so she doesn't roll too badly, even during mean weather." He patted the floorboards as if to demonstrate the ship's sturdiness. It made a dull, light 'tap.'
Then there was another.
The three boys exchanged worried glances, and Otto perked up, reaching for his beetle.
Tap tap.
Otto was on his feet faster than a blink. His canteen hung on his shoulder, and he held his beetle in one hand and his lantern in the other. The three boys scrambled to put away their canteens and retrieve their weapons.
"Shh." Otto whispered.
"What was th-" Ashley began to ask.
"Hush!" Otto scolded.
Tap.
Otto put one foot back, then shifted his weight onto it, then moved his other foot back, backing up with painstaking slowness.
Taptaptaptaptap. Tap.
The thing that came around the corner had been human once.
It didn't have human legs. They appeared to have shriveled up and atrophied off. Instead, it had long black spider legs covered in chitinous black exoskeleton which jutted out of its back and sides. Its human torso was nearly skeletal with starvation, its original sex was completely indistinguishable. Its arms hung limp at its sides. Its skin drew tight across its skull, and in some places had pulled open, revealing bleach-white bone. On the sides of its mouth, two mandibles jutted out of tears in its skin, extending out nearly a full foot. They were bleach-white near the mouth, but darkened until they were tar-black at the tips.
It turned and looked at them, and Dory thought he might vomit. A single drop of saliva fell from the tip of the creature's mandible. Its bony arms twitched.
"We're going to run, lads. Follow my lead, and for the wind's sake, stay on my heels. Are you ready?"
The creature took a few experimental steps toward them, lowering its head and glaring at them. Its eyes glowed in the dim lantern light. Its spidery legs tap-tap-tapped on the wood planks.
"Now!" Otto turned and bolted down the hallway. His usual waddle was replaced by a churning stomp like freight train.
Ashley and Noah were quicker to follow. Dory spun on his heel and began to follow, but he wasn't used to running in boots. His foot slipped, and he fell to one knee. He could hear the creature skittering toward him. He snatched up his beetle and spun around, swinging wildly. The creature reared back, just out of the arc of Dory's swing. It hissed, and specks of saliva spattered on to Dory. Dory took another swing, and when the creature shifted its balance backward, Dory ran.
He reached a t-intersection. He could see the gentle glow of his companion's lanterns flickering to the left, so he went that way. The creature's legs tapped furiously behind him. He heard it crash into the wall as it turned, and it screeched hideously. Dory ran so hard that his legs burned. He ignored them.
He reached another intersection, but this time he couldn't see the glow of a lantern. He heard the echoing of Otto's voice roaring, "Come on!"
He ran down the hallway it sounded like the echo had come from. The creature crashed into the wall again. Its tapping feet were getting more distant. Dory just had to keep taking turns. He was presented with another opportunity before long, but this time he could neither see nor hear where his companions had gone. He didn't have time to despair. He guessed.
This hallway was long, and by the time he reached the end of it, the tapping of the creature's spiderlike legs had become faint. Dory took a moment to deliberate at the next intersection. He didn't recognize any of these passages. His heart sank.
He took the passage to his right. Then he took the very next left. Soon, he had given up on trying to divine his friend's location, and was focused on taking as many turns as he could manage. By the time the skittering had fallen silent, he was well and truly lost.
Dory recalled the stories from his training, in which Wrights had gotten lost on deep patrol, and were never seen again.
And now he was one of them.

Also Ashley is a boy, and an insomniac.

Also, I apologize for getting your sex wrong. =P

EDIT: Er, Ashley is a boy and NOAH is an insomniac.

Erm, Diabolical...this is...amazing. Lexically consistent, and while it is not only an interesting concept, it maintains focus. Your grammar is down to a key and your actual spoken discourse is perfectly executed to the point that it borders on real speech, which even established professional writers have trouble with without employing some sort of sociolect or dialect, which severely fragments the flow of a story. Furthermore, the attack does not go into excruciating detail, you traded off description for flow, which works very well in this instance. Maybe I'm tired and I'm not being critical enough, but there's nothing poignantly wrong worth commenting on as far as I can see. So congrats. Pleeeeease keep working on this so you can publish it, digitally or by hard back.

And with that all out the way:



also...I am a bloke really fear not. XD

You can call me Jazz.
And thanks. 0___0 That was some mighty high praise!
I actually do use a bit of dialect in the novel. But the dialect is light enough to be easily understandable, I think, and the jargon is all based on sailing terminology, so it ought to be easy-to-follow.
And it's really only one character who speaks with dialect distinct enough that I distinguish it in the text.

Hooray Futurama reference! =D
And ~whew~ that's good; I'm TERRIFIED of women! D=

Utterly fantastic, if you need to throw ideas at someone without fear that he'll steal your work and publish it for himself, I have a lot of free time. ;D

And on the girls note, I'm terribly, terribly shy, so I'm in a similar boat to you in that, I always run out of things to say. XD

I appreciate that. ^__^ I may indeed throw ideas at you.

Actually, my main problem right now is that I don't know what should happen next. Like, I can't really figure out an overreaching story arc.
There's a drug-addicted girl who dresses like a boy and calls herself Billy, and she's been hanging out with Dory's pet rat,
And Dory is still lost in the Underdecks, and Noah and Ashley have decided to go find him.

But it isn't anywhere near long enough. I need more plot. >_<


Hah, such is the fate of folks on a nerd forum, I suppose.
I don't generally run out of things to say, I just say stupid things and then regret it. Or have difficulty beginning a conversation.
For example, even if it comes up in coversation, attractive women do not want to know what Furries are. Or the fact that dolphins are the only mammals other than humans that commit murder and rape for recreation.

Try being a complete cunt! I did that, and haven't looked back since. XD

Also, creating a substantial plot is hard enough, but then getting it to stretch 300 pages + is worse, I have yet to write anything longer than 40 pages. =/

Heh, nah. It's against my nature to be mean to people. I'm okay with being a weirdo. It's just inconvenient sometimes.

My first novel is 112 pages, and I still have to give it an epilogue. Traverse is only 66. >_<
That first novel was easier because its plot was entirely based around a series of terrible things happening. XD

I wanna reeeeeead eeeet!! =D

What, which one?

I dunno, either or XD

Hrm, well where would be a good place to post them?
I'm nervous because I actually plan to try to get the first one published.

you could email me if you want, you don't have to ^^ of if you want to discuss over Aim or MSN, I don't mind, but if you do need help, just message me, I'll offer whatever assistance I can. =D