Elf's Journal

Here are ten questions to ask that will not put your friend in a tough spot, but will still give you some useful input on your novel:

1. At what point did you feel like “Ah, now the story has really begun!”  2. What were the points where you found yourself skimming?  3. Which setting in the book was clearest to you as you were reading it? Which do you remember the best?  4. Which character would you most like to meet and get to know?  5. What was the most suspenseful moment in the book?  6. If you had to pick one character to get rid of, who would you axe?  7. Was there a situation in the novel that reminded you of something in your own life?  8. Where did you stop reading, the first time you cracked open the manuscript? (Can show you where your first dull part is, and help you fix your pacing.)  9. What was the last book you read, before this? And what did you think of it? (This can put their comments in context in surprising ways, when you find out what their general interests are. It might surprise you.)  10. Finish this sentence: “I kept reading because…”

Your friend is probably still going to tell you, “It was good!” However, if you can ask any specific questions, and read between the lines, you can still get some helpful information out of even the most well-meaning reader.

And everyone has all these theories about them like, what did they do before? Why are they like this? How do they just automatically know how to sew clothing, milk a cow, and build quality shelter, but….. they don’t know who Chris Evans was. Never heard of Buzzfeed. Can’t drive a car. They’ve apparently never seen Star Wars OR Star Trek. Who the hell is this person? Why are they so weird?

And eventually it comes out: When the apocalypse happened this person took the opportunity to blend in, reinvent themselves. But in the old world?

A Guide to Writing Awesome.

Everyone loves magic (and if you don’t you should be ashamed!). I mean who wouldn’t want to be able to turn into a dragon, shoot flaming spaghetti noodles from their eyeballs or teleport their car instead of sitting in traffic? I know it sounds awesome, but in order to do these things when writing a story you need to have some ground rules. Just like any other concept in your world, you need to figure out how it works. It doesn’t have to be an exact down-to-a-science kind of explanation, but it should at least be plausible.

So, how does magic work?

Born with it – Well aren’t you lucky? Your special self was born with the ability to use magic. A lot of the ‘born with it’ magic users are often of a certain race or bloodline. For instance in Harry Potter the ability to use magic was tied to blood. A lot of fantasy stories tend to have the token magic race, like elves.

Gift from God – You were given the ability to bend reality to your will and turn fearsome monsters into puppies by a higher power, usually some special deity. Dungeons and Dragons uses this concept for the Divine Magic classification regarding magic that clerics can use.

Got it from an artifact – You found an ancient magic item that seems to be a great source of power. Using or wearing this artifact grants you the ability to use magic.

Static power source – Your world gets its source of magic from a mysterious and ancient power source. This can be things like: power crystals/gems, a dimensional breach, an ancient well of power that possibly taps into the core of your world, the life energy of your world/realm/multiverse, an ancient (possibly holy) structure that may or may not have served as a tomb for a dead deity, and the list goes on. You can really make up anything as a static power source as long as it’s explained well enough to make sense in your story.

Power of souls/will – MAGIC IS MADE OF PEOPLE. You can tap into your own soul, the souls of others or even manipulate your will to manifest into a physical spell effect. Depending on your power, you may be able to cast magic by thought alone.

Book learning – Magic primarily exists in hefty tomes that require years of study to even begin to understand. Magic may exist in text, symbols or a mix of both. Spell scrolls, rune casting, magic tags and spell circles all fit here.

Use your words – There is power in language. Magic may be instilled in the very words we speak. The language may be common use or it may be hidden. Magic may be cast using a single word, a phrase or a lengthy incantation that has a lot of prep time.

Fire burn and cauldron bubble – Magic in your world is primarily cast from potions. You can mix together any number of ingredients for a specific effect on either yourself or an opponent.

Science is magic – It is possible to do this. Some say that when you have incredibly complex science, it can do so many amazing things that it may as well be magic. Adventure Time introduced an idea like this. Princess Bubblegum is a science genius and knows the forces that govern the world all have a scientific basis. She makes a comment regarding the magic users of Wizard City that their magic is science, but they just don’t understand it.

Feel free to combine any of these to make a system that works for you or come up with your own.

Magic Classifications

You don’t have to classify your magic, but there are some classifications that are commonly used when talking about certain spell types. References: D&D and The Elder Scrolls.

Abjuration – Often refers to protective spells like barriers, walls, shields, wards and circles. Magic dispels, enchantment breaks, and curse removals also fall into this category.

Alchemy – Some fantasy worlds define alchemy as being a kind of magic and some don’t, and those that do have incredibly broad definitions. Alchemy can be used to create potions and longer-lasting elixirs in order to modify the conventions of a normal world. Alchemy can often do anything that the other schools can.

Alteration/Transmutation – This is magic that alters the properties of a target. Buff spells (like increasing a person’s strength), weakness spells, spells that turn your mom into a cat, water breathing and spells of the like belong here.

Conjuration/Summoning – Want to summon a demon to fight for you? Or perhaps you want to be able to make your own magic weapons appear out of thin air? Well, that’s what this spell school is for.

Divination – Focuses on learning information. Example: Detect Magic. You can be pretty creative with this one, as it’s the spy school of spells.

Enchantment – In D&D these types of spells affect the mind and emotions. Sometimes this is also defined as enchanting weapons and objects to give them magic properties (instead of alteration).

Evocation/Invocation/Destruction – This is where all of the fun, energy based spells go. Things like ice spears, lightning bolts, water cyclones and fire balls are in this school.

Illusion – This is exactly what you think it is. Illusion spells can be cast on an individual, a group or an area to make something appear to be what it really isn’t. You can create hallucinations of one or all of the senses here.

Necromancy – Feel like waking the dead? This school is responsible for the creation of undead armies from either existing bodies or the creation of a new being. These spells often involve death and the manipulation of life energy.

Restoration – Healing magic meant to mend wounds, replenish energy and relax a troubled mind. It can also be used against undead.

Casting

Here are a few questions you should ask yourself when you think about how you want magic to be cast:

How much preparation time (if any) is required for a certain kind of spell? Is it some sort of complex ritual or is it reflexive?

Can it be interrupted, countered or dispelled?

Do you cast with words? Body language? Thoughts? Drawings? Tags? Circles? Text? From an object like a wand or sword?

If it’s from an object, do you lose the ability to use magic when disarmed?

Does it require any sort of concentration?

Can you cast while moving or do you have to be static for some reason?

How easy or hard is the spell to control? Does it have the ability to miss?

What does it look like? Is it a chain, an aura, a bolt, a ground effect? You can get creative with the visuals, and make sure that you do because it will help the reader get a better grasp on how your spells work.

What are the consequences of using this kind of spell?

Oh Yes, There are Consequences.

Like balancing the traits of a character, you must also do the same with magic.

As a general rule of thumb, magic should cause just as many, if not more, problems than it solves. Don’t get me wrong, you can use a spell to solve a problem in your story, but don’t get used to doing it all of the time. Magic is not easy street. Magic is an untamed force and sometimes, that untamed force gets pissed and strikes back.

Location, location, location – Perhaps that firestorm spell wasn’t the best idea to use inside of that shopping mall… Where you cast your spell will tend to help determine what you cast. You’re probably not going to use something that causes a lot of collateral damage in a high population area. You’re also not going to use a loud spell in a situation that requires you to be sneaky and quiet. Also consider the world and whether or not magic is known and commonly accepted. If it’s not and you fire off a lightning bolt in a busy intersection, then you might have a bit of a problem with the local police, or the National Guard.

Casting above your level – You need to figure out the level of magic you’re able to use. It depends on your experience usually, unless you’re gifted by God and can use high level spells right out of the gate. Magic can be unpredictable. If you try to cast a spell that’s far beyond your level, it’s going to blow up in your face and you, or other people, could get seriously hurt.

A price to pay – What does it cost to cast magic? This is something you need to figure out quickly and probably depends on your source. Maybe using a spell will deplete so much energy from your power crystal? Maybe spells require certain materials and running out of those materials will stop you from casting? Maybe using magic takes a certain amount of time off your life? Maybe there’s a spell that will automatically kill you? Maybe it requires more than one sacrifice? Maybe spells cause bodily harm to the user? Maybe you slowly start to go insane? Whatever the price, you need to be sure that it balances out the power of spell. Simple spells, like casting floating lights, may not cost much but something like warping space and time needs to have a terrible cost. There are exceptions, of course, if you’re working with a cast of characters that are god-like in nature. Then you can have those kinds of powers and can instead counter them with a character of equal power.

Magic vs. technology – How does magic fare against advanced technology? Can technology be disrupted by magic (like in the Dresden Files) or vise versa (anti-magic shields in Final Fantasy X)? Can your magic stand up to guns, tanks, aircraft? How do you fare when you run into someone who is an adept gunslinger or a master of blades? If your story has some sort of technology, this question needs to be answered. It’s always bothered me that Harry Potter never brought up what would happen if a gun was introduced into the wizarding world. The Harry Potter Puppet Pals suggested killing Voldemort with Uzis, which to me makes sense because it was never addressed in the books whether or not bullets could go through magic shields.

Spell weakness – What spells or types of magic are weak to each other? Magic can be equated to looking at a Pokemon type chart and figuring out what’s super effective and what’s not. Example: fire can melt ice but fire gets put out by water. When creating a new spell, always ask what type of spell it is and what possible counters it could have in a real world setting. For instance, I have a character who uses magic to give himself super speed and he gets trounced on by another one of my characters who can control ice because ice = no friction = no traction for running = a lot of sliding around.

Magic weapons – Magic weapons are pretty awesome but when you make one be sure it’s balanced, just like spells. If it has a special power, then make it one of kind and incredibly hard to use and/or acquire. Also be sure to give it a counter, whether it’s another weapon or a spell. Counters make things interesting and no one likes seeing a weapon that hands you the victory every time you use it.

A Final Word

When designing your magic, make sure it suits you and your story. For every cool, creative ability you make up, there needs to be some sort of drawback. Using magic as a tool to solve every single problem is boring and readers will tire of it. No one likes to read a story that has no complications and no struggles, especially if it uses magic. Remember that magic isn’t an answer, it’s a massive question.

To sell your novel, you may need to know how to write a synopsis, even if you are a pantser-type novelist who can write a whole novel without making an outline first. Agents and publishers will often ask for a synopsis along with sample chapters before they request a complete manuscript.

The biggest mistake most people make when they try to write a synopsis for the first time is to create a bare bones plot summary, along the lines of “First this happens, then this happens, then this happens…” Synopses written this way tend to be so dry and boring even the author would have trouble understanding why anyone would want to read the full novel.

Imagine, for example, if a sports writer described a hockey game as “First one team scored. Then the other team scored. Then the first team scored twice. Then the game ended.” Pretty boring, yes?

- See more at: http://www.how-to-write-a-book-now.com/how-to-write-a-synopsis.html#sthash.luoazyx1.dpuf

i’ve put together fun fic prompt generator with thousands of possible combinations! each prompt combines different settings, genres, tropes, and a prompt idea to get you started in a direction. you can use one or more of the ideas or the entire combination if it works out, or just refresh until you’re inspired. 

two versions! the safe for work version includes all pg-13 prompts, and the nsfw version includes a kink category as well as many more sexytime prompts.

sfw prompt generator

nsfw prompt generator

I drew something today…

In writing, as in dating and business, initial reactions matter. You don’t get a second chance, as mouthwash commercials often remind us, to make a first impression.

So it’s unfortunate that opening sentences frequently receive short shrift in writing workshops. While drilling aspiring literati on the subtleties of characterization and plot, few, if any, writing instructors offer lessons on crafting a first line, or even an introductory paragraph—though many agents and editors, if not impressed after a sentence or two, will read no further. I started devoting an entire session of my writing class to opening lines when I realized that the last formal instruction I’d had on the subject was the grade school admonition that stories should begin with “a hook.” In the years since, I’ve come to believe that the fate of most literary endeavors is sealed within the initial paragraph—and that the seeds of that triumph or defeat are usually sown by the end of the very first sentence.

Think of every opening line you write as a pebble tossed down a mountainside: The stone may jolt back and forth within a limited path, building up force, but the trajectory of its initial release largely determines its subsequent route. Never forget that the entire course of a story or novel, like an avalanche, is largely defined within its first seconds. To craft a compelling story, you must first launch it in the right direction.

Here are 10 ways to do it.

1. Build momentum. The first cardinal rule of opening lines is that they should possess most of the individual craft elements that make up the story as a whole. An opening line should have a distinctive voice, a point of view, a rudimentary plot and some hint of characterization. By the end of the first paragraph, we should also know the setting and conflict, unless there is a particular reason to withhold this information.

This need not lead to elaborate or complex openings. Simplicity will suffice. For example, the opening sentence of Flannery O’Connor’s “A Good Man Is Hard to Find” tells the reader: “The grandmother didn’t want to go to Florida.” Already, we have a distinctive voice—somewhat distant, possibly ironic—referring to the grandmother with a definite article. We have a basic plot: conflict over a journey. And we have a sense of characterization: a stubborn or determined elderly woman. Although we do not know the precise setting, we can rule out Plato’s Athens, Italy under the Borgias and countless others. All of that in eight words. Yet what matters most is that we have direction—that O’Connor’s opening is not static.

Immediately, we face a series of potential questions: Why didn’t the grandmother want to go to Florida? Where else, if anywhere, did she wish to go? Who did want to go to Florida? A successful opening line raises multiple questions, but not an infinite number. In other words, it carries momentum.

2. Resist the urge to start too early. You might be tempted to begin your narrative before the action actually starts, such as when a character wakes up to what will eventually be a challenging or dramatic day. But unless you’re rewriting Sleeping Beauty, waking up is rarely challenging or dramatic. Often, when we start this way, it’s because we’re struggling to write our way into the narrative, rather than letting the story develop momentum of its own. Far better to begin at the first moment of large-scale conflict. If the protagonist’s early-morning rituals are essential to the story line, or merely entertaining, they can always be included in backstory or flashbacks—or later, when he wakes up for a second time.

3. Remember that small hooks catch more fish than big ones. Many writers are taught that the more unusual or extreme their opening line, the more likely they are to “hook” the reader. But what we’re not taught is that such large hooks also have the power to easily disappoint readers if the subsequent narrative doesn’t measure up. If you begin writing at the most dramatic or tense moment in your story, you have nowhere to go but downhill. Similarly, if your hook is extremely strange or misleading, you might have trouble living up to its odd expectations. As a fishing buddy of mine explains, the trick is to use the smallest hook possible to make a catch—and then to pull like crazy in the opposite direction.

4. Open at a distance and close in. In modern cinema, films commonly begin with the camera focused close up on an object and then draw back panoramically, often to revelatory effect, such as when what appears to be a nude form is actually revealed to be a piece of fruit. This technique rarely works in prose. Most readers prefer to be “grounded” in context and then to focus in. Open your story accordingly.

5. Avoid getting ahead of your reader. One of the easiest pitfalls in starting a story is to begin with an opening line that is confusing upon first reading, but that makes perfect sense once the reader learns additional information later in the story. The problem is that few readers, if confused, will ever make it that far. This is not to say that you can’t include information in your opening that acquires additional meaning once the reader learns more. That technique is often a highly rewarding tool. But the opening should make sense on both levels—with and without knowledge the reader will acquire later.

6. Start with a minor mystery. While you don’t want to confuse your readers, presenting them with a puzzle can be highly effective—particularly if the narrator is also puzzled. This has the instant effect of making the reader and narrator partners in crime. An unanswered question can even encompass an entire novel, as when David Copperfield asks, “Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.”

7. Keep talk to a minimum. If you feel compelled to begin a story with dialogue, keep in mind that you’re thrusting your readers directly into a maelstrom in which it’s easy to lose them. One possible way around this is to begin with a single line of dialogue and then to draw back and to offer additional context before proceeding with the rest of the conversation—a rare instance in which starting close up and then providing a panorama sometimes works. But long sequences of dialogue at the outset of a story usually prove difficult to follow.

8. Be mindful of what works. Once you’ve given some concentrated thought to your own opening line, obtain copies of anthologies like The Best American Short Stories and The PEN/O. Henry Prize Stories and read only the first sentence of each story. As with any other aspect of writing, openings are their own distinct art form—and exposure to the masterwork of others is one of the best ways to learn. (Of course, the challenge of this exercise is to avoid being lured into a story with such a compelling opening that you aren’t able to put it down!)

9. When in doubt, test several options. Writers are often advised to make a short list of titles and try them out on friends and family. Try doing the same with opening sentences. An opening line, like a title, sometimes seems truly perfect—until you come up with several even better choices.

10. Revisit the beginning once you reach the end. Sometimes a story evolves so significantly during the writing process that an opening line, no matter how brilliant, no longer applies to the story that follows. The only way to know this is to reconsider the opening sentence, like the title, once the final draft of the story is complete. Often a new opening is called for. That doesn’t mean your first opening needs to be scrapped entirely; instead, file it away for use in a future project.

Needless to say, a brilliant opening line cannot salvage a story that lacks other merits, nor will your story be accepted for publication based on the opening alone. But in a literary environment where journals and publishing houses receive large quantities of submissions, a distinctive opening line can help define a piece. A riveting opening can even serve as shorthand for an entire story, so that harried editors, sitting around a table as they evaluate the crème de la slush pile, may refer to your piece not by its title, but as “the one that begins with the clocks striking 13” (as does George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four). Even after the rest of the story has evaporated from conscious memory, the opening may stick with editors, an iron peg upon which to hang their hats—and, with any luck, it will have that effect on readers, too.