Narnia

Living With The Pet.

Honestly, you should do whatever feels comfortable for you. Sometimes that 1200 words, sometimes that’s 6k. If you’re just starting out, I’d say not to push yourself, to just stick with what you can. You’ll get better as you practice, and aiming for a specific amount of words can be an exercise in frustration. 

Can I tell you a secret? When I was in middle school, my writing was awful. 

No one is ever born good at writing. It’s all about practice and time and effort, and I know that can be a depressing thought, but it’s like anything else. The more you write, the more you read and expose yourself to other people’s writing, the better you’ll get. Not to say your writing is necessarily bad right now, because just looking at what you wrote above I don’t think it is, but practice can only help you improve. 

火影

Here’s a snip from the Naruto movie, the Will of Fire.

“Oh, fuck me,” is the first thing Izuna says upon opening his eyes.

The gloriously beautifulcreature hovering over him, complete with heavy, sharp-edged chakra thatpromises to be absolutely devastating whenunleashed, simply arches one perfect brow at him. Long, dark hair, even darkerthan an Uchiha’s, swings across Izuna’s line of vision as the man sits back,and Izuna physically cannot resist.

He catches a handful of it,feels the heaviness against his fingers and takes a breath, mind alreadyspinning thoughts about how it would feel against other skin.  

There’s a pause, and the mantips his head. “Hairpulling, really? Now, is that any way to treat someone whopulled you back from the brink of death?” he asks silkily, with just the barestedge of menace that sends a thrill down Izuna’s spine.

It takes a moment for the piecesto connect. The last thing Izuna remembers is telling Madara to take his eyes,because he was dying from Tobirama’s blow and at least that way his brother wouldn’tend up an only child and blind. Afterthat…

Green, somewhere beyond hissenses. Healing chakra, as sharp and precise as a scalpel.

“You saved me?” he says, andbreathes out. “You—that should have been a mortal wound.”

Pale lips tilt into a smirk that’sperfectly at home on that elegant face, and those eyes—well. Izuna’s alwaysbeen a fan of hidden knowledge, and this man’s eyes promise secrets without end,just waiting for someone to pull them out and untwist them.

“My medical skills are wellbeyond the means of any healers you know,” the man says, and it’s arrogant and haughtybut also spoken with unhesitating certainty. “Care to let go?”

There’s a crackle of whitechakra, bright enough to blind, and the flat of a tantō taps the hand Izuna haswound in the man’s hair. “That was your only polite warning,” another man says,and his tone is amiable, but there’s something under it that sounds like baredteeth and blood. Izuna flicks a glance at the swordsman, to find white hair andsharp grey eyes above a smile that might as well be a threat. “Next time Orochimaruhas to ask you I take the whole hand.”

Izuna swallows hard, making hisfingers relax until the dark hair slides out of his grasp. He can’t quite forcehimself to look away from the white-haired man’s burning eyes, though. Also gorgeous,if in a different way than Orochimaru. Equally appealing, though, Izuna can saythat without a doubt.

“Fuck me,” he repeats, and isn’tsure if it’s a request or a curse on his terrible luck. “You—who are you?”

“No need to growl, Sakumo,” Orochimarusays lightly, ignoring Izuna beyond a fleeting look that could mean anything. “He’shealed, so I think my work here is done.”

Satisfaction slides into Sakumo’seyes, and he resheathes his sword, turning to offer his companion a hand up. Helooks at Izuna, too, but this one is very much a challenge as he gently grasps Orochimaru’sfingers and pulls him to his feet. Taking a deliberate step into Orochimaru’sspace, he touches his waist, gaze flickering up to his face, and smiles fondly.

“You’re all right?” he asks, andwhen Orochimaru levels a cool stare at him he laughs, raising his hand. “Nothingmeant by it, lovely, I swear. You used a lot of chakra just now, that’s all.”

“Fine,” Orochimaru allows,though one brow lifts faintly in silent judgement. “We should have just enoughtime to make it to the Senju before dark, if we leave—”

“What?” Izuna demands before he can stop himself, shoving upright. “Youcan’t go to the Senju! They’re out enemies!”

The roll of Orochimaru’s eyes isvery obvious. “Senju Tobirama is the most incredible shinobi to ever walk thisearth, and you want me to avoid speaking with him because your fathers had arivalry?” he asks, derisive and cutting. “I think not.”

Izuna gapes. Most incredibleshinobi? Tobirama? That’s so entirelyunfair that he can’t even find the words to describe it.

It’s little comfort that Sakumo doesn’tlook entirely accepting of the statement either, though he doesn’t argue.

“I—most incredible?” Izuna finally manages to get out. “He just—all hehas is water! And that flashy yellow light shunshin thing!”

Orochimaru’s expression goesflinty. “Everyone is entitled to their own opinion,” he says coolly. “Even, I suppose,when it’s wrong.” In a sweep of dark hair and pale robes, he turns, making forthe doorway, and says impatiently, “Sakumo, we’re leaving.”

Sakumo gives Izuna a smile that’sabout twenty percent better luck nexttime and eighty percent ha, and youthought you had a chance. “Coming, lovely,” he says cheerfully, following Orochimaruout of the room and dragging Izuna’s hopes of a threesome away with him.

Niccolo Machiavelli and Leonardo Da Vinci, most likely at the behest of the Borgias, once conspired to steal a river.

That’s right folks. They planned to change the course of the Arno River so that they could steal it from Pisa and make Florence accessible by sea. 

Please take a moment to imagine that.

Their plan failed, at which point Machiavelli decided to quietly fade out of politics…and went on to write The Prince, one of the most (in)famous pieces of Western literature.

Da Vinci, meanwhile, never forgot the river that got away. In fact, he made it the background of one of his most famous paintings–hell, one of the most famous paintings, period.

This is “Kindled” by Laura K. Cannon, which is part of her portfolio that can be found here: http://navate.com/2wk6im1sartc92iwza7il07bxq2mk5