(What? An uncreative title for a rambling-about-writing post? I suppose it had to happen sometime.)
I've seen a lot about novel lengths—how many words are acceptable for a certain genre, the debate on whether 50,000 words can ever be enough, and so on. Yet I haven't seen much on chapter lengths aside from actually reading novels.
I like to keep my chapter lengths consistent, firstly. I've yet to try to count pages or words in any published books, but I feel like it's not rare to do this. Really short chapters can come up for emphasis; otherwise, everything seems more or less the same. Of course, this is just a rough estimate; it may be more of a matter of seeming the same length in accordance with pace. That sounds like a much tougher algorithm than word count, though.
My chapters are typically rather short. For some fictions, I'll do 1,500 words; some, 2,000; some lighter ones even 1,000. Compared to the 4,000, 6,000, or 8,000 I see elsewhere in the fan fiction world, mine have quite the pallor in comparison. Sometimes I will go up to 3,000 or so if the story doesn't have a good splitting point, and sometimes I just can't stuff the chapter enough to get to the typical amount.
Which do you consider more important, length or consistency? Does it even matter as long as the story has divisions where it should be, chapter break, section break, or otherwise?
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Saturday, October 12, 2013
New Fan Fiction Idea #20
This was an older idea that got a few scenes put together in my head, but I never had any idea where it was going or from whence it had come.
Working Title: Past and Future
Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Length: Multichapter
Genre Tags: Adventure/Sci-Fi, maybe
Protagonists: The story follows both the Axis and Allies groups, with Italy being the main character in his section and someone else being the main in the other (I don't think I ever decided, I planned so little of that part. Probably England for symmetry).
Other Main Characters: The rest of the modern-day Axis (including Romano) and Allies, as well as Italy in the future and medieval-era England.
Antagonist: No clue whatsoever.
Plot: Something happens (quite possibly the generic plot device of England's magic exploding on everything), and suddenly the Axis finds themselves in the past, and the Allies in the future. Both groups carve out a bit of a living as they try to find their way back.
Setting: The Axis go to some sort of town in medieval England, wherever England himself would likely be at the time.
The Allies end up in the future at an undetermined location on Earth. Probably somewhere in Italy, since he shows up, quite frightened to see them as, in the new unified Earth, nation-tans aren't allowed to see each other in order to reduce conflict. Some of the nations have altogether disappeared due to the homogenisation of the place.
Point of View: Third-person, limited to Italy and other protagonist in alternating chapters.
Working Title: Past and Future
Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Length: Multichapter
Genre Tags: Adventure/Sci-Fi, maybe
Protagonists: The story follows both the Axis and Allies groups, with Italy being the main character in his section and someone else being the main in the other (I don't think I ever decided, I planned so little of that part. Probably England for symmetry).
Other Main Characters: The rest of the modern-day Axis (including Romano) and Allies, as well as Italy in the future and medieval-era England.
Antagonist: No clue whatsoever.
Plot: Something happens (quite possibly the generic plot device of England's magic exploding on everything), and suddenly the Axis finds themselves in the past, and the Allies in the future. Both groups carve out a bit of a living as they try to find their way back.
Setting: The Axis go to some sort of town in medieval England, wherever England himself would likely be at the time.
The Allies end up in the future at an undetermined location on Earth. Probably somewhere in Italy, since he shows up, quite frightened to see them as, in the new unified Earth, nation-tans aren't allowed to see each other in order to reduce conflict. Some of the nations have altogether disappeared due to the homogenisation of the place.
Point of View: Third-person, limited to Italy and other protagonist in alternating chapters.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Prompt Writing #3
I figured it was about time to give another one of these a shot.
Prompt: [Forward Motion Writers generator]
"For days, the dull gray skies have opened up, the rain a steady, drenching downpour. Every creek, every river, every pond laps at their banks, ready to spill over.
Another hour, two at the most, and the real floods will begin. Does your character dig in, or run for the high ground? Can they run even if they want to?"
Randomly Selected Story and Character: Roughhouse, Terry
It had been raining since the orphanage released him. At first, Terry hadn't minded the downpour; the shushing and splashing were wonderful, the water dripping down his arms tickled, and he didn't have to worry about getting sunburnt. But as the rainfall continued and his food money depleted, his cheer started to drain.
By the time he was beginning to suspect it would flood, he was already out of town, chewing on wild berries and trying to find more. A little creek at the far end of the stretch of bushes fizzed and pounded at its banks, and brackish puddles in the grass reached out to each other and snapped into bigger puddles. His cheap, leathery boots were nearly black from wetness, and water and particles sloshed around his feet as he abandoned what little remained on a blackberry bush.
Where was he supposed to go? Higher ground, right? The city was too far away to go back, so he would have to press forward. That looked like a little hill ahead. Maybe it would be enough. It couldn't keep raining forever.
Slipping a bit with every step, he crept up the trailless slope. By the time he finally reached the top, he was sure it was high enough, but a look down proved that that was an illusion. Thin currents were already twisting the grass below, though, and he would have to see a better hill immediately if he was going to get to it in time.
He looked about quickly, but the only thing he noticed was the large lean-to straight ahead, in the flatter area. While every branch in the shelter was soaked through, the two pairs of soles visible through the opening weren't moving. He wondered for a moment if they were just abandoned shoes facing the same way, but those would have started to drift in the flood by now.
Still the rain fell, and still neither of the occupants had moved. Surely they weren't dead?
"H-hey! Is anyone..." the twelve-year-old started, cupping his hands around his mouth, but the whoosh of rain pounded the sound down into the water. Shivering hard, he looked down at the sheet of flowing water for a minute before deciding it still wasn't very deep.
His first step sent him sliding and staggering all the way down the hill. Falling onto his hands with a tremendous splash, he hurried to get his fingers out of the mud before he wiped them on his pants and walked ahead. The current was surprisingly strong, but if he just went step by step, he wouldn't get in any trouble.
He was panting with the effort, the water past his ankles, when he finally got close to the lean-to.
"Hey!" he called again, seizing one of the branches, half for support and half to draw attention. "You guys—you guys need to get out!"
Finally one of the boys in the shelter stirred, although he really had to force himself to get into a seated position. Squinting past his sopping wet, dirty-brown bangs, he sat there and groaned for a minute.
"Sorry," Terry started, taking a step back, "but, I mean, you should probably get up..."
It took another minute for the older boy's eyes to open fully. After a pause, he twisted to prod at the half-Asian boy next to him. "John," he mumbled. "Wake up. It's raining too hard."
John didn't move, and Terry let go of the shelter, walking a bit further back. The water was over the tops of his boots now, and his feet dragged in the water stubbornly.
"There's a hill," the twelve-year-old started, pointing, "over that way. It's not very tall, but it's at least better than here, right?" The current tried desperately to sweep him under, so he started back towards the hill after one more look at the bleary-eyed teen.
A high-pitched yawn startled Terry, but the grassy mud was sucking at his soles too much to let him jump. Rubbing his jacketed arms in an attempt to stop shivering, he plodded on a few more steps.
By then the others had caught up. They were taller than Terry had anticipated—at least, they were tall compared to him—and they seemed to be having a bit less trouble pulling their bare feet out of the ground. Despite that, one look at them made Terry wonder how on earth they had made it out of the shelter, let alone hurried along this far. Through a thicker sheet of rain, he hadn't been able to see the swellings and bruises across the white teen's jaw and John's cheekbones. The teens' shabby clothes revealed more damage than that, and John struggled ahead with a steady limp that the other tried to match. Both let their arms hang limply at their sides as they hurried ahead.
What had happened to them? Had they been mugged? Had they fallen down a long stretch of rocks? How did—
With a yelp, Terry went under. One boot remained stuck in the mud, and his ankle twisted painfully as the current wrenched him around. He groped blindly beneath him until he got to the ground, but he couldn't get his chin above the water before his trapped boot slipped off his foot. Grass uprooted in his hands as he tried to at least keep from being whisked away, and his head pounded and tingled as he refused to breathe in any water.
Suddenly the ground was gone. Gasping, Terry groped wildly at the rain for a while before realizing he was no longer underwater. Coughing and spluttering, he wiped some of the dirty water from his eyes and tried to figure out where he had ended up.
He was seated, bouncing slowly, and his feet didn't touch the floodwater. In fact, his calves were resting against fabric—the other boys' shirts. Shared between their shoulders, Terry was borne like a prince over the water. The two beneath him let the mud from his feet soak into their shirts as they forged ahead in unison.
Beyond the rain, Terry couldn't quite tell how far the hill was, or how high the water had come. But John and his friend plowed ahead steadily, and Terry clung to them, sure that they'd make it.
Prompt: [Forward Motion Writers generator]
"For days, the dull gray skies have opened up, the rain a steady, drenching downpour. Every creek, every river, every pond laps at their banks, ready to spill over.
Another hour, two at the most, and the real floods will begin. Does your character dig in, or run for the high ground? Can they run even if they want to?"
Randomly Selected Story and Character: Roughhouse, Terry
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It had been raining since the orphanage released him. At first, Terry hadn't minded the downpour; the shushing and splashing were wonderful, the water dripping down his arms tickled, and he didn't have to worry about getting sunburnt. But as the rainfall continued and his food money depleted, his cheer started to drain.
By the time he was beginning to suspect it would flood, he was already out of town, chewing on wild berries and trying to find more. A little creek at the far end of the stretch of bushes fizzed and pounded at its banks, and brackish puddles in the grass reached out to each other and snapped into bigger puddles. His cheap, leathery boots were nearly black from wetness, and water and particles sloshed around his feet as he abandoned what little remained on a blackberry bush.
Where was he supposed to go? Higher ground, right? The city was too far away to go back, so he would have to press forward. That looked like a little hill ahead. Maybe it would be enough. It couldn't keep raining forever.
Slipping a bit with every step, he crept up the trailless slope. By the time he finally reached the top, he was sure it was high enough, but a look down proved that that was an illusion. Thin currents were already twisting the grass below, though, and he would have to see a better hill immediately if he was going to get to it in time.
He looked about quickly, but the only thing he noticed was the large lean-to straight ahead, in the flatter area. While every branch in the shelter was soaked through, the two pairs of soles visible through the opening weren't moving. He wondered for a moment if they were just abandoned shoes facing the same way, but those would have started to drift in the flood by now.
Still the rain fell, and still neither of the occupants had moved. Surely they weren't dead?
"H-hey! Is anyone..." the twelve-year-old started, cupping his hands around his mouth, but the whoosh of rain pounded the sound down into the water. Shivering hard, he looked down at the sheet of flowing water for a minute before deciding it still wasn't very deep.
His first step sent him sliding and staggering all the way down the hill. Falling onto his hands with a tremendous splash, he hurried to get his fingers out of the mud before he wiped them on his pants and walked ahead. The current was surprisingly strong, but if he just went step by step, he wouldn't get in any trouble.
He was panting with the effort, the water past his ankles, when he finally got close to the lean-to.
"Hey!" he called again, seizing one of the branches, half for support and half to draw attention. "You guys—you guys need to get out!"
Finally one of the boys in the shelter stirred, although he really had to force himself to get into a seated position. Squinting past his sopping wet, dirty-brown bangs, he sat there and groaned for a minute.
"Sorry," Terry started, taking a step back, "but, I mean, you should probably get up..."
It took another minute for the older boy's eyes to open fully. After a pause, he twisted to prod at the half-Asian boy next to him. "John," he mumbled. "Wake up. It's raining too hard."
John didn't move, and Terry let go of the shelter, walking a bit further back. The water was over the tops of his boots now, and his feet dragged in the water stubbornly.
"There's a hill," the twelve-year-old started, pointing, "over that way. It's not very tall, but it's at least better than here, right?" The current tried desperately to sweep him under, so he started back towards the hill after one more look at the bleary-eyed teen.
A high-pitched yawn startled Terry, but the grassy mud was sucking at his soles too much to let him jump. Rubbing his jacketed arms in an attempt to stop shivering, he plodded on a few more steps.
By then the others had caught up. They were taller than Terry had anticipated—at least, they were tall compared to him—and they seemed to be having a bit less trouble pulling their bare feet out of the ground. Despite that, one look at them made Terry wonder how on earth they had made it out of the shelter, let alone hurried along this far. Through a thicker sheet of rain, he hadn't been able to see the swellings and bruises across the white teen's jaw and John's cheekbones. The teens' shabby clothes revealed more damage than that, and John struggled ahead with a steady limp that the other tried to match. Both let their arms hang limply at their sides as they hurried ahead.
What had happened to them? Had they been mugged? Had they fallen down a long stretch of rocks? How did—
With a yelp, Terry went under. One boot remained stuck in the mud, and his ankle twisted painfully as the current wrenched him around. He groped blindly beneath him until he got to the ground, but he couldn't get his chin above the water before his trapped boot slipped off his foot. Grass uprooted in his hands as he tried to at least keep from being whisked away, and his head pounded and tingled as he refused to breathe in any water.
Suddenly the ground was gone. Gasping, Terry groped wildly at the rain for a while before realizing he was no longer underwater. Coughing and spluttering, he wiped some of the dirty water from his eyes and tried to figure out where he had ended up.
He was seated, bouncing slowly, and his feet didn't touch the floodwater. In fact, his calves were resting against fabric—the other boys' shirts. Shared between their shoulders, Terry was borne like a prince over the water. The two beneath him let the mud from his feet soak into their shirts as they forged ahead in unison.
Beyond the rain, Terry couldn't quite tell how far the hill was, or how high the water had come. But John and his friend plowed ahead steadily, and Terry clung to them, sure that they'd make it.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
New Fiction Idea #36
I actually had two other ideas before this, but this grew more quickly since it came from a plot rather than a world or characters.
Working Title: The Piper
Genre: Suspense/Mystery, perhaps
Protagonist: Monica, a woman in her twenties with light, brown hair she ties up and a serious face. She's rather small in stature and has an official occupation of seamstress, but she moonlights as a detective for those who hear of her. She's quite kind and susceptible to crying over terrible things that happen, but she can put on a more stoic bearing and usually does when it comes to her detective work. She was adopted by her parents, of whom only her father survives.
Other Main Characters: Natalie, Monica's coworker and sometime assistant. She has dark, curly hair and green eyes. She's easily startled but can handle quite a bit of pressure.
Antagonist: "The Piper," a serial killer in his late thirties. While his hairstyle and clothing change often, he always has a generally freckled complexion and a winning smile. He's manically intelligent and either acts sweet or cunning (or occasionally both, in an odd way).
Setting: A chain of small towns and larger ones in a well-off country. The time period couldn't quite be classified as medieval, but it's certainly before the modern-day. I'm still undecided as to whether this should be an alternate universe or some period in our world's history. At any rate, adoption isn't heavily regulated.
Plot: Monica pursues The Piper and struggles to subdue him before he can adopt the next child he plans to kill.
Point of View: Likely third-person, limited to Monica, although first-person wouldn't be out of the question.
Working Title: The Piper
Genre: Suspense/Mystery, perhaps
Protagonist: Monica, a woman in her twenties with light, brown hair she ties up and a serious face. She's rather small in stature and has an official occupation of seamstress, but she moonlights as a detective for those who hear of her. She's quite kind and susceptible to crying over terrible things that happen, but she can put on a more stoic bearing and usually does when it comes to her detective work. She was adopted by her parents, of whom only her father survives.
Other Main Characters: Natalie, Monica's coworker and sometime assistant. She has dark, curly hair and green eyes. She's easily startled but can handle quite a bit of pressure.
Antagonist: "The Piper," a serial killer in his late thirties. While his hairstyle and clothing change often, he always has a generally freckled complexion and a winning smile. He's manically intelligent and either acts sweet or cunning (or occasionally both, in an odd way).
Setting: A chain of small towns and larger ones in a well-off country. The time period couldn't quite be classified as medieval, but it's certainly before the modern-day. I'm still undecided as to whether this should be an alternate universe or some period in our world's history. At any rate, adoption isn't heavily regulated.
Plot: Monica pursues The Piper and struggles to subdue him before he can adopt the next child he plans to kill.
Point of View: Likely third-person, limited to Monica, although first-person wouldn't be out of the question.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Time versus Distance
No, not the heading of a graph. This concerns goal-setting in writing.
I can't really say I'm consistent with which kind of goal I'll set (when I do set them). In general, I'll use a time goal because I like to update The Long and Winding Road at least every five days. In actual writing sessions, though, rarely is my goal based on time. On occasions where I just feel uninspired, I may break out my iTunes track of songs of alternating length—one about two minutes, the next longer—and write as much as I can during the shorter songs while resting on the longer ones. I've done something similar with commercial breaks, but I can only manage that when I'm actually interested in the show, which isn't often.
The other goal I'll set is distance, or word count. This is, of course, the way I go about NaNoWriMo, and it's also how I'll use Write or Die (although it is designed to go with either type of goal-setting). In general, I measure my progress by how many words I've churned out, since measuring the time doesn't make that much sense when I'm not being productive for every second of it. I'm necessarily productive for every word I get out (unless everything's ridiculously uninspired or it's too late at night for me to get out anything coherent). It's also easier to know exactly where I'm going on a broader scale, since I like to keep my chapter lengths more or less consistent.
How about you? Time or word count? Or page count? Or something else entirely?
P.S. The Action Girls has for some reason gotten over 100 views this month when the others around it have about 11. I have no idea what's going on with that, but thanks?
I can't really say I'm consistent with which kind of goal I'll set (when I do set them). In general, I'll use a time goal because I like to update The Long and Winding Road at least every five days. In actual writing sessions, though, rarely is my goal based on time. On occasions where I just feel uninspired, I may break out my iTunes track of songs of alternating length—one about two minutes, the next longer—and write as much as I can during the shorter songs while resting on the longer ones. I've done something similar with commercial breaks, but I can only manage that when I'm actually interested in the show, which isn't often.
The other goal I'll set is distance, or word count. This is, of course, the way I go about NaNoWriMo, and it's also how I'll use Write or Die (although it is designed to go with either type of goal-setting). In general, I measure my progress by how many words I've churned out, since measuring the time doesn't make that much sense when I'm not being productive for every second of it. I'm necessarily productive for every word I get out (unless everything's ridiculously uninspired or it's too late at night for me to get out anything coherent). It's also easier to know exactly where I'm going on a broader scale, since I like to keep my chapter lengths more or less consistent.
How about you? Time or word count? Or page count? Or something else entirely?
P.S. The Action Girls has for some reason gotten over 100 views this month when the others around it have about 11. I have no idea what's going on with that, but thanks?
Friday, October 4, 2013
Lee's Island, Part 2
More drudged-up fan fiction for those who weren't scared off by the first instalment.
In which most pieces of dialogue could be said by anyone and an authentically Japanese name is revealed:
In which most pieces of dialogue could be said by anyone and an authentically Japanese name is revealed:
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Hey, guys, look who I found."
"My gosh, everyone's here!"
"Uh, what's going on? Ooh, cool! Food!" He grabbed the last fish and started eating.
"Ugh. Yep, that's Naruto." Sakura sighed. "Great."
"Oh! Hi Sakura!" Naruto said. "Hey, you got any more fish?"
"Nope. Not unless you get it yourself." TenTen said.
"Darn it!" Naruto said.
"Well, I guess since you're here, you can help us build our shack."
"Um, okay. What do I need to do?"
"Hmm, we could probably use a lot of help, so why don't you make some shadow clones?"
"Okay," Naruto said, making three hand signs. "Shadow Clone Jutsu!" and instantly, five more Narutos appeared. "You two can figure out a way to find out where we are or something. The Narutos and I will build the shack."
"Sounds good to me." TenTen said.
"Okay, Naruto, I have already started. Follow me." said Rock Lee.
"Okay." said a Naruto. Rock Lee walked towards the skeleton of the hut.
"Geez, is that all you have?" one Naruto said.
"Well, I just started a minute ago!"
"Okay, whatever. What do we do?"
"I have the basic structure made, so all we need to do is cover it up. I have some leaves to do just that." He pointed to the giant leaves.
"Okay, how do we stick them to the branches?" said a Naruto.
"Oh, yeah. We need to find some kelp, too. Let us go to the shore." Lee said. Rock Lee and the gaggle of Narutos headed to the shore to find some kelp. They gathered some and ran back to the hut's skeleton.
"Okay, let's go." They strapped together the leaves and the branches to make the hut. When they had finished, they walked around looking for some cushiony leaves and such for everyone to sleep on.
"Hey, I think I found some! Believe it!" Naruto, whose clones were gone, yelled.
"One sec!" Lee shouted, starting to run towards the source of Naruto's voice. He got there and felt the big leaves that Naruto had found and said, "Yeah, these will be great! Let us get a few and head back to camp."
"Uh, camp?"
"Where the shack is."
"Oh, okay. Let's go, believe it!" They picked the softest leaves and ran back to the hut. When the boys got there, TenTen and Sakura weren't there.
"I guess they are not back yet." They looked around for a little while. The fire was out and the moon was high in the sky. Then they heard a scream. Sakura's scream. "Sakura!" they yelled in unison. Both ninja ran towards the sound.
A little later, they finally found TenTen and Sakura. Sakura was lying motionless on the ground, blood everywhere. TenTen was also down, but with less wounds.
"Oh, no!" said Lee. "Sakura! Are you okay?" Lee knelt down and put two fingers on Sakura's neck. No pulse.
"Sakura! Naruto, she-she doesn't have a pulse. This is serious!"
"No! Sakura! Wha-what do we do?"
"Do you know any healing justu?"
"No. Do you think she'll be okay?"
"Unless some miracle happens," Lee said, with a gulp, "she won't make it." Naruto gasped.
"Well, l-I will go ahead an-and s-see if TenTen's okay." He walked over to TenTen and laid his fingers on her neck. "It looks like TenTen made it. I just wish Sakura-" He stopped, weeping hopelessly.
"I can help you," said a faint voice from nowhere.
"Wha? Who's there?"
"Oh, no one really, just someone who can heal anything." The mystery girl's words hung in the air for but an instant.
"Please, heal Sakura!"
"If you wish," said the girl. "But I will need a favor."
"Anything, just heal Sakura!"
"As you wish." Suddenly, the girl appeared. She was another ninja, but she wasn't from the Village Hidden in the Leaves, as the others were. She was from the Village Hidden in the Mountains, as her headband indicated. Her hair was brown with white streaks, and her eyes were bright orange. She had black shorts and a black shirt with netting at the ends. She walked up to Sakura and made several hand signs. "Spirit Heal Jutsu!" She said, putting her hand on Sakura's chest. She pushed down quickly, and a ring of chakra emnated from her hand onto Sakura. The girl stood up and said, "There you are. Now are you ready to do your favor?" Lee said, "But how do we know you healed Sakura?"
"Check her pulse, check her breathing, check whatever you like, and you will find that she is healed." And so Lee walked up to Sakura and put his fingers on her neck as before. "You did it!" He said with exitement. "You brought her back!"
"But may I remind you that everything comes with a price," said the girl. "You promised me a favor if I healed her."
"Okay, okay, what do you want?" Naruto asked. "Nothing much," said the girl, "Just a little of each person's blood on this senbon."
"Wha?" Naruto said.
"Don't worry, all I have to do is poke you with this." She walked up to Naruto and poked part of his arm with the senbon, just enough to make it bleed. She walked over and pricked Rock Lee with the senbon, exactly as before but in his left leg. Then she kneeled down and poked Sakura in the chest. She walked over to TenTen and stabbed her in the side. "My work here is done," she said. The girl made four hand signs, yelled,"Sprinting in the Mist Justu!" and disappeared.
"Huh, I wonder what that was about?" Naruto said.
"Who knows? I am just glad Sakura is back!" Lee said. A second later, Sakura arose. "Ugh. I feel like I just got hit by a Demon Wind shuriken."
"What happened, anyway?" Lee asked.
"I don't know. It all happened so fast. We were exploring when someone, or something, attacked us. I blacked out, and here I am. I think I almost died."
"Actually, you did. There was a girl that came by and brought you back. Then she pricked all of us and ran off, believe it." TenTen, who had also risen, gasped.
"What did she look like?" she asked, her voice hard and trembling.
"Um, let's see, she was from the Village Hidden in the Mountains, she was wearing black, and her hair was brown, but with white streaks." Naruto said.
"Oh, no."
"What?"
"That girl is not a normal ninja. She's a descendant of the Undinasha clan."
"So what?"
"The Undinashas don't have their own chakra network. They take chakra from others."
"How?"
"If she causes a person to bleed, she gets full access to that person's chakra." she said, her voice harder than before. The other three gasped.
"So you mean that she can take all of our chakra if she wants to?!" Lee said, his eyes wide with fear. TenTen gulped. "Exactly."
Well, that sucks, Sakura thought. Cha!
Suddenly, Lee fell to the ground, gripping his leg and shouting with anguish.
"Lee!" Sakura shouted.
"It's happening already. She will devour our chakra until we die," TenTen said, her voice tinged with fear. Lee screamed again, a bloodcurdling scream.
"Lee," Sakura said, her hands tensed. Rock Lee was now laying motionless on the sand.
"Get ready, everyone. We're next." Sakura was the next shinobi to lie motionless on the sand. Then Naruto. Then TenTen.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
New Fan Fiction Idea #19
This is another old idea I suddenly remembered. I don't think I'll ever actually write it, but it's worth recording. It's a rather iffy premise, anyway.
Working Title: The Runaways
Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Length: Multichapter
Genre Tags: Family/General
Protagonists: Both Alfred and Matthew (human!America and human!Canada), who start as their chibi selves but grow up during the course of the story. They're twin brothers.
Other Main Characters: Mr. Kelley, a 50-ish convenience store owner in a backwoods area. He's quite kind and has never had a wife or children.
Antagonist: Arthur (human!England), the older brother of Alfred and Matthew by a decent margin. It's unclear exactly what he did to upset the twins so much, but he's not an entirely pleasant character.
Plot: All three orphaned, the brothers try to get along in an orphanage with the twins under Arthur's authority. By seven, the twins have decided to run away, so they do so, struggling to stay undercover and alive in the streets until they cross paths with Mr. Kelley, who helps them get an education and eventually hires them in his shop.
Setting: Modern-day, probably America. Some takes place in a rather large city, while a later section is in more of a town.
Point of View: Third-person, omniscient.
Working Title: The Runaways
Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Length: Multichapter
Genre Tags: Family/General
Protagonists: Both Alfred and Matthew (human!America and human!Canada), who start as their chibi selves but grow up during the course of the story. They're twin brothers.
Other Main Characters: Mr. Kelley, a 50-ish convenience store owner in a backwoods area. He's quite kind and has never had a wife or children.
Antagonist: Arthur (human!England), the older brother of Alfred and Matthew by a decent margin. It's unclear exactly what he did to upset the twins so much, but he's not an entirely pleasant character.
Plot: All three orphaned, the brothers try to get along in an orphanage with the twins under Arthur's authority. By seven, the twins have decided to run away, so they do so, struggling to stay undercover and alive in the streets until they cross paths with Mr. Kelley, who helps them get an education and eventually hires them in his shop.
Setting: Modern-day, probably America. Some takes place in a rather large city, while a later section is in more of a town.
Point of View: Third-person, omniscient.
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