To Create a Character by WarriorLoverInc, literature
Literature
To Create a Character
Are you starting a story? Do you have an incomplete, flawed, or no character at all? It's happened to me many times and in my struggles to perfect my creations, I have learned a few things. I present you with seven easy steps with a challenge each to get you thinking.
Grab a piece of paper and a pencil. Let's start
Step 1: Past
When creating a character, you must first establish a past. Even a person with amnesia has a past, they just don't remember it. Pasts are important, they show what shaped the person and why they are the way they are today.
If your character has a scar, why? If they have amnesia, why? If they have a phobia of
I am but a pen,
Not even a sword.
I have naught but words,
No skill may I afford.
Truly it is sad,
That it has come to this.
But if you are in need of writing,
Then let my words bring you bliss.
So tell me, what would you have me write tonight?
Sometimes when I wander by,
I see this stranger,
as snowflakes fly,
reading and not seeming to be in any danger
I catch a glimpse of his book,
it's so brown,
probably with a good hook,
and I gently sit down
He still doesn't look at me,
it's "The Book Thief",
I smile and let him be,
and begin to feel grief,
Because I know that book,
it's so sad,
when he finally gives me a look,
I know he doesn't find it bad
That's why I smile,
and he begins to talk,
we sit there for a while,
and later begin to walk
He with a long winter coat,
and the brown book in his hands,
me as I float,
above the snowy land
Sometimes reading,
can bring you together,
w
“I didn’t want him,” she says. “I wanted something, something I saw in the eyes of Libby, Sam, Sandi, and Agnes. Something that would have made our new world, our safe world, a home. Children were a part of that world and so I found myself a child. Perhaps, I thought, I would love him and everything would fall into place. Perhaps with a child I could be content with safety, and normality, and a world without knives taped on mop heads.” A cold smile. “I still catch myself thinking that. I still think that maybe tomorrow will be the day where I can fall asleep with the lights on.”
Carmen’s featur
The scars lie in zigzags across my throat. I don't remember the knife that made them, and they're not the point of this story; Annie is, and I'm mentioning them because she never asked about them. I loved her for that. Instead, when she found that I always played extras at the drama club because there were days when I couldn't speak in anything but a whisper, she taught me how to mime. I spent hours practicing in their dusty living room, swaying to the clatter of Georgie's nails on the piano keys. Georgie plays piano like Annie rides horses.
I still find the memory of her down by the old dirt road, where he put Georgie's piano. I turn my hea
Theres a crevice in the wall where she hides her little baby girl, all plastic smiles and mechanical giggles. She cuddles it like it has a soul and speaks to it like it has a name. Its soft rubber skin has been covered with paper hearts and marker stars, and its little plastic ears have been filled with whispers of adoration and love. Its wiry blonde hair has been crossed into braids, twisted up above its head, and she has pulled a dress onto its synthetic body with the brightest little smile. She reminds it that its beautiful, even though it cant hear. She fastens it tight int
“Do you even know what a demon is?”
Archibald Feeney had never considered himself an overly religious man, but he attended church every now and then, and read the gospel if there wasn’t anything good on the telly, and even said his prayers if there was a lull in his bedtime preparations. It was, however, still a bit of a shock to him when he ran face to face with his religion.
He had popped into the local pub for a fish and chips, having been late from work and disinterested in cooking. There might even be a pint in it for him, though he tried not to succumb to those urges too regularly. No more so than the vicar anyway, w
Every Angel Deserves a Child by enigmaticsmile, literature
Literature
Every Angel Deserves a Child
"I can't feel the unfurling of my wings, Daddy."
I was not her father. I had entered her life when she was two years old, and she called me Daddy since she never knew her real father. Her mother's death two years ago made me the sole, living parent of an thirteen year-old, and I never felt like I was the right person for the job.
"What do you mean, Asrin?"
"Mom always said that when puberty started I would be the swan that emerged from the ugly duckling. She said I would be able to fly gracefully towards my dreams. But, I don't feel it."
As much of a woman as she was becoming, she was still a child. I wanted to answer her question, but I re
angre de cristo
bruises things I touch
purples them in spring
when my fire sounds
lilac in fury
enough
it is enough
to push the angry
past tomorrow
the fire poppies
channel blue
into a future sea