Rate the Excerpt Above You

Hmmm, about a 5ish. Were you trying to copy CS Lewis' style of writing?
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No, I was not..... Snow Valley was my own idea... I do copy off of some things in Narnia and such sometimes for my books though.

and 5.

Lightening had struck stone. The throne room of the castle of Ventargo had been hit by a ferocious bolt of lightening. Stone does not usually catch on fire but this was something different. The storm swirled around Ventargo; thunder boomed and lightning crackled, but no rain came.

Some ran in the streets, others hid in their homes. Some old ones said that the wrath of the White Cat was upon them, and they were correct. Long had the Ventargoians forgotten the White Cat, now few remained who believed in the stories of Him. His wrath had now decended upon them for his servants were trapped in that place and He was angry, or so some thought.

Mozart was amazed. She had been awake and on guard when the lightening struck Ventargo and now she could see small flames jumping up from the stone palace. The old castle was burning. It had stood there for hundreds of years but was now torn apart by something it had always been able to defeat;
Fire.
"Ventargo burns." hissed Ribbony, "We must hurry!" for though his kit-hood home was much changed he still loved it, or loved what it had been. Ribbony's rage was equal to yours if you came home one day and found your house burnt down, with no-one there and could see none had tried to stop the flames.

The slaves made use of the great distraction. They rammed the door with their chains until it broke, then they ran up to the higher levels of the castle.
"Here I've got the key!" shouted Hope. She swiftly unshackled them and then still with their chains the slaves ran in a confused mass.
 
YOU LEFT CRYSTAL THE CAT WITH BEN BARNES!

Hah hah! yup. I've had that cat since 2006. Its a really old worn stuffed white tiger and i used to drag her everywhere so it was a good story base. The rest of that tale was Ben trying to return it to me because them message on her collar was so moving and sad.
I give your excerpt an 8

Heres some more of that ben barnes story

After we'd left London,Ben discovered Crystal. He had gotten his Pajama's on(at least,he thought a T-shirt and underwear was pajama's) when he saw Crystal's tail sticking out under the bed. "Ello,what's this?" he said. He pulled crystal out. He was surprised to see her. This ratty old tiger with glass eyes,and tons of coloured stitches where i'd sewn up her holes. The only thing of value on the sack was the silver ID collar i'd placed on her neck. My address and phone number was engraved on it. Ben was interested in this stuffed animal. He said he would take care of it in the morning. In the morning he packed up his belongings and took them and Crystal to the lobby checkout. "Excuse me miss." he said to the lady behind the counter. "Did you check out a Miss Ingram?" "Yes sir." said the hotel lady. "But it was a Mr. Ingram,he and his two daughters were staying in room 131111." "Do you know where they might've gone?" asked Ben. "No clue sir," said the lady. "But i heard the teen ager one mutter something about not having her tiger with her on the way to witchita." "Witchita!" ben exclaimed. "Oh of course,the license said kansas." "No problem Mr. Barnes." said the checkout lady. "How do you know my name?" asked ben. "I checked you in last tuesday." said the Lady. "And I'm in the ben barnes facebook fanclub." "Oh,yeah right." said Ben. He handed the lady his key and left. He went back to his apartment,long from the hotel and pondered how to return the ratty stuffed animal to me.
 
Narniamoondust said:
YOU LEFT CRYSTAL THE CAT WITH BEN BARNES!

Hah hah! yup. I've had that cat since 2006. Its a really old worn stuffed white tiger and i used to drag her everywhere so it was a good story base. The rest of that tale was Ben trying to return it to me because them message on her collar was so moving and sad.
I give your excerpt an 8
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lol we have a real cat called Crystal, she's a snow bengal cat.:D

hmm, 6.


Creamy stumbled out of the castle. In each of his front paws he held one of his sister's paws. Jako followed nearby with Fire.
Swiftly Creamy took count of them, searching out Jako and Fire's near identical orange heads in the crowd. He saw one small head bob towards him. Jako popped up in front of him a moment later.
"Where's Fire?"
"I thought she was with you!" Jako said in alarm.
The two tom-kitten's eyes looked towards the burning stone with dread.


"Jak? Creams? Pumpkin?!? Taaaaaansy!!!! Where are you?" Fire cried out as she ran along the endless burning hallways of the castle.


Jako didn't wait for Creamy do say or do anything but he ran faster than he ever had before back into the burning stone castle.
"Fire? Fire! FIRE!!" he yelled, anyone still evacuating stared at him like he was crazy, others called back to him, "Yea we know there's fire, get outta here you goof!" but Jak went on, heedless of their cries.

Fire heard someone calling her name. By now she had been in the place for some time and had found the armory and taken a sword (only a short-sword for a full grown cat though it was purrfect for her) and a dagger. She looked altogether frightful walking through the smoke the same color as the fire around her. Never once did she cough at the smoke though, nor did she ever once get scorched by the flames that licked out at her.

"Jak, Jakie?" she called hesitantly.
“Over here Fire!”
“I’m coming!”
Fire saw her brother around the next bend. She hugged him tightly but he said, “We have to get out of here! C’mon!” he grabbed her paw and dragged her through the flaming corridors, Jako too never got burnt.

Suddenly their way was blocked by the fire. The only exit the two knew of was the front door, and it was blocked with fire.
It was the only entrance and exit too.

As if knowing they must go on this way and no other way the two held paws and Fire said, “I love you Jako.” And Jako said, “And I love you Fireheart.” Then they faced the fire, took a deep breath and jumped.

Fireheart and Jako jumped through the fire, the fire that would have scorched any other being save the White Cat or perhaps Alaya. The two turned and looked at each other.
“Fireheart.” Whispered Jako, “Fire-heart.”
“And you too Jako.” She said just as quietly. The breaking noise of stone interrupted them and they ran swiftly toward the entrance. Creamy, Tansy and Pumpkin waited there, staring in awe at the two of them.

“You went through da fire, Fireheart and Jako.” Tansy said, amazed at her two siblings.

But they had no time to ponder, for at that moment an evil laugh was heard echoing through a nearby alleyway.
 
Hehehe. Cute, and it made me giggle. 8




What drove this poor boy here, I wondered. Was his situation like mine? Did he have a drunken father whose hand always reached for the cane? Although I did not know his reason, I felt tears come to my eyes. I approached the boy, and, in an impulsive moment, I embraced him as if I’d known him all his life. He did not fight or struggle. Instead, he put his little arms around my neck and cried into my coat. I cried too, although I’m not sure why.

I do not know how long I held him, but after a long time, his sobbing stopped. I released him and he drew back. He wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Why are you crying, Sir? I didn’t think men cried. My Papa never cries, even with all that happened. Are you crying because of your face? Does it hurt?” Of course he had noticed my crooked nose and bruised face.

“No, I’ve had these for a long time. They look terrible, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. I was crying because….you remind me of myself.” It was hopeless to try and explain. The child’s face clouded with confusion, and he did not speak for a while.
 
6....


Tigerclaw was surprised that the she-cat had tried to attack him, but he had no time to ponder it. Missy landed on him like a bolder. He gasped for breath as she held him down.

Missy was old but not fragile. She had fought before and could do it again. She slapped her paw, claws out, against Tigerclaw’s shoulder, and then dug in her claws as he thrashed about.

Emitting a howl of pain as Missy’s claws dug into his shoulder, Tigerclaw snaked about in the grass, thrashing on his back in hopes of throwing his oppressor off.
 
8.

(I loved your "satirical-parody-type thingy" excerpt, by the way. Sounds like it would be a hilarious story.)


"Ben!"

Ross McDermott's voice jolted Ben from the frenzied state in which he'd remained since discovering what Warner had left on top of Sutherland Ridge. He stopped in his tracks, just inside the front door of the cabin. "What?" he said. It was the shortest tone he had ever used with his father.

"You were supposed to have been home for supper--hours ago! It's nearly dark. What on earth did you think you were doin', boy, keepin' your momma waitin' like this?" His father's blue eyes seethed their irritation. Some men in the hills of East Tennessee didn't give two bits for how anyone treated their wives. Ross McDermott was different. Thirty years of marriage, and his love for his wife hadn't diminished. But that love, translated to anger, was the last thing Ben needed to face at a time like this.

"No--look--Warner--he--Jake Sutherland--"

Ross's anger flared again, and this time it had nothing to do with Ben's mother. He didn't seem to notice the mention of his older son Warner. "How many times have I told you not to go near that boy!" he snapped, meaning Jake. "You never listen, do you? Late for supper because--"

"No, Pa--it's not that. His family--"

Ross's face registered plain disgust. The Sutherland-McDermott feud had flared up, off and on like malaria, since the end of the Revolution. Ben, as a young boy, had forged a forbidden friendship with Jake, sneaking off at odd intervals so they could go to Jake's "secret" fishing hole. The friendship had eventually been discovered by their parents, and both boys received a lecture delivered primarily to their hinder ends; but the friendship had stubbornly persisted. "Benjamin, how many times have I told you that you're being a fool? When fightin' breaks out again, and Jake Sutherland takes his own side, what are you goin' to do?"

"It--has broken out again, Pa," Ben answered quietly.

"Those Sutherlands--"

"Stop it!" Ben bellowed suddenly, with force enough to shock himself and his father both. "Jake's father and five of the kids are dead. Jake and his mother are both hurt bad--her pregnant--and you know who did it? Who did it unprovoked?"

Ross was shocked into silence.

"Warner!" Ben shouted. "That's right! Your son! And you said when he ran off to New York that he just had different blood--see how much hill blood he's got? Enough to go after the Sutherlands. Just like any good McDermott!" He spat out the word, knowing he was being unfair. No McDermott or Sutherland had ever behaved like his older brother. It wasn't the hills that had made Warner a murderer.

But he couldn't forget the look that he had last seen in Jake's glazed brown eyes.

In front of him, his father breathed in a stunned gasp. "Warner?" he whispered. "Warner killed--"

And then Ross McDermott did something that Ben, in seventeen years of living, had never seen his father do. Ross McDermott began to weep.
 
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Nine point nine.


Back in the day, this forum had virtually unrestricted roleplays. In that setting, BarbarianKing and I created superhero characters who had the power to defeat the sexy vampires which were on almost everyone's mind. More recently, I wrote a more or less satirical story derived from this. It was originally intended to be a short one-shot gag, but it expanded into a longer satirical work, still open-ended. BarbarianKing became a co-author of "My One And Only Twilight Story."

Here is the episode which originally was going to be all there was to it:


Aro and the other Volturi thought, for a moment, that the human in a strange costume who had somehow burst into their headquarters was a delusional psychotic, someone with whom they could have some cruel fun. Their first hint that something was wrong came when Jane's pain-projecting power had no effect at all on him.

Once their next hint came, it was already too late for them.

A telekinetic force more powerful than anything they had ever imagined was holding the vampire aristocrats immobilized and helpless. They had forgotten how to feel fear; now, they remembered.

"You think you're so superior, because you enjoy undeserved advantages," The Grey Eagle told them in a voice of doom. "You think you can go on treating the human race as groceries. Well, you can't. It ends now. YOU end now. And you'll have all eternity to find out what it's like to be on the receiving end of absolute helplessness. Time to die now."

Each and every one of the Volturi now caught fire. The burning began at their feet and worked its way up; this way, they would have time to scream and beg for mercy, as so many innocent victims had begged. And now it was THEY whose pleading was in vain. Their cries dissolved into wordless shrieks of agony; then they died--and found that their well-deserved punishment was only beginning, and would never ever end.

Grey Eagle waited till all the Volturi were completely consumed beyond any possibility of regeneration; then he said, "All right, come in." His witnesses entered the chamber: Alice Cullen and Jacob Black, of whom the latter was delighted at what he saw and smelled. The superhero addressed Alice:

"Put out the word to other vampires. Their ONLY chance of survival is to go your way and stop feeding on human beings. If they don't, I'll be coming for them, and they'll burn. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," said Alice meekly.

Over the next four months, Grey Eagle fulfilled his word. Vampires who reformed were allowed to live; all other vampires, everywhere in the world, were slain without mercy, for they deserved no mercy. And mortal fools who thought that evil predators were cool, had to look for other villains to admire.
 
I remember the monalouge Roleplay. That was fun!

You get a 9.

The beginning of one of my Les Miserables fanfictions:

The Inspector was glad that at least he had his hat back. It had appeared, mysteriously, when he had immerged from the river and climbed, surprisingly dry, onto the green bank. He'd been sitting there for a while. It may have been days, but it may have been months.

Days did not seem to pass normally, and he did not need to sleep. Had he been alive, he would have loved this extra energy, but it did him no good now. There was a town nearby, and there were people, but they lived peacefully and harmoniously, and so had no need for him.

He sat instead on the river bank, dangling bare feet in the pleasantly cool water. He felt that its constant current was the only steady thing in this new world. Even the stars above him were different than the ones he'd gazed at when he was alive.

He heard footsteps behind him, but did not turn around. People came down to the river sometimes, to swim or catch fish. He did not mind their presence, and they paid no attention to him. It was lonely, and he almost wished that he had someone to talk to during this eternity, though he'd never had anyone in life.
 
Ben Slade dropped his head to his knees. I've been a fool. I never should've come back. The USF wouldn't free him until he had answered their questions--and Ben had already sworn his silence. But I didn't know they'd have me arrested as soon as they realized I wasn't coming to tattle fast enough, he thought, frustrated. Did any of his family members even know where he was, in this hidden complex beneath the streets of Chicago?

Cold from the concrete floor--his cell had no furnishings whatsoever--seeped into his bones. How long had it been since his last interrogation? Six hours--longer? He didn't know. They turned the lights on and off at such irregular intervals that he had no idea how long he had been imprisoned. More than three days, surely. But how much more?

Stupid, he snapped silently. Utterly stupid. He had always been stupid.

Footsteps echoed somewhere. Was an agent coming down the hall to bring him to the interrogation room? Then he remembered that the cell was soundproof. He could never hear anything in the hall. But--he heard the sound of footsteps. Again. His mind? No.

They had to be playing games with him. There was an intercom system connected to his cell somehow. He heard footsteps again? Maybe it was his mind after all. Maybe--

Ben hunkered down and shoved his hands against his ears. Let them play. He had given his word, and it was too late for him to retract it.
 
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Oooh, that was really good. Very intense and descriptive. Nine points from me. *nod nod* Here's mine. It's from a SF, in case anyone is confused.


Katka tipped his head back against the seat, watching cities slip past in the shuttle skylights. His mother, Raura, lived in the Lowsphere cities. It was as far as you could get from the Academies without dipping into the industrial workspheres, where factories rooted like seeds into the crust of the earth, and the air was filled with shipment pods like so many flocks of fish.

There was nothing terrible about the cities. It was just so far away from space, from the music of the stars—Raura used to love the starsong. Now she hated anything involving space.

But Katka had felt the call since before he fledged. Deepspace was in his blood, in his family’s blood. His great-grandfather had discovered how to navigate the Passes, and a century ago, one of his family had assisted the team that discovered how to crystallize a ship’s hull, thus allowing passage through the Mirrored sphere.

“We are meant for great things,” his father had always said. Often with a smile at the unfledged children stumbling around on the floor, his great brow soft, his strong wings easy at his sides. Katka had heard—had remembered. We are meant for great things.

That was before the tragedies, the Great El, the time of innumerable loss in deepspace.

Katka let his head roll to the container by his side. It read, Aria-El.

El: one who is lost.

The crack in Katka’s crystal throbbed. He ached for the sound of her voice. For her simple presence by his side. Always they had been together, since the day she lost Zaire, through the time their fathers never returned from deepspace, through everything that followed. They had lost it together.

Always.
 
From my Mozart book:


“Caspian!”
Mozart ran her tiny paws gently over her brother’s head and neck. Then she found the cause of Caspian’s ‘defeat’. A long ugly scratch ran down from his lower neck to his shoulder. It had happened to quickly for most to tell and no-one is quite sure how he got it. That wound and his smaller ones combined with much exertion caused him to lose enough blood to faint. It wasn’t a permanent effect, but it was presently a problem.
Mozart went to work. In a time period of ten minutes she had Caspian’s wound bandaged and was working on the others, ignoring interested on-lookers and their questions.
“Will he be able to keep fighting?”
“Is he ok?”
“Is that little one his sister? She’s no more than an infant!”
Jak walked up triumphantly.
“I guess he’s down. That means I win.”
Mozart was up staring into his greenish eyes in an instant, standing on a log and her tip-toes she could still not meet him eye-to-eye, but it was close enough for her.
“Not so fast, you weakling kit! My brother’s out of the game for now, yes, but he wasn’t still fighting! So he should get a substitute in his place to finish this fight with you. After all,” she smiled, “Caspian never said yet that he gave up.”
“Fine,” countered Jak, “Who’s gonna sub for him? None of these chaps, they’re loyal to me, right boys?”
There was a muffled cheer from the congregation. Mozart held up her head and said,
“I’ll sub for him!”
Jak turned to her.
“What did you say?”
Mozart smiled.
“I said, I will sub for my big brother.”
Jak’s mouth dropped open and nearly hit the ground.
 
8. (The line "Jak’s mouth dropped open and nearly hit the ground" made me smile.)


Carrie Lee Callum draped herself over the fence and watched her older brother as he led Banshee toward the gate. The dark bay horse whinnied and tossed her head, resisting; but Josh tugged her along steadily. "I've got reason," he called to his sister.

"What reason?" she shouted back. "You couldn't act colder to him if you were an ice cube in a deep freezer on an iceberg at the North Pole!"

Josh rolled his eyes and didn't respond. Banshee flung her dark mane a bit as he paused to open the gate, but she went through willingly. "That horse'll never get broke right," he said in good-natured disgust as the two came up to Carrie Lee.

"You still haven't answered my question," she said pointedly.

Josh wrapped the reins around his knuckles and sighed. "Look, Carrie Lee, it ain't as if I've got any requirement to tell you everything I think."

She frowned at him. "So you're uneasy with Ned bein' here. All I'm asking is why. It's not like he's a gangster from Chicago or anything."

"But that's just it." Josh shrugged. "I don't know what he is. There's no paper trail that can even prove he exists."

"That's not his fault, though," Carrie Lee said. She understood Josh's point of view, but she had come to know Ned Andrews fairly well since he had been found alongside the road with a bullet-broken leg. The care that he showed for his younger sister Hannah was not a facade. He took responsibility for her like no sixteen-year-old that she had seen in her life.

"Maybe not, but don't you think it's a little convenient that he doesn't know so many things? Suppose he's got something to hide. He could go one of two ways: lie, and have law enforcement find out while trying to help him; or be unable to give any substantial answers, with his age as an excuse. He doesn't know his Social Security number--"

"Well, neither do I--"

"He doesn't know where his parents are," Josh continued, ignoring her, "or where this uncle lives that he supposedly came here to Texas to find. His parents hardly ever stayed long in one place, so he doesn't know people that could give us answers. He has no idea who shot him and insists it was probably a hunter's stray bullet--it's all way too convenient to be an accident, Carrie Lee! He's no idiot; he knows this is the only way to keep us from finding out who he is. He's hiding something big. And whoever said all criminals fit the same mold?"
 
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Oh, 8.8.


In early 2008, I started a satire of Christian fiction--not because I dislike Christian fiction in principle, but because too many writers do it badly. My project, which was never completed because of my wife Janalee's passing, was called "Excerpts From The World's Worst Christian Romance Novel." Here is a love scene from the imagined novel:

Tom had to remind himself to breathe as Jessica pushed a stray lock of her golden hair back behind her ear. He put a finger under her chin to tilt her face upward so he could see her deep azure eyes dancing. Both of them felt electricity from the touch, and heard their hearts singing. Jessica felt the floor swaying under her feet as she leaned her head against his chest, so she reminded herself to breathe. Tom was already imagining their wedding; it would be a civil ceremony, because he was not about to be so intolerant and judgmental as to demand that God have anything to do with it. All that really mattered was the harmony between their hearts; God was love, so He would understand. Jessica looked up again and saw Tom's dark eyes dancing, so she reached both her hands up to frame his face, and they both felt a wonderful warmth from the touch. Tom felt the floor sinking under his feet, so he pushed a lock of his own hair behind his ear. Jessica put one finger under Tom's chin to tilt his face, which reminded her to breathe while her heart was singing. His heart beat a furious rhythm as he twined his fingers with hers. The floor was dancing, and Tom and Jessica both raised their hands to frame each other's faces, feeling electricity from the locks of hair they were tucking behind their ears. Their eyes were singing and feeling a wonderful warmth, so they put fingers under each other's chins as their hearts wavered under their feet, and they imagined their civil ceremony with hands framing their faces as their eyes danced and the stray locks of hair felt electricity from the floor and their fingers were twining and they put their eyes under their chins to tilt Jessica's head against Tom's chest where she drowned in his eyes but reminded herself to breathe and their faces framed their hearts which were singing.
 
LOL. I remember that, too. 9.

Anyway, after reading yours, I was inspired to write my own:

“Children, it is time for dinner!” Both girls smiled, and Faith set the book aside.

“We shall resume our reading later, Hope.” She took the little girl’s hand, and together they slowly made their way down the stairs, taking great care not to tread on the hem of a skirt and fall.

Soon, Faith, Hope, and Rev. Loyalty Lazarus Loveton, their father, were seated at the table. The table was set properly, with the knives and forks on the correct side of the plates. After the plates were filled with a healthy vegetarian dinner, Rev. Loyalty Lazarus Loveton said grace:

“Lord, we thank thee that we hast food to nourish our bodies. We also praise thee, in that we are far different than the vulgar sinners who dine on meat. As they poison their body with sins of flesh, so they poison their minds with false doctrines. We thank thee a thousand times over that we are better than these. Amen.”

“Father,” said Faith, as she helped Hope cut up her asparagus, “May I start wearing a skirt that falls just below my knees? The weather is becoming warmer, and I may start to sweat.”

“I suppose you may,” said Rev. Loyalty Lazarus Loveton, “But only in the house, with the shades down. You do not want horrid outsider boy looking at you.”

“Oh, no, Father!” Faith was horrified at the very idea of it, “I certainly do not want those members of the opposite gender to be aware of my legs.” She blushed, and smoothed her skirt down over her legs.
 
The Spanish Inquisition said:
“Children, it is time for dinner!” Both girls smiled, and Faith set the book aside.

“We shall resume our reading later, Hope.” She took the little girl’s hand, and together they slowly made their way down the stairs, taking great care not to tread on the hem of a skirt and fall.

Soon, Faith, Hope, and Rev. Loyalty Lazarus Loveton, their father, were seated at the table. The table was set properly, with the knives and forks on the correct side of the plates. After the plates were filled with a healthy vegetarian dinner, Rev. Loyalty Lazarus Loveton said grace:

“Lord, we thank thee that we hast food to nourish our bodies. We also praise thee, in that we are far different than the vulgar sinners who dine on meat. As they poison their body with sins of flesh, so they poison their minds with false doctrines. We thank thee a thousand times over that we are better than these. Amen.”

“Father,” said Faith, as she helped Hope cut up her asparagus, “May I start wearing a skirt that falls just below my knees? The weather is becoming warmer, and I may start to sweat.”

“I suppose you may,” said Rev. Loyalty Lazarus Loveton, “But only in the house, with the shades down. You do not want horrid outsider boy looking at you.”

“Oh, no, Father!” Faith was horrified at the very idea of it, “I certainly do not want those members of the opposite gender to be aware of my legs.” She blushed, and smoothed her skirt down over her legs.
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Somebody had to be awarded a ten eventually.

YOU'RE IT!!! YOU GET A TEN!!!

I leave it to someone else to take the suicidal step of trying to follow this!
 
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