What are you writing about? Published or not, finished or not, in progress, on hiatus, a three year old Na-No-Wri-Mo, whatever - what’s your story about?
I’m writing a story about a girl who graduates high school at barely seventeen, and has to deal with college in NYC and getting an internship at a clothing boutique.
One of the issues is having to deal with not being legal when her friends want to go out clubbing. =S
About a pair of brothers who bring magic back into the world, one of them goes missing and the other starts a school to save a few of those whose minds are susceptible to magic, yet strong enough to resist what I’ve taken to calling the low-key death. And dreams of seagulls . . .
What happens when all the lights, everywhere, go off.
Mine’s a long romantic epic set that begins in England around the time of WWI. Kinda looselly inspired by Jeeves and Wooster, it’s about the long ond tortorous affar between a closeted, rich member of nobility and his opportunistic valet. It spans fifty years and covers marriages, children, changing social mores, etc. It’s also insanely ambitious and will probably never be finished.
About a guy who thinks he can see everyone’s auras which tell him basically what basic ethics people are of. Of course, this turns out to be true…
Fantasy novel about a woman who’s turned into a man, and has to learn how to be a man, while being wanted for murder and guarding a dangerous artifact that can’t fall into the wrong hands – most notably, the villain, who is a pretty nice guy overall.
Mine’s the story of an elderly, mentally ill WWI veteran and the nurse, recently returned from Vietnam, who takes care of him.
Long ago I started a fantasy novel about alternate evolution where birds never lost the claws on their wings but evolved them into usable hands and developed intelligence and civilization. The Eagles are dominent and fight a war with tribes of barbaric land birds while their theocracy rots from within. (I was going to call the Eagles’ evil priesthood the Order of the Phoenix.)
I have nearly finished a book of centrist essays that I’ve posted online as a blog:
A mash-up of a series of fantasy short stories about the Thallasomancer, a sea-wizard. The kingdom he resides in is dependent upon the ocean for its commerce and general well-being, much like feudal Japan. The macguffin in each story is a marine creature behaving as a real, if obscure, organism does, to illustrate the variety of biological adaptations we find in th esea.
Mine’s a first person POV from a young SS soldier in the Einsatzgruppe in Lithuania, and it’s about their charismatic Lithuanian interpreter who hides a dark secret.
It’s a war story about the duality of man, a mystery and a gothic horror story.
Story of a guy who didn’t turn out the way his dad thought he should, and his effort to work out his relationship with his dad after the dad dies. It’s tough going for me because I don’t have all the “dad disappointment” baggage a lot of guys have: my dad thought I was the bee’s knees.
It’s sort of a coming-of-age fantasy about a girl who is a gifted artist in a world where skilled artists can animate paintings, use them as portals, and other cool stuff (and where, consequently, aristocrats compete fiercely to become their patrons and have been known to resort to kidnapping).
My novel is about a 15 year old mixed race girl (half Latina, half Japanese) who spends a considerable amount of time on an internet message board pretending to be a middle aged white guy named John and all the people she has tricked into believing her.
What is she wearing?
Khakis, an oxford shirt, and some loafers. No tie. Oh… and boxers, not briefs.
A romantic comedy about a government assassin and his handler, it’s a madcap romp.
The first moon landing, in late 1967.
Novels are supposed to be fiction, Voyager.
Hey, we never landed on the moon, so that counts.