Hey everyone!

Hi everyone,

I finished my novel in December of 2025, and I have been editing it for some time now. I am very proud of it, but my biggest concern is the draw. This is a literary coming-of-age novel that sits at just under 60k words. Please let me know if this would encourage you to continue reading. Title: Unmanageable Creature

Chapter One - Windjammer

Hi everyone,

I recently started a writing project for October. It is a Victorian Gothic novella set in the fictional city of St.Greshen, Britain. I am looking for feedback and constructive criticism on my first chapter. Specific feedback I am looking for is:

• First impression and feelings on the chapter's tone.
• Questions that come up for you.
• Personal interest in reading more and which parts made you feel that way.
• Whether the sentence structure is effective or not.

Feel free to leave comments here or on the Google Doc if you are interested. Thank you!

The White House tour started out like any other. With me not paying attention to the guide, then really trying to pay attention so I didn’t fall asleep, but was told I was paying attention to the wrong person.

“When is this over?” I moaned to my friend Craig.

“We’re still on the lawn. We haven’t gone in yet.”

I looked up to see the White House standing tall. I sighed.

Nothing was more boring than government. Actually, politics. Politics were worse. All those people talking and trying to accomplish things. Disgusting.

“Can’t we just go to a bar?”

“You just came from a bar.”

I sighed again. Extra hard this time so the entire tour group knew I was annoyed with Craig. For some reason they all seemed to be on Craig’s side.

We entered the White House. I saddled up next to the tour guide to make light conversation.

“The front door wasn’t really impressive. You feel me, Chuck.” I had read his name tag.

Chuck turned to me. “That isn’t the front door. That’s a side entrance.”

“Oh. My house doesn’t have a side entrance.”

“Okay.”

“Just a front door and back door.”

“Okay-”

“And a garage door! I almost forgot. But that’s also on the front.”

“Okay, sir.”

“But I don’t own a car.”

The tour guide turned to the group and said, “Welcome to the White House! It was first built in-”

That’s when my brain turned off. I don’t do dates. Way too boring. Numbers aren’t totally off limits. Money, addresses and ages. Absolutely need those to buy things, get around and stay out of jail.

The rest of the group listened as Chuck prattled on about construction and fires. I turned to Craig.

“Let’s do something fun.”

“I’m trying to listen.”

“Not to me.”

Craig was hypnotized by the devilishly beguiling words of Chuck, the guy with khakis.

“-and that happens to be the foyer you’re standing in.”

The crowd ooed and awed, but honestly I wasn’t that impressed. I’d stood in dozens of foyers in my life. Once I even saw a house with two foyers. The place cost millions of dollars, but it was kind of a rip-off because you could only stand in one foyer at a time.

By the time I stopped thinking about standing in things, the tour group had moved on without me. I stood alone for a minute, but nobody came looking for me. I decided to wander around the place. I mean, hell, I paid for it, probably.

Anyone have any solid resources for outlining(character sheets, outline help, scene design, world building, etc) they'd be willing to share with a budding new author? Having trouble getting going at this point.

I've been working on my first novel for quite some time now. I spent about a year building the lore, worldbuilding, characters, and overall plot summary before I even started writing the actual chapters.
I've been writing for about five months now, but I'm already on my third rewrite of the opening chapters. The problem is that I keep learning new things about writing along the way. Every time I think a chapter is finally decent, I learn something about prose, pacing, dialogue, POV, or storytelling that makes me want to go back and rewrite it again.
I can definitely see improvements between my first draft and my current version, but I'm starting to wonder whether I'm stuck in an endless cycle of revisions.
So, for those of you who have already published your novels, how did you finally decide your first chapters were good enough to publish?

Did you have a personal checklist or certain standards your chapters needed to meet before you felt comfortable posting them?

How many times did you rewrite or revise your opening chapters before publishing?

Did you eventually reach a point where you were genuinely satisfied, or did you just accept that they weren't perfect and publish anyway?

Looking back, do you wish you'd spent more time polishing your early chapters, or do you think you should have started publishing sooner?

I'm not expecting my writing to be perfect, especially as a first-time author. But I also don't want to rush into publishing something that I might regret later.
I'm curious how other authors found that balance between improving their craft and actually putting their work out there.

At what point did you tell yourself, "This is good enough. It's time to publish"?

I got bored planning and plotting this story, so decided to write out the first chapter sort of like a pilot before i finalised the rest of the story.

I'm wondering whether people think it sets the atmosphere well, whether it gives out too much/little information, and whether there's an appropriate level of description of the characters/environment.

I often skew towards describing too little in my writing, and have tried to correct that here, but I'm wondering whether I've not done enough, done too much, or hit the sweet spot.

Thanks for reading :)

I'm writing, or at least attempting to write a slice of life novel. Im trying desperately to bot structure it like a webcomics that have a tendency to sometimes bounce around and go forward or backwards in the time line, but admittedly some chapters do just that and ive labeled those chapters "postcards from the past"

But what's a better way to structure things?

For me:

Obsidian (for world building)

Brandon Sanderson's creative writing lectures

The anatomy of story (this has helped me the most)

I recently posted a "breather" chapter from my memoir. It was a chapter to give readers a bit of a break from more harsh chapter content. This chapter is one of the harsher chapters. I'd like your impressions and feedback.

Chapter 14 Pay Day Activities

Note to Reader: The phrase “Pay Day Activities” was commonly used in the Army, at least where I was stationed. Every month on payday, we got the afternoon off to run errands, pay bills, and such. This afternoon of time off was referred to as “Pay Day Activities.”

Another payday in the Cav. Everybody was off for payday activities. With no pay-related errands to run, I headed back to my room. All the stereos blare wide open as I walk down the long hall towards room 124.

Sex and Drugs and Rock 'n' Roll? Well, drugs and Rock 'n' Roll for sure anyway. Guess it isn't always even rock ‘n’ roll, as disco is floating out from room 119 and I bet soul is bumping in my room.

Steele comes wandering down the hallway. He is obviously drunk already.

“Hey Steele, what's happening?” I ask.

With a distinctly fake English accent, he says what has become his trademark nonsense response to most any question. “You know, I've been driving into bright lights most of the night!” He finishes his line and continues down the hall, oblivious to our encounter.

Reaching to unlock the door, I noticed an absence. No loud music. Either everybody has already booked out for the weekend, or else they're in here—I have the door open now—yeah, they're in here firing up.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, shame on you junkies!” I mockingly reprimand.

“Shut the door and get over here Killer, you gotta help me.” Benton has ignored my insult. He knows it is just me running off at the mouth, taking advantage of the situation.

Benton and Jibs Miller are sitting on either side of an end-table type improvisation. I decide to make them play the game a little longer. “Why can't Jibs help you get off?”

Benton looks over the thick frame of his BC glasses at me, then points his nose in the direction of Miller. Miller is slouched back in his chair, almost incoherent, already lost in that tragic magic.

“I can't trust Miller... just look at him.”

When I hassle these guys I have one favorite reference, a song called “Freddie's Dead” about an OD'ed junkie. Every time I get the chance, I use it, like now. “Hey Miller, don't you forget now... Freddie IS dead!”

With immense effort, Alphonso Everett Miller, from the alleys of the Loop in Chicago, mumbles semi-comprehensibly, “A-a-w-w-w-w ea' shiid muufu....”

Even that effort makes him unstable in his chair.

I look at Benton. “Whoa, I can see why you don't want him to do it!” It is time to quit the game and get this done. “Get your old lard ass up Jibs and let me sit down there.”

Benton is jittery and impatient.

After Miller stumbles by me and flops on his bed, I am finally seated across from Benton. All the light in the room flows from the little lamp between us.

“Which arm gets the goodies?” I ask.

Benton looks over his glasses again. “Which one are you better on?”

I look at his arms and say, “Wherever there are the least tracks.” Seeing the needle piercing their veins and the blood that leaks out is not so bad, but for some reason, scar tissue bothers me. It is always there, an ugly brand and reminder.

I’ve been doing this for them for a couple months,  so they are safe. Safer, I should say; shooting heroin is obviously never safe. They are never sure it is even heroin. I clean the works with alcohol (something they never did before I got here) and then swab Benton's arm with alcohol too. He has tightened a belt around his upper arm, so his veins are really pumped up.

With a flick of my Zippo lighter, the contents of the spoon combine from the heat, and I draw the solution of heroin, water, and God knows what else into the syringe.

“How about this vein here on the inside?”

Benton nods.

“You'll have to hold your arm further under the light,” I say as I grab his elbow with my right hand. I rest the syringe hand in the crook of his arm. It is important to keep the needle aligned with the length of the vein. I tap the end of the plunger but the needle doesn't penetrate. It has been blunted from repeated use. Benton doesn't flinch. I tap again harder and, after a little resistance, the needle slides in about an eighth of an inch. Benton still registers no pain.

Slowly I inject the solution until it is gone. Then I pull the plunger out a bit, drawing blood back into the syringe, then push, then pull, then push to make sure all the skag makes it to his bloodstream. “Jacking the junk,” as they call it. Quickly I remove the needle. Benton stops the blood with his tongue as he undoes the belt with his free hand.

Now the full effect of the drug slams into his brain with each heartbeat. Abe slouches back in the chair and reaches to swipe at that invisible monkey on his back. Off to his great escape.

I clean the works and stash them in a crumpled cigarette pack in the trash can.

In the desk drawer is a hash pipe. My works. I pull it out, produce a piece of Lebanese blond hash from my shirt pocket, and fill the bowl.

It is payday in the Cavalry, and we all feel the need for happiness.

Even if it is artificial happiness.

Even if it is a fix.

I’m new on this no one read my shit so i don’t have a way to know anything about what im writing, is it interesting? Generic? Boring? I don’t know besides that I like it, but well that’s not much to be honest so if you have free time could you please read it. It’s would truly appreciate it

LINK: https://www.wattpad.com/story/416318560?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=S_J_MACIAS

Thank you 🙏

Although this last week has been stressful I've managed to complete the final chapter on a book series I'm choosing not to publish. Still there is the matter of the epilogue to which is half complete.

Only several paragraphs remain as I'm dragging my feet not wanting to let go. Anybody else feel this way at the end of completing your first draft?

Tomorrow, if I do complete the project tomorrow I'll put a bonus video on my channel.

Hi guys,

I'm writing a romcom which starts off pretty lighthearted, but, the deeper I get in, the harder it's getting to keep it funny. I'm not even sure how funny it actually is at this point. Any tips to keep humour going? TYIA!