Young Author - Blog Posts

writing makes me so happy. i am so bad at it and such an unexperienced amateur but it makes me so happy.

My Book's on Amazon

Janice Lance: Monday Blues By Monet Mouling: Amazon.com: Janice Lance: Monday Blues: 9798335277259: Mouling, Monét: Books

SOOO... I feel like I'm an awful writer

Well, I'm not really sure where to start this. I'm a teenager. And I wrote a book. I'm getting it published soon. And I have an awful feeling that it's nothing but garbage. I did the best I could, I reviewed it a hundred times, I've rewritten and thought about stuff over and over again, but I still feel like it's no good. Without giving any spoilers, it's a slice of life book about 14-year-old girl in the eighth grade, with 6 out of 12 chapters taking place in school. Her and her parents have moved out of their old neighborhood 7 months before the book starts.

I want to make this a trilogy. I technically started this book series in 4th or 5th Grade, and I made a lot of google slides and I didn't really get better until a few months ago, when my dad got me a publisher through one of his former coworkers.

I really haven't wanted to admit it, but I'm pretty nervous about what the reception will be like. I feel like I'm just gonna get torn apart by critics, reviewers, and everyday book lovers across the nation or something.

Okay, this actually made me feel better. I hope anyone reading this has a good day/night!

A humble question for my followers…?

Would any of you be interested in me posting some of my original writing…? Should I do a synopsis post for some of my novel oc’s…? Would you all like me to design them in Artbreeder…?

I just have a lot of ideas while I consider self-publishing and I’d just like to know if anyone might enjoy it if I shared my work 😁

Or should I perhaps open a separate blog dedicated solely to that and drop a link for it…???

Cole by the window - Tacita Corvus peek

Soon, perhaps too soon, Cole found himself sitting alone in the attic, the moon shinning in the sky. Hours had passed since dinner time, and every member of the Vasily family had gone to sleep. Though, it didn’t much bother the boy that he was left with nothing but the company of Mx. Moon and Ella Froufrou, who was seated comfortably in his lap.

He stared out the windows, gaze fixed upon the winged creatures that slumbered upon the roofs of family’s and lonely people alike. There was a feeling of both uncertainty and comfort in the air, one that Cole was not yet familiar with. It felt strange to be dressed in clean clothes, curled up under a blanket and observing the stillness of Lanercost with a full stomach.

Cole thought for a moment, brows creasing as he searched his memory for what he was looking for. When he found it, he couldn’t help but smirk and let out a satisfied and partly amused sigh.

Nyctophilia.

That was the word he had been searching for. It was a noun, meaning ‘an attraction to darkness or night; finding relaxation or comfort in the darkness.’

He smiled at the definition, though, he then began to chuckle lightly under his breath as he gazed at the stars, having suddenly remembered another bit of information he had gained from the library, just as he had the rest of his knowledge.

He had suddenly acknowledged the meaning of Nyx’s name.

Cole recalled that Nyx was the daughter of chaos, primordial goddess of the night in Greek mythology. Though the name itself leaned more towards feminine, it was still androgynous either way, which was most likely why Nyx had chosen it for themselves.

 Cole gave a small hum into the darkness, he thought it was a lovely name, and even lovelier now that he had recalled its meaning. He hoped that maybe one day the two could find a way to converse, as it was difficult to do so presently.

The boy returned his attention to the town and the candles still burning in people’s windows. There were few, but each one let him know that someone else was still awake, possibly suffering from insomnia, or simply enjoying the nighttime as Cole was.

The boy felt a small pang of something in his chest as he recalled the sounds of the violin he would often hear when drifting off to sleep in the alley of forest row; how the smooth symphony had accompanied the stars perfectly.

tehe i made a little uquiz you should take it tehehehe

Help needed for a novel concept.

I have been toying with the idea of writing a novel, mainly for my own enjoyment and feeling of accomplishment, but I am quite worried it'll turn out too similar to TSH ... I would like to tackle themes of obsession with image and social prestige, but I've seen many works of fiction you can tell were influenced a bit too much by Tartt's work.. if anyone has any tips to help prevent this affect, that'll be appreciated.

They say the abused become the abuser. And you have gone through hell.

But what is standing in front of me is this beautiful, fragile woman that holds broken things so gently as she has never been held, who melts her energy into making them intact. Until there is no power, no more love left to give.

I keep waiting.

I keep waiting for a dog so hideous to pass by on our evening walks that you will not pet. I keep waiting for a sunset too plain that you feel it too futile to paint. I look around for a child far too overbearing for you to comfort— But whenever I inquire you, all I hear is that you've been all of those things, and you won't let it happen to anyone else. Too hideous—too plain—Too overbearing—

You love fixing broken things. You attract evil because it latches on to sweetness, sucks it until evil becomes a lovable thing and the source becomes sour and stale.

I believe, sometimes, that is why I am your lover.

But I am no different from when you first met me. You may not have noticed this, but even though you hold me, pour yourself into me, you never attempt to glue me together. You never attempt to fix me. You just bleed into my vacant parts, unafraid of the surrounding filth.

Who did I murder that was so bad, what days did I feed my hungry cat so well that I am held dear to a person like you?

My sweet, sweet Caroline. How could I ever repay your love?

-exerpt from my upcoming villian×hero book🤭💋

The pain is like a sedative/ that kills me; makes me cry—and puts me to sleep/

-excerpt from my book💋💕

Old poetry is such an unexpected GEM

Darling, how I wish I could tell your gentle soul how light flickers atleast twice before it is eternal.

For the most virulent of snakes would spit off their venom to kiss your name, when it is but etched on a rock;- how when timid dark ravens will curl themselves in vines that reach from behind your tomb, would then flaunt their wings spreading life around like scattered glitter.

And the rain would skip you when souls begin to raise their cupped hands crying for water,

For your stubborn petals bloom with tears that are only now salty in your mouth."

Now someone tell me what was going through my mind at 12 years old because clearly there is plot behind this.

I pretend to be ever so reserved and cold. But god; how he only told me it was okay to be human- and now I've allowed his lips to find themselves on my wounds. Goodness; how I find myself to be so easily melted.

💋

If you are so keen on hating me,

Please hate me only in the mornings.

For I know you dream of me every night,

And I would rather slit my throat every single day

than to be a nightmare to you.

they are soulmates </3 this book absolutely crushed me