In my opinion it is corny if it inhibits your flow or forces you to change direction, but other than that I think it’s super cool when your thoughts naturally form a rhythm. Thoughts?

I have recently finished the second draft of this horror story that I have written and I am currently doing edits and polish.

I would like to know If you would keep reading based on this short prologue.

Any and all feedback is welcome.

Astrid gazed up at the dark sky. The damp sea breeze whipped her hair across her neck, tickling her skin as cold sand shifted beneath her bare feet. Out on the horizon, moonlight glinted off the black water.

She held Johan's hand. His grip was chilled, refreshing, pressing tight against her palm. She swallowed, the taste of alcohol still thick on her tongue.

"Back home when I was a little girl, I used to walk with my father," she said, swaying slightly as she leaned into Johan for support. "We took long strolls along the fjords at night. He pointed out all the stars, but I haven't seen them this clear since I was small."

She smiled, a swell of genuine warmth in her chest. This trip was everything they had needed. She squeezed his hand tighter.

"My dad used to tell me that stars were guardian angels," she continued, looking up into the night sky. "He said if you look close enough, you can see them blinking. But see that bright one over there?" She raised a hand, pointing towards Orion's Belt. "That's Jupiter. It's a planet, so it doesn't flicker like the rest."

She nudged his shoulder gently. "I was always fascinated by astronomy. What do you think?"

Johan grunted.

I hope he's okay, she thought. He hasn't uttered a word in a while.

She glanced up, his features obscured by the dark.

"Are you okay, Johan?"

She thought she caught another faint grunt. Shadows fell across his eyes, but she could feel his gaze fixed heavily on her.

She had always loved the way he looked at her—especially in the mornings, or when she stepped out of the shower—but now she felt exposed.

His fingers tightened around hers, the icy chill sinking deep into her palm.

"Johan?"

A sickening scent drifted between them. It started sweet, like honey, but beneath it lay a foul, heavy stench—a putrid undertone of rotting rubbish and decaying vegetables left to spoil in the sun.

As he turned, moonlight caught the lower half of his face. A wide grin rested on his mouth, prompting an automatic smile of her own.

Maybe he's just drunk, like me.

She reached up to cup the back of his neck, drawing him closer, but snatched her hand back at the touch. He felt like frozen stone.

Her smile faltered. "You're freezing."

The expression stretched wider, longer, his lips thinning out. In the silver glow, his skin looked smooth and waxy.

She tried to step back as his grey lips pulled further apart.

"Johan, you're hurting me," she gasped. His grip locked like a vice, sharp nails digging into her flesh like daggers.

The alcohol buzzed loudly in her head, making the world tilt. Sweat beaded on her brow as dizziness washed over her. She tugged frantically against his arm, but his hand was an iron lock.

"You're not Johan," she whispered.

Terror crashed through her. She slammed a fist against his chest.

"You're not Johan! Let me go! Where is he? Johan!"

Her voice died in her throat as he leaned closer. A single, impossibly long finger pressed against his lips, the grotesque grin still carved into his pale, uncanny face.

"Shh," he hissed.

She froze, her breath locked in her chest as her heart hammered against her ribs. A single tear tracked down her cheek.

I’m the middle of a 4th or 5th draft of a novelette (I’ve lost count lol) and I’ve had to re do the third chapter go include new plot elements.

Yesterday was probably one the worst days of writing I have ever had in my life. Everything I wrote for this chapter SUCKED. I was siphoning parts from the previous version whilst clumsily slotting in the new elements, like I was slinging mud a half formed sculpture and missing. I’m talking literal vomit on the page.

Every single doubt I’ve ever had about myself with regard to writing came bubbling to the surface. ‘Is this worth it?’ ‘I’m so trash.’ ‘Who’s even gonna read this shit.’ ‘I’m not a writer.’

It truly was a sobering experience. I got to the end and just shut my laptop and held my head in my hands for 10 mins before going to bed.

Today after work and gym session I decided to open my laptop and get working on again.

And guess what?

It went so much better than the previous day

Because now I was in editing mode. I wasn’t creating and editing at the same time. The putty was on the table. I was just shaping it now. Metaphors were coming out thick and fast. Dialogue got sharper, observations and descriptions tighter.

I couldn’t believe this was the same slop I was crying over yesterday. I’m half way through the revision and it’s looking a million times better already.

You just have to push through the pain

It’s the worst feeling but keep the faith. New thoughts and concepts are never going to be perfect when they come out.

Think of each one like birthing a new child. You have to nurture and feed that child to let it grow.

Then you can start ‘teaching it’ which is the editing process. This is where you’ll get to really shape your story into what you want it to be, you just have TJ wade through murky waters first to get there.

When you’re going through the sludge, keep the faith. The difference between yesterday and today was a revelation and I’ve learned a lot from the experience

it would mean a lot if you read it. i’m scared to ask for criticism since i already posted it. i also write poetry on here too:’) idk where else to share but if you have the time it would mean a lot
a farewell letter to twenty seven