Novella - Blog Posts

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!

Reasons to Buy Carnival

You like horror comedy with some gothic fiction on the side.

You want to give these genres a try.

You want a story that takes place in Colorado.

You want a novella that isn't romance.

You want to see the playlist.

Link to its page on Amazon (Note: We would give this book an MPA rating of R.)

Carnival: Preview

From chapter one. This is the Call to Adventure. If you like what you read, go to the book’s profile below.

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Lakewood, Colorado. In an apartment unit, a dim lamp lit the upper right corner of the front room. Brain, Caleb, Jackie, José, and James sat on a grey couch right of that lamp. On the carpet floor lay Chaz, too sad to notice his friends. They glanced at him, then at each other, unsure how to comfort him.

“Why?” Chaz whispered to himself, “why, why, why, why, why?” A moment later, he said, “no use crying now.” He sat up, wiped the tears off his face, stood, and noticed his friends. They stared at him.

“Why are you staring, and how long have you—”

James stood, “you killed her, didn’t you?” Chaz blinked, “what?”

“You heard me.” He smirked.

“Phoenix is dead,” José whispered. He stood, but Brian pulled at his t-shirt. So, he sat back down.

“What makes you think I killed her!?” Chaz said. James shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe because you don’t trust anyone—”

“I trusted Rebecca- “Chaz pointed at him- “and you know it!”

“Yeah, right. So, you decided to—”

“No, I didn’t.” He clenched his fists. “They said there was a leak in her car’s gas tank! I was here when it happened, and I didn’t know until Brian told me!”

“You probably poked a hole in it,” James said.

“I didn’t touch Rebecca’s car when she left!”

He pointed at Chaz, “you did something to her car to make it explode—”

“No, I didn’t! Why the fuck are you accusing me in the first place!?”

“You—”

“I DID NOT! WHY WOULD I WANT TO KILL HER!? I LOVED HER!” The room fell silent.

Chaz felt shaky, so he lay on the floor again. He cried again. James sat on the couch and lowered his eyes.

"Happy now?" Jackie whispered to him.

Brian stood and walked towards Chaz.

“Don’t touch me.” He found a box of tissues and placed it next to his friend instead, respecting his vulnerability.

Ten awkward minutes later, Chaz took a deep breath, sat up, used a tissue, stood, and turned to face Brian.

He said, “you said the police won’t investigate because as far as anyone knows, the explosion was caused by a gas leak from a bad fuel tank.” Brian nodded (as if it weren’t said earlier.)

“But they didn’t see any body!” Jackie kicked José's leg.

“Let’s go to Lakeside and find Rebecca ourselves.”

Carnival: Profile

Title: Carnival (links to Amazon) Edition: second Genre: gothic horror comedy Year self-published: 2022 (through B&N Press), 2024 (through KDP)

Copyright status: CC BY 4.0 (do whatever you want as long as you credit the original work.)

Blurb: A car explodes while leaving Lakeside Amusement Park. Rebecca is assumed dead. After James and Chaz argue over what happened, they and their friends go there to look for her. Instead of entering Lakeside, our heroes find themselves in Carnival, the park’s Faerie counterpart. It is a backdrop which makes finding Rebecca only one of their worries.

Format: novella Page count: 76 (seventy-six)

MPA Rating: R (Restricted) Reasons: profanity, violence, child death, drama, spirit possession, and horror

Price: $6.50 (paperback), $13.00 (hardcover)

Note: This is the one we portrayed ourselves in. It was like acting in a movie. Chaz, Brian, and Rebecca are the only tulpas in this story that still consider themselves part of the phalanx. The rest chose to live in a place we call The Background to relieve head pressure (a sense of pressure, not actual pressure.)

"Azt mondják egy rossz kefélésnél nincs rosszabb. De van. Az, ha újra és újra kényszeresen megismétled azzal, aki újra és újra megöl téged"

Bevettelek mint egy gyógyszert, mint egy szem kémiai anyagokkal dúsított keserédes ízrobbanást. Lehet előtte meg kellett volna kérdeznem a kezelőorvosom vagy a gyógyszerészem, mert a mellékhatás amit kiváltottál még most is érződik. Egy érzelmi élőhalott lettem a szenvedély peremén.

"Egyszer azt mondta valaki: hagyd a gecibe, engedd hogy magaddal vigyen."

"Két napja nem beszéltünk, hát elmentem hozzá. Ő csendben ajtót nyitott, hosszan vizsgálta az arcomat, elmélyült a szemeimben, majd pár perc közénk ült zavart némaság után megfogta a kezem, behúzott a szobájába és esélyt sem adott, hogy bármit is mondhassak... Az arcomra ült."

"This is How You Lose the Time War" by Amal El- Mohtar & Max Gladstone

The story follows two of our protagonists belonging to two different futuristic worlds which are against each other. It follows different timelines, describing from the past historical events to the things which are probable to happen in the future. Basically, it is a story of time travelling to the past, could be for saving something or destroying things. Red is a time-traveling agent from a world more collective and dependent. Blue's one is calculating and more independent. So, red's the one who runs and Blue's the one who ruins. Red and blue eventually get a form to connect to each other: through letters. So, it's more like a "enemy to lover" romance story in the historical and sci-fi world.

I have really liked the concept and storyline of the novella. But i have found the language a bit difficult to get by. The books at the beginning and some points also seemed a bit messy. I lost the tract and did not understand some of the rapidly mentioned historical references. It took me much time to understand the plotlines as well. I just wish it was more understandable and swift to grab a whole bucket of information (the ongoings) all at once. But the good thing is, as we keep reading, the things start untwisting and it feels less confusing. And slowly you starts to love it.

The message of the story is the best. War is the worst thing we can do. Love is the one thing everyone needs to live truly and fully. Love is another name for freedom, not war, of course.

Моя мини новелла. 15 см.

15 сантиметров это расстояние между оконных рам в допотопных домах..

15 см - толщина черепа человека. Чьй черепа надеты на столбы вокруг жилища допотопного человека?

Убитых врагов? А может быть это его предки?

Черепа и кости он кладет между оконных рам, и они светят своими глазницами, отгоняя морок и бесов.

Между наших оконных рам расстояние небольшое. Да и не стекло это как правило, и не дерево.

И чего они от нас защищались? Мы не такие уж и страшные...

My little novell.

The distance between window frames in antediluvian houses…

15 cm - the thickness of a human skull. Whose skulls are placed on the pillars around the dwelling of antediluvian man?

Killed enemies? Or maybe these are his ancestors?

He places skulls and bones between window frames, and they shine with their eye sockets, driving away the gloom and demons.

The distance between our window frames is small. And as a rule, it is not glass, and not wood.

And why did they defend themselves from us? We are not so scary…

Пираты. Моя мини новелла.

Pirates. My mini novella.

Мы повесили над собою флаг - череп и кости. Это защита, он спасет нас в бою.

Мы успели взять наше золото, и продолжили с ним путь на своих кораблях.

Мы не сдадимся захватчикам и врагам, отнявшим у нас наши земли, стеревшим с лица земли наш прекрасный мир, и устроившим на ней свой "новый".

Есть закон! Мы верим в закон!

Пусть наша одежда истерта, а жены убиты.

Море даст нам вечную жизнь, долгую жизнь, и мы не причалим к миру врага.

Никогда!!

We hung a flag above us - a skull and crossbones. This is protection, he will save us in battle.

We managed to take our gold and continued our journey with it on our ships.

We will not surrender to the invaders and enemies who took our lands from us, wiped out our beautiful world from the face of the earth, and built their “new” one on it.

There is a law! We believe in the law!

Let our clothes be worn out and our wives already killed.

The sea will give us eternal life, long life, and we will not land on the enemy’s world.

Never!!

Погладить и пожалеть. Моя Мини новелла.

Мне часто говорили что с моей фантазией надо писать книги. Ну не знаю… Честно села писать. Пока есть лишь скомканное предисловие. Но по-моему оно вполне удалось.

Ведь мать есть не бог, это дьявол

Что нежность и хрупкость цветка,

Бросает в объятья пиявок.

Вступление.

Прежде всего хочу развеять ошибочное суждение многих эгерцев о том что посвящена сия история их достопочтимому народу. Понимать ее следует совершенно иначе.

Многие из Вас помнят серию весьма не научных фотографий, сделанную Нун Боргильезе на других планетах. Мне врезалось в память одно их тех фото. На нем была изображена девочка-инопланетянка двенадцати лет, заключенная в клетку. Посвятить этот рассказ автор хотел все же ей, а не окружавшему ее народу, привыкшему принимать похвалы и посвящения исключительно на свой счет. Получала ли девочка достаточно пищи? Были ли живы ее родители? Клетка, в которой она помещалась, была пуста. Что наводило на самые печальные размышления. Ее история лилась на меня и давала ответы лишь самого мрачного порядка. Такого же, как окружавшая ее ночь вампиров-эгерцев.

Погладить и пожалеть, вот то, что невольно приходит в голову при взгляде на эту картину. Неизвестно в какое это происходило время. Фотографии Нун, вещь весьма абстрактная хочется верить в лучшее. Ведь реальность так часто оказывается не столь плоха как нам кажется… В памяти потомков остаются лишь мифы, при чем утрированные и превращенные в сказку, которую так увлекательно пересказывать друг другу. Настоящее же время словно стесняясь своей безинтересности, остается в тени. И будь оно молодой девушкой, просто покрылось бы краской стыда, услышав о том что осталось о нем в памяти потомков.

Stroke and regret.

Me was often told that with my imagination I should write books. Well, I don’t know... I honestly sat down to write. So far there is only a crumpled preface. But in my opinion it was quite successful.

After all, mother is not God, she is the devil. She the fragility and tenderness of a flower, Throws into the arms of the leeches...

Introduction.

In the First of all, I want to dispel the erroneous judgment of many Eger residents that this story is dedicated to their venerable people. It should be understood completely differently. Many of you remember a series of very unscientific photographs taken by Nun Borghillese on other planets. One of those photos is etched in my memory. It showed a twelve-year-old alien girl imprisoned in a cage. The author still wanted to dedicate this story to her, and not to the people around her, who were accustomed to accepting praise and dedication solely at their own expense. Did the girl get enough food? Were her parents alive? The cage in which she was placed was empty. Which led to the saddest thoughts. Her story poured into me and provided only answers of the darkest order. The same as the night of the Eger vampires that surrounded her. To stroke and feel sorry is what involuntarily comes to mind when looking at this picture. It is unknown at what time this happened. Nun's photographs are a very abstract thing, I want to believe in the best. After all, reality so often turns out to be not as bad as we think... Only myths remain in the memory of descendants, exaggerated and turned into a fairy tale, which is so fun to retell to each other. The present time, as if embarrassed by its lack of interest, remains in the shadows. And if she were a young girl, she would simply be covered with shame upon hearing about what remained about him in the memory of her descendants.

Concept art for a comic in progress! Two of my lovelies, Periclase and Novella.