Historical
Ivory and Marigolds
Sharp, crisp notes lilted through the parlor. John’s long fingers danced over the ivory keys while his mother swayed nearby, a tea cup clutched delicately in one bony hand. Each chord John struck brought Chopin’s masterpiece to life. He would play the piano forever just to see his mother smiling like that. His father hated the sound—like broken glass clobbered under a horse’s hooves—because it stood to remind him that John would never be the son he’d wanted. Despite his mother’s efforts to shield John from his father’s disdain, John could see it clearly.
By B. M. Valdez4 years ago in Fiction
The Devil and Debutant
Jane's dress weighed her down in both body and spirit. A woman always knows when she is beautiful, and that knowledge could make even the most heavily laden woman move like she floated on a cloud. Jane was not floating. She was drowning in the ugly yellow froths aware of how washed out the color made her look. However, the material had been of the bargain variety, which made it look oh so wonderful to her mother. Jane knew her place and did not have the funds to provide her own dress, so she had resignedly worn the damn thing.
By E. J. Strange4 years ago in Fiction
War soldier
How can I make better soldiers when worldbuilding a fictional story? Having read a lot of war fiction, seen a lot of war movies, read a lot of books about Soldiers and war, but having never written a book about these things, I will throw my two cents in:
By Dpyadav Yadav4 years ago in Fiction
The Practical Marigold
Violet. Lily. Marigold. Rose. Daisy. My grandmother was the middle child of five daughters born to a prominent English botanist in 1893. She told me once there were certain expectations of being the daughters of an earl during the Victorian era: beauty, grace, propriety, or, at the least, intelligence. Those belonged to her sisters. Violet, the eldest, was the queen of propriety; Lily was the beauty; Rose was the graceful dancer, pianist, and vocalist; and Daisy inherited their father’s scientific curiosity and intelligence. My grandmother said that left her with the most important, and overlooked, characteristic – practicality.
By Ashley Maureena 4 years ago in Fiction
Wilted
“The girl is not going! It is no place for a child!” Father yells. My father never yells, certainly not at my mother. “Come now Percy, you are being ridiculous. The Pattersons and Adams plan on taking their children. It will be a lovely chance for her to socialize,” Mother replies as if the matter were settled.
By Stranna Pearsa4 years ago in Fiction
"I have no wish to be a Great Lady"
When it first came out on television in 2010, I was glued to every single episode. I watched the whole drama which stretched from 2010 to 2015, and just recently, in 2019, I watched the film (at least three times over!). The whole setup absolutely fascinates me and even though the story itself is fiction, the drama is based on the very real Edwardian Era (which is my favourite time in history). Buying all six series plus the film, I watch them over and over again, almost like a student studying history. I am, of course, talking about Downton Abbey!
By Ruth Elizabeth Stiff4 years ago in Fiction
The great sharks of the Great Lakes
Based on a true story told by my great-great-grandfather, an Irish immigrant and Civil War soldier. William Chambers could sing Union Army songs in his sleep. He knew every word to “Battle Hymn of the Republic” and "Always Stand on the Union Side.” He enjoyed singing them in his hearty baritone voice. His fellow infantrymen liked it too, although they’d never admit it. And best of all, singing made it difficult for an American to realize that Will had an accent.
By Ashley Herzog4 years ago in Fiction
Painted Blue
As we ventured beyond the outskirts of my father's farm, I caught my breath. "Are you alright miss?" asked the legionnaire riding by my side. I nodded smiling at him. My heart raced and I felt a thrill come over my. I was free. I had left my home for the first time and felt a certain freedom come over my as the markers passed us by.
By Arkady Thompson4 years ago in Fiction
