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WCG exists to help writers improve their craft.

We do this by establishing guidelines for posting poetry, short stories, and excerpts of larger works to give authors a chance at some constructive feedback on their work.

Poets: You can post your whole poem in a post. Typically, the feedback on poetry is minimal.

Covers: We don't get many people asking for help with covers, but we accept them. You can post the cover directly in the community without going to a Google Document.

Everybody Else: Upload your piece to Google Docs and share the link to the document here. Make sure you've enabled comments on the shared link. There are instructions in the "About Community" page if you don't know how to do that.

If you're here for any purpose other than asking for or providing a critique, you're wasting your time.(1)

1. Don't try to sell your stuff.
2. Don't link outside of Google Docs.
3. Don't start discussions other than about the piece in front of you.

Everything off topic will be removed.

(1) Introductions are given a bit more slack. It's good to know who we're playing with here.

I cried that day, I cried.
As my story the skies told.
That you my Bella, left hold.
Then as I cried,
I prayed that you, I meet once more-
Whenever in my dreams I dreamed:
To say my listed regrets.

So I tell it to DHL,
To bring to you in my dreams.
And to my apologies accept
When you receive.
For hard times would have definitely come.

So with tears each day,
I pack all the thoughts
Of you in the big white wardrobe,
Inside my small skull with great joy
Not being forgetful,
Of the silly ones that made us fought.

Hoping that, if for your thoughts,
I’m been heavily laden
I still have something to boast of.
For when you left,
You took all I had away-
Including my very self!.
---Fampah Coyish---

© By Fampah Coyish-Awoken By Poems 2014

I have a dilemma! I have a novella on which I was making progress. However, as I started having people read different chapters for me, they would interpret them as more controversial than what I intended. Knowing this, I'd be quite the controversial author if I ever published the book--without intending to be!

I stopped working on the novel, which haunts me quite a bit. Considering the potential conflict, should I continue it on, or give it up just in case?


to the hill and up above.
to the hill and up above.

days are racing.
times are ill fating.
my own terms are becoming narrowed.
its feeling like i'm going to be cornered.
but still my hopes are unquenched.

to the hill and up above.
future maybe questioning me.
mind maybe nurturing me.
until my inner self knows my answers.
nothing can lessen my hopes.

to the hill and up above.
my foresight being diminishing.
my thoughtful wings are ageing.
my willing claws seems to be rusting.
i'm not an eagle,don't get wrong.
i have to go through this to remain strong.

to the hill and up above.
to the hill and up above.

Hi everyone, you can call me krot.I'm new to this group.I like to write.specifically i like to express my views,thoughts through writings.I like to share those to the people who can rate and correct me if needed any.I feel this would be the right place.I hope i will be accepted here.

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I'm in Chapter 18 of the book. This is my first novel that I've written. The basic summary is that a 16-year-old girl named Amanda. She has a fate that to many is worse than death. At the beginning (Prologue) is diary entries from her and her mother, Emma. In chapter 1 shows that she has no memory of who she was before becoming a beast (vampire and werewolf hybrid). At chapter 8 I start on memories. I'm currently still working on the memories. Could you tell me how to improve my book, please?

Read whatever you want to or need to, please!

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Women like wine,
Men as wine bibbers.
Yet how many bottles or gallons
Can they drink,
To make them sober?

Because each differ,
With different alcoholic percentages.
In different bottle shapes and sizes,
Numerous colours and tastes,
Diverse strengths.
Some calm, some harsh-
But which can their problems, and depressions hush?

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This is the first section (about 2200 words) of a short story set in the Rustbelt. There is some rough language, and racial slurs since the plot revolves around a union steward defending a minority worker, drawing the ire of racist white workers.

Specific feedback Requested.
1) Does Frank's slang get in the way of your understanding the story.
2) I spend a lot of time and effort trying to paint Frank's interior thoughts. Is it too much?
3) Does the dialog flow?
4) Does it come off as pedantic?

And, of course, any other feedback is appreciated.

The entire short story will clock in at about 10,000 words. It's literary, but with strong genre influences. Notably Stephen King, crime fiction writer Don Winslow, and literary fantasy writer David Mithell.

Thanks in advance,

Among The Leaves

hang myself among the leaves.
dead, fallen, a memory of what i was before,
winter winds possess destiny, a way home.
all things remain alone within the cold truthful end,
forever is stillness,
a long embrace shared under our soul,
and thus we began to weep again.
farewell evening's gentle counsels,
those sweet lullabies,
i shall remain forever frozen by countless tellings that once spoken outward entangle me, dance and dissipate,
mark my soul as I call for more in this quiet and lonely place,
as they passed along beneath harps of thine immortal memory hope has flown from whence i sought to discover forgotten revelries.

Here, however, without uttering words of apology, never another struggle form'd, lonely hours grow to know everything we believe of god's image, warped with such abandon though not dishonored in name,
i feel free and loved only known by revelations of broken hearts,
a thousand charms appear divine,
engraved inside walls between death's relentless claim,

anew each night before the dawn,
i hear you whispering through every maiden's speech "The Lord knows nothing of beauty faded or love evolved to hate, let each day prove to serve endless possibilities of fate."
No pain endured,
No hurt compare to existing forevermore inbetween our worlds, in winter's cell,
peace is nothing without your ghost
and what i thought
was hell.


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Synopsis: A young man heads to a carnival where the rides change to be real. It's meant to be a sort of purgatory place where he relives the same night over and over because of his refusal to move on with his life.

It's a short story and it's 1,870 words
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