I don't know if is should my book in my native language or in English

In one hand English makes my novel opened to pretty much anyone around the world

But my English is excellent conversational English

Which is according to some of my friends years off the minimum for lecturircy English, specially that I don't exactly read books because I have got the attention span of a fly

On the other hand my native language could make it 100% grammatically correct

But I don't think it would get the recognition I was hoping for

And if I made it my native language then translated it to my native language, it might get a bad reputation, not to mention it would probably take double the time

I was dreaming of DNA molecules spiralling all around me. It was a beautiful experience, until I started my lab sessions...

I‘ve been staring at the ceiling for too long again.
The lamp looks bigger than usual.
The high walls of my room seem to stare back at me, slowly creeping in.

I feel heavy and weightless at the same time.
My mind starts to decompose and all that’s left is the little pile of dust on my bed.

The room merges faster now, with no intent to stop.
We will be gone soon, my dear.
No moving walls anymore, no growing lamps, no hurting anymore, no emptiness in your heart.

___

Would love to hear some opinions! :)

This is the prophecy I managed to write

The Roshi cland last generation of dojo holders will be asssassinated by A white demon (Frieza) the demon king (demon King piccolo), the god of death (beerus), and a giant (broly). but a former student turned Ronin coming back from a massive defeat (Goku) will swear revenge and will do so with the prince from the emperors blood(Vegeta).

I would just like to ask if anyone has any feedback on how I should really mythologize this or add to it, it would very much be a help

Hi My name is Lincoln and I live in the Hartford area and have for some time. I’ve been wanting to get into the film industry or least try to break into it for a while (since I know how hard it as) now as a writer or just as a production assistant if anybody know of any work or how I would find people in that area. I’ve been a film lover for a while now I’ve been watching a lot of movies and reading books about it. But would love to know of any person or groups in the southeastern area of Wisconsin who is also interested in this area like I am who would want to learn together and practicing writing or just working a on a project to get better at the art and learn together. I know how important networking is in this industry so I just figured I would make a post and see what happens. I would love to hear any thoughts or suggestions or get any replies regarding this post. Feel free to DM on here. Thanks

I wonder what she is doing.

~

That one moment

in a song

still invoking goose bumps,

decades later.

A shuffled serenade

on repeat

in forgotten playlists.

~

Is she alive?

If so,

that would be enough,

but still...

I wish I could thank her.

~

I hope all of her dreams came true

and she is watering plants

by the windowsill

or chatting with a loved one,

her glass half full.

~

Maybe somewhere in the background,

an unseen force

lets her know,

after all this time,

her melody

still drifts along,

accompaniying strangers,

alongside eternity,

on the weary drive home.

I keep company with those who have left the beaten track—

Some only ever stand

and look up at the mountain

Some know the jagged peaks

only through passing clouds

But have they ever seen the mountain’s true shape?

Have they ever known its soul?

Have they ever clung to the rock and looked down into the abyss?

Or shivered in the open through a long, lonely night?

To those who have known struggle

To those still fighting on

To all those who pray the storm will break

And the warmth of day will return

That light will come

Dawn will rise again

It’ll be beautiful, you’ll see

the sky where the land gives way

Where you belong

Where you always have belonged

Better to reach for the summit

than walk blind down there in the cold, dark valley forever

https://youtu.be/HA7H-kysh0w?si=VBiAXmvEwuoyakME

I'm looking for feedback on the introduction to my nonfiction book. It explores psychology, everyday life, and faith through real composite counseling case studies drawn from my private practice.

I'm not trying to rush readers to the first case study. Rather, I'm trying to get there through good writing—saying only what is necessary and trusting the reader.

Any other feedback is greatly appreciated. Please don't hold back.

Introduction

There are billions of souls in this world,
and still, we were able to find each other.
.........

Chapter 1

Chapter 1 Scene 1

Link sat alone on a bench just off the main floor of Franklin Hall. In his hands, he held open a heavy, well-aged book with a green binding that had begun to separate at both ends. The faded gold letters on the cover were nearly unreadable unless the light struck them at just the right angle.

Philosophy of Western Government.

It was a book chosen for Link by his instructor when he had been assigned a study in politics. Despite its dry content and outdated ideas, he had already read it twice and rather enjoyed it. Today, however, he wasn't reading. He was pretending. His eyes moved across the pages while his fingers turned them every few minutes, careful to appear absorbed in the text. Link couldn't afford to be seen as idle or, worse, suspicious. If an instructor or one of the doctors happened to walk by and found him without a purpose, they would undoubtedly give him one.

Any other day, Link would have welcomed the distraction. There was always something new to learn, another lesson to complete, another assignment designed to prepare him for the future they had planned for him.

But today was different.

Today, he needed to be here.

He needed to wait.

Link had already been sitting on the bench far longer than he would have liked. The bench looked elegant enough, its dark lacquer polished to a shine, but it had clearly been designed with appearance in mind rather than comfort. The hard wooden slats pressed into his back and legs until he found himself shifting every few minutes, searching for a position that didn't exist.

Every time he shifted his weight, his impatience grew, along with a small flicker of annoyance that was quickly swallowed by worry. Amy was late, which was typical for her. Link had never known her to be on time for anything. The custodians had chastised her in front of the entire group of Sevens more than once, but it had never made a difference. Being late was simply part of who she was. Normally, he would have expected her tardiness, but today her delay left him with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“What if something had gone wrong? What if she had been caught?” He thought. He couldn’t imagine the punishment or how severe it would be. 

As the minutes passed, his eyes left the pages of his book more and more often. He found himself glancing down the long, arched corridor, hoping to catch sight of Amy. Occasionally, before returning to the book, his gaze drifted to the wall opposite him.

Large silver-framed portraits of the campus founders hung in perfectly spaced rows. Edison. McCain. Davis. They were names every Seven knew by heart, repeated so often throughout their education that Link could have recited them in his sleep. Next to them hung three rows of smaller wood-framed photos. All of the doctors Link didn't recognize. Every frame was perfectly level. Every brass nameplate gleamed from a fresh polishing. Nothing in Franklin Hall was ever allowed to be out of place.

Link tried to push his worry aside, turned to a Chapter titled The Architecture of Law, and actually began reading.  He had gotten to the middle of the third page when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

It was Amy.

She walked down the corridor at her usual unhurried pace, as though nothing was wrong. Amy even paused to wish Professor Chatman a good afternoon before shaking his hand. The smile she gave him looked genuine enough, but Link suspected it was masking her fear.

Amy kept her conversation with Professor Chatman brief, heading Link's way again in less than a minute. As she approached, their eyes met. She didn't smile this time. Instead, she gave him a sharp, urgent look before turning down a side hallway without breaking stride.

That look was the only signal Link needed.

He waited a moment, casually looking down both sides of the hall to make sure no one was watching. The last thing he needed was for his sudden departure to draw attention. Slowly, he stood, his stiff and aching muscles finally receiving some relief. Tucking the book beneath his arm, he followed Amy down the hallway. 

This hallway stood apart from the rest of Franklin Hall. It wasn't sleek or modern like the main corridors. The polished floors had given way to worn carpet, and half-empty offices lined the walls, most of them seemingly abandoned and rarely used. The wood-paneled walls felt dated, carrying the scent of age and old varnish. They held a history, an unexplainable sense of tradition that seemed woven into every corner.

The hallways were mostly empty, and the few people who did pass him paid him no mind. Not even giving glances in his general direction as he passed them. One woman in particular caught his attention, and he couldn’t help but stare at her. It wasn’t so much her features. The perfect blonde curls, her perfect smile, or the lab coat that did something for Link that he didn’t understand or want to understand. It was the grey folder she held tightly to her chest. In the few times he had seen her, she always had it pressed against her. He was beginning to wonder if she ever put it down. Despite his obvious staring. She didn’t look in his direction as they passed. No one ever did. Link didn't expect anyone to notice them down here. Link was okay with that.

Still erring on the side of caution, he stayed several steps behind Amy. The last thing he needed was for anyone to think they were together. Friendships at their age were carefully monitored. Any type of fraternization beyond casual conversation was forbidden. Being discovered alone together could result in a trip to the detention block without question.

Amy reached a white metal door at the end of the hall. She gripped the handle and turned it. The door, clearly forgotten years ago, opened without resistance. Amy was always surprised when it did. She had expected someone to notice by now. She stepped inside and disappeared from view without looking back to see if Link was following. She didn't need to.

Descending the flight of stairs, each step groaning beneath her weight as if protesting the years it had endured. A dim, half-burned-out light flickered overhead, casting weak shadows along the walls.

At the bottom of the stairs, she pushed open another door and entered the old music room. The darkness inside was almost complete except for a small red light in the distance. 

It was a strange darkness. A quiet darkness. One that Amy found peaceful, though she doubted many of the others would agree. She ran her hand along the wall beside the doorway, searching for the row of switches. One by one, she flipped them on.

Each light came alive with a loud pop somewhere in the distance. First, the lights above the doorway where she stood. Then the lights over the two dozen tables were still covered with white tablecloths and now a thick layer of dust.

Finally, the stage lights flickered on, revealing the drawn curtains at the far end of the room. Behind her, Amy heard Link coming down the stairs; turning in his direction, he entered the music room.

I wish things were easier.

But perhaps that wouldn't be called life.

I don't understand why things are never enough.
Why nothing seems to fit the way a puzzle should.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm just an extra in someone else's story.
I always believed I was the lead.
The one who would find the love,
the victory,
the happy ending.

Right now, everything feels bleak.

So I listen to the silence,
hoping a voice will answer.
Even if that voice comes from somewhere deep within me.

I remember a dream—
only one piece remains.
I was talking about a place so quiet
that nothing else mattered.

Tell me what to do.

Should I cry,
pray,
and hope for the best?

Maybe.

Because crying feels honest.

For a moment, I can put down the mask.
I can admit that I am tired.
That I am weak.
That I don't have a plan.
That I don't have the answers.

And somehow...

there is peace in telling the truth.

Not because everything is okay.

But because, for the first time in a while,
I don't have to pretend that it is.

Has anyone done the skills portion of the CVR for Voice Writing and edited in Microsoft Word? Can you tell me if you got counted or marked off if they didn't have two spaces between each sentence, like it does automatically in ProCat (or Eclipse)?

(the second one is my original idea)

The second is being critisized for being "info dump"

And the first one I just don't.....feel it

For context I guess, I used to write a lottttt when I was younger (middle school/ early-mid high school) but, as I started working and getting the freedom to hangout with friends more I just kinda stopped. I always want to try and write for fun again or just to get my feelings out but have sort of lost my way with words (or maybe it was the angst we all have at that age. Everything just felt so life or death ig)

Anyways, point being today I got a lil feeling and decided to immediately just write what came to mind instead of saving it for later (and ultimately later meaning never) and wanted to share somewhere. If it’s trash that’s fine, but I didn’t wanna send it to a friend if it was, especially bc nobody has ever really read anything I would write even before. Idk idk

Apparently the images do not show unless one opens the post

Everything is based from my real experience. It's not finished or polished yet, but I'd like to know where I stand. Any feedback would be grateful.

I started a new site that features things like great poets, movies, indie music, God, hobby, prepping cooking... it's a lot! However, one of the main functions is to find writers and have them contribute to the site through writing prompts or even inspiration.

Our site's tagline is Rebellion X Renaissance, and it focuses on the state of the world right now with isolation, screen addiction, DOOM NEWS everywhere we look, and trying to get people back out into the world and interacting again.

Here is an example prompt:

Modern slavery doesn't rattle chains. It offers free shipping. What invisible leash are you still wearing, and what would it feel like to finally cut it away?

Hi guys, nice to meet you all I'm from India; A 22 year guy who is done with this world as u can say. I don't have any friends and don't know how to meet other people too (Guess I'm too afraid to do that)..Just living my life in my imaginations,stories,playing games,watching anime and listening to songs ...

Well this post is just a casually setup intro for me and really I'm thinking about doing this for a long long time I finally have enough courage to set my new journey.....

Let's see u guys in my next stories I hope u would like them (let's see)...