This is the first chapter of a book I'm writing. Don't worry if it doesn't make sense, it will be described later in the story. I hope you like it.

Ashley Williams was an ordinary 15 year old girl. She was attractive, an above average body(although she still thought she could afford to lose a few pounds), and one of the most independant personalities you would ever find. It was obvious from the first time you saw her that she was destined for big things. No one could ever imagine how big they were.

***

Ashley slowly arose from her less the restful sleep, turning to glance at the clock. 5:47, the red numbers glared back, and she knew that there was no way she would doze back off again. Falling back onto her back, she pulled the covers up to her neck, praying that maybe once, against all the odds, she would fall back asleep. She didn't. Arising from her bed, she streched her arms upward, silently cursing the morning. It didn't matter that it was a Tuesday morning, far from the upcomming weekend and her 16th birthday, or that she had been up all last night cramming for the the upcomming test that she was sure she would fail. In but a few hours, all these things would mean nothing, and everything she knew would change.

She left the house precisely at 7:20, her backpack resting on one shoulder. In her hand she held her clarinet case, which happened to be empty. Not that it would matter, for she would not go to band that day, or ever again for that matter. Coming to the street, she glanced quickly in both directions before dodging across the cracked street. They said they would be repaving the street soon, but Ashley doubted it. It had been her experience that whenever the city said they would do something that would benefit the community, it would almost always get delayed indefinetly. Walking down the sidewalk, she outstreched her hand to the fence, making a thump-thump sound as her fingers hit the end of each board. It was the second to last sound she would hear.

As she approached the next street, she saw a young boy approaching on her left on a bike. He was young, 8 maybe, and quite ignorant of his surroundings. As he grew closer, it was obvious he wouldn't stop and see the car pull out of the gas station, the driver too busy on his cell phone to watch the road. He would say later that he would never drive and talk on the phone again. It was a lie, however, and he would continue this bad habit until it costed him his own life, only a few weeks afterwards.

Ashley quickly came to the realization that this was one game of chicken in which neither contestant would stop. Darting into the street, Ashley knocked the boy off his bike, away from the car. Doing this, however, she became entangled in the bike, unable to escape her oncoming doom. She watched in horror as the wheels of the death machine drew closer, and the last sound she heard before she blacked out into darkness was the crunching of her own bones, as they shattered within her. There was a single moment of pain; after that, there was nothing. No sound, no feeling. Nothing at all.

On this cold, Tuesday morning, Ashley Williams died. In her final moments, she showed more compassion and courage then most people ever show in their entire lives. This act of sacrifice went unnoticed by the community. The boy, with only a few scrapes and bruises, never told anyone of his savior. It was only assumed that she had walked out in front of the car, unaware of the looming doom. It did not pass by the attention of the Heavens, however. That day, she became much more then a 14 year old girl, going on 15.

Sounds like a good outline for a prologue.

What was her hair color?

What was she wearing?

What was her life like before she died? (Friends, family, school, boyfriends, events, etc.)

What did her house look like? (Inside and outside.)

What did she do when she was getting ready?

Was anyone at home when she got up? (If so, what did they look like and did she interact with them?)

What did these streets look like? (What was on the street? Was there anything on them which may have triggered a memory?)

It’s good none the less. I would like to hear what happens next.

Here's the second (not final, however) draft of the first chapter. Basically it's integrating some more details (thanks Lugana!) and just cleaning it up a little. For what it's worth, I got the idea from a game called Guardian Angel at Newgrounds. Anyways, here's the newest version of The Seraph, Chapter One

Ashley Williams. A single look at her and you would see the standard teenager. Attractive, young, independant, she was the friendly girl, the one everyone liked but was too frightened to approach. Auburn brown hair, stunning figure(like most young girls, she thought she could afford to lose a few pounds), but these were paled by the intensity and beauty of her eyes. Dark green, they radiated the intelligence and independance within her. Anyone you spoke to about Ashley would tell you that this was a young lady destined for big things. How big of things none of them could comprehend.

Ashley awoke from her less then restful sleep, and looked around the room. Even in the limited light it was obvious this was the room of a neat freak; not a sock misplaced, not a cd unorganized. The desk in the corner was by far the messiest place. Strewn across it were numerous books, most school related, with papers stuck everywhere. Despite the clutter, there was still a sense of order, as though she could not bare to let even her mess become too messy. Finally she came to the little digital clock, the one item in the room she had been fighting to avoid. The display glared 5:47 into her tired eyes, and she knew that her night's sleep was over. Streching slowly, she left the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Normal teenagers would have stumbled to get dressed, or take a shower. Ashley made her bed and cleaned the mess on her desk.

Climbing up the 13 stairs(It had always bugged her, the odd number of steps), she entered the bathroom. While her room was on one end of the clean spectrum, the bathroom was on the other. Then again, in a house with 3 boys and 2 girls, a clean bathroom is a hard feat to accomplish. Turning on the shower, she grimaced at the dirty soap. Picking it up with the tips of her fingers, she placed it on the counter, next to the sink. Opening the second drawer down, she took out her own bar of soap, and reentered the shower. Once inside and well into the shower, she opened the bottle of shampoo, only to find it empty. This was her biggest pet peeve, topping the odd number of stairs and the nasty soap. Silently cursing her brothers, she crept out of the shower, the warm water dripping onto the tile floor. Opening the drawers, she pulled out a new bottle of shampoo, and reentered once again.

Clad in a white cotton robe, towel wrapped around her head, she stepped back down the odd-numbered stairs and back into her room. Flipping the lightswitch on, she pulled some clothes from her closet and proceeded to get dressed. As she finished, the loud, dominating voice of her mom called out to her. "Ashley, it's time to get up!" From the sound of her voice, she hadn't got much sleep either, and she could understand why. Jacob, the youngest of the two brothers, had caught chicken pox, and had kept her up for the better part of the night. "I'm already up." she called out, placing her favorite sweater, dark purple, on over her shirt. Tying her shoelaces, she grabbed her backpack and clarinet and headed into the kitchen.

Pouring herself a cup of orange juice, she placed it on the table and placed a piece of bread into the toaster. Looking back, the orange juice was in the hands of her older brother, Alan, and already half gone. Giving her that oh-i'm-sorry-was-this-yours grin, he finished off the glass. As he left to get his shower, the toast popped up from the toaster. Pulling it out, she took her items and headed outside. It was relatively warm for an October morning, and she was grateful for it. Walking down the leaf-strewn sidewalk, she walked for the last time to school. In but four minutes her favorite purple sweater would be a mass of torn fabric, her body a broken mass.

On the other side of the street was a group of girls, most of which Ashley knew by name. The others seemed to be either tag-alongs or little sisters. In the middle of the group was Ryan Yates, Ashley's secret crush. She knew that the feeling was fleeting, that she would be enamoured by a new boy within the week, but for now Ryan was it. As she jogged across the empty street, she could already hear the giggles of the young girls, who endlessly commented on his perfect hair, or his pearly white teeth (perfectly straight, of course), and a body only the strong minded could resist. In a few moments, most of them would be in tears, some unable to even stand. Ryan didn't go to school that day; he went home and spent the better part of the day vomitting, wishing with every fiber of his body that he could take it all back.

At this point, however, Ryan was perfectly fine; the girls were still giddy, and everything was right in the world. After a minute, the attention was turned to a boy riding a bike down the sidewalk. He was pretty young, and was obviously new to the bike, swerving from side to side. Ryan had a mechevious grin on his face, the kind that could only mean trouble. Stepping away from the group, he stood at the lawn edge of the concrete, the girls watching in anticipation. As the boy neared, Albert Frost's Buik pulled out of the Shell station nearby. Already running late, he was juggling coffee and reports, trying to sort everything out. He would never see it until it was too late.

As the neared, Ryan glanced at the girls. Winking at them, he waited as the boy came closer by the second. As he began to pass, Ryan extended his foot at the bike, knocking the boy into the street. The girls, eager to gain his approval, instantly began to laugh. Ashley faked a giggle, and then looked behind her, avoiding the situation. She saw the Buick; it's unobservant driver, juggling assorted items. She knew he would never see the boy, that she had to do something. Jetting into the street, she pulled the boy from the bike. As he scrambled away, his foot connected with her jaw, knocking her to the ground. The group watched in horror as Ashley fought to right herself, watched as the befuddled driver approaching her, the boy running away with no care about his savior. Ashley screamed seconds before the Buick crushed her, drawing Albert's attention from the clutter and towards the doomed young girl.

The girls would say it was the worst sound ever. The screeching of tires; the sickening thumps of the tires, shattering bone after bone; the first girl turning away, emptying her stomach of the little breakfast she had. Ryan stood there in horror, unable to draw his attention from the horrible scene. They would all say it was the worst day of their lives. None of them even thought to check Ashley; they all assumed she was dead, avoiding touching the bloody mass. Ashley hadn't died right away. With her only remaining eye (the other lay crushed within her skull), she looked at the group, praying one would come to her rescue. She prayed right up until the darkness consumed her.

damn thats good

That is much better. It is a great beginning to what sounds like an interesting story. The rest is up to you and your writing style to make it best it can be in your final draft.

Here it is, the packaged version of Chapter One. Most of it is as written, with a few changes.

Ashley Williams. A single look at her and you would see the standard 14 year old teen. Attractive, young, independant, she was the friendly girl, the one everyone liked but was too frightened to approach. Auburn brown hair, stunning figure(like most young girls, she thought she could afford to lose a few pounds), but these were paled by the intensity and beauty of her eyes. Dark green, they radiated the intelligence and independance within her. Anyone you spoke to about Ashley would tell you that this was a young lady destined for big things. They never knew how correct they were.

Ashley awoke from her less then restful sleep, and looked around the room. Even in the limited light it was obvious this was the room of a neat freak; not a sock misplaced, not a cd unorganized. The desk in the corner was by far the messiest place. Strewn across it were numerous books, most school related, with papers stuck everywhere. Despite the clutter, there was still a sense of order, as though she could not bare to let even her mess become too messy. Finally she came to the little digital clock, the one item in the room she had been fighting to avoid. The display glared 5:47 into her tired eyes, and she knew that her night's sleep was over. Streching slowly, she left the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Normal teenagers would have stumbled to get dressed, or take a shower. Ashley made her bed and cleaned the mess on her desk.

Climbing up the 13 stairs(It had always bugged her, the odd number of steps), she entered the bathroom. While her room was on one end of the clean spectrum, the bathroom was on the other. Then again, in a house with 3 boys and 2 girls, a clean bathroom is a hard feat to accomplish. Turning on the shower, she grimaced at the dirty soap. Picking it up with the tips of her fingers, she placed it on the counter, next to the sink. Opening the second drawer down, she took out her own bar of soap, and reentered the shower. Once inside and well into the shower, she opened the bottle of shampoo, only to find it empty. This was her biggest pet peeve, topping the odd number of stairs and the nasty soap. Silently cursing her brothers, she crept out of the shower, the warm water dripping onto the tile floor. Opening the drawers, she pulled out a new bottle of shampoo, and reentered once again.

Clad in a white cotton robe, towel wrapped around her head, she stepped back down the odd-numbered stairs and back into her room. Flipping the lightswitch on, she pulled some clothes from her closet and proceeded to get dressed. As she finished, the loud, dominating voice of her mom called out to her. "Ashley, it's time to get up!" From the sound of her voice, she hadn't got much sleep either, and she could understand why. Jacob, the youngest of the two brothers, had caught chicken pox, and had kept her up for the better part of the night. "I'm already am," she called out, placing her favorite sweater, dark purple, on over her shirt. It had been a present from her grandparents last year, and she had quicky grown attached to it. It would soon be nothing more then a few scraps of fabric, strewn across the blood stained street. Tying her shoelaces, she grabbed her backpack and clarinet and headed into the kitchen.

Pouring herself a cup of orange juice, she placed it on the table and placed a piece of bread into the toaster. Looking back, the orange juice was in the hands of her older brother, Alan, and already half gone. Giving her that Oh-I'm-Sorry-Was-This-Yours grin, he finished off the glass. As he left to get his shower, the toast popped up from the toaster. Pulling it out, she took her items and headed outside. It was relatively warm for an October morning, and she was grateful for it. Walking down the leaf-strewn sidewalk, she walked for the last time to school.

On the other side of the street was a group of girls, most of which Ashley knew by name. The others seemed to be either tag-alongs or little sisters. In the middle of the group was Ryan Yates, Ashley's secret crush. She knew that the feeling was fleeting, that she would be enamoured by a new boy within the week, but for now Ryan was it. As she jogged across the empty street, she could already hear the giggles of the young girls, who endlessly commented on his perfect hair, or his pearly white teeth (perfectly straight, of course), and a body only the strong minded could resist. In a few moments, most of them would be in tears, some unable to even stand. Ryan didn't go to school that day; he would spend the better part of the day vomitting, wishing with every fiber of his body that he could take it all back.

At this point, however, Ryan was perfectly fine; the girls were still giddy, and everything was right in the world. After a minute, the attention was turned to a boy riding a bike down the sidewalk. He was pretty young, and was obviously new to the bike, swerving from side to side. Ryan had a mechevious grin on his face, the kind that could only mean trouble. Stepping away from the group, he stood at the lawn edge of the concrete, the girls watching in anticipation. As the boy neared, Albert Frost's Buik pulled out of the Shell station nearby. Already running late, he was juggling coffee and reports, trying to sort everything out. In his rush to organize, he never looked up at the road, never bearing witness to the horrors he was about to inflict.

As the neared, Ryan glanced at the girls. Winking at them, he waited as the boy came closer by the second. As he began to pass, Ryan extended his foot at the bike, knocking the boy into the street. The girls, eager to gain his approval, instantly began to laugh. Ashley faked a giggle, and then looked behind her, avoiding the situation. She saw the Buick; it's unobservant driver, juggling assorted items. She knew he would never see the boy, that she had to do something. Jetting into the street, she pulled the boy from the bike. As he scrambled away, his foot connected with her jaw, knocking her to the ground. The group watched in horror as Ashley fought to right herself, watched as the befuddled driver approaching her, the boy running away with no care about his savior. Ashley screamed seconds before the Buick crushed her, drawing Albert's attention from the clutter and towards the doomed young girl.

It was the sound, they all said in later years; the sound was the worst part of it. The screeching of tires; the sickening thumps of the tires, shattering bone after bone; the first girl turning away, emptying her stomach of the little breakfast she had. Ryan stood there in horror, unable to draw his attention from the horrible scene. They would all say it was the worst day of their lives. As for Ashley, her mind was far away from the purple sweater, shredded and destroyed; nor was it upon the inevitable death that was approaching. It was on the boy, that little boy on the bike she had saved. It was not the end, however; it was merely the beginning of something much greater.

Not bad at all. You should be ready to start writing the next chapter. Just put it into you authors notes to come back after a few chapters and look it through. I best to do this, becasue you may have other ideas later on, and you might want to change a few things, or add a few details.

If you don't know how to set up authors notes, just ask me and I will help you.

Yeah, how do you set up the autor's noes :unsure:

It is real simple. Just remember that there are many ways to do it, but this is the way I like to.

1. Open note pad and create a text called “Authors Notes”

2. As you write your chapters, look for places you can you add more detail, or even add events.

3. Then place it down in your notes.

4. Ex. Chapter 1: Page 7 – edit detail into fight seine and correct some spelling

5. Ex2. Chapter 5: Page 3 – edit event(s)

You may want to make a section to place down ideas you had for future chapters.

Every few chapters check back on them, and changes things. Try not to delete the any part of the notes. You may want to look back and change the same thing many times.

That is all you pretty much have to do.

That it the Lugana Authors Notes taking system. You can change things about it if you wish, but this seems to be the best way for me.

I set mine up. Mine consists of a main folder sectioned off into individual chapters. In each chapter will be a brainstorm of events that could take place, and a couple rough drafts. Each rough draft, excluding spelling changes, is saved to it's own individual slot. I'm currently working on an extremely rough draft of Ch. 2, mainly just putting the brainstorm into a story line, and it should be done by Tuesday.

Personally, I use the back of my book. I'm currently writing in A4 writing pads (you know the ones held together by rings?). In the front, I'll write the story, and in the back, I'll note down my plans, chapter plans and, if I'm bored or stuck, I'll scribble pictures of weapons and locations in the book.

Someday, these notes will be auctioned for millions....

Oh, and great chapter, Desponded!

oooh...I've got that this-is-a-great-story-what's-next feeling now.... You know, the one when you read the first little bit of a book in the library and then want to take it out? Ah... Its a great first chapter, Desponded. I even kinda cringed (sp???) at the *shudders* ripping and crunching etc bits....eurgh...


Authors notes: I have tons of bits of paper with storylines on, with ideas added in and huge gaps with MUST DO SOMETHING written in a frustrated way on them...does that count??? :P *sigh* I have so many storylines all over the place. I should really put them all in the same place, but they're fine at the moment.

Do you guys work out your storylines first, or while you write? (or a bit of both) :unsure: I do both. The main storyline first and then the little bits along the way (well...when I say little bits I mean large proportion of the middle :P)

I usually have my story outline done before I start. I will have some events planed out, but others just seem to come to me as I write. Yeah, I guess you could say I do both.

I almost live by my Author notes though.


It is just like drawing a picture.

First you draw out were you want everything. (Story outline)

Then you began to add detail and such. (Story line)

You finally finish the picture. (Story written out)

Then the fun part! Using photoshop to color it. (Touching up on the stories detail)

Then you shade with darker colors. (Editing events and characters)

You add lighting (Editing things that the may have been changed so that the story flows)

You add graphics (Making the book the best it can be)

And finally, you add you finishing detail. (Touch up the book for the last time, and enjoy your masterpiece)

I'm more of an Erase-As-You-Go writer. I can write up to 12 drafts of a single chapter before I'm happy with the result. As for a before storyline, I usually change my mind too much to make an effective one. Unfortunetly, this plan has left me hundreds of unfinished stories, which I just grew bored of. They all now hold a special place in my trash can.

I tend to just start, see what I come up with and, usually after the third chapter, decide where to go with it.

Or I'll get an idea in my mind for some scenes or events, and I'll come up with a story to link them together.

That is v. true, Lugana. I like that comparason :) By the way, did you do your avatar on photoshop? (I want Photoshop...*drools*)

The internet refused to work today for a while, so I managed to actually get down to doing my story! I would welcome suggestions on things that my characters do whilst adventuring around though, but I'll put that on another post and thread sometime. I don't want to hijack Desponded's one, incase I get bitten and depressed :P

Oh, talking of Desponded, I too have unfinished stories, which happen when i get a GREAT idea for another one and trudle off to do it, leaving my other tale unfinished. I really should go back to them. I currently have at least.....5 worlds on the go at the moment, and no 2 of them are in the same story, dammit. Whoops. :unsure:

thats is really cool man!! wheres the rest?

Ugh, don't ask. I have a writing disease, commonly known as the second chapter. It is a fatal disease, causing the deaths of many great ideas. There is no cure for second chapter disease, but some eventually overcome it.


Ok, enough lameness. Basically the second chapter isn't fitting in. The first chapter was just the way I wanted it, but I can't for the life of me regain that same feeling. Hard to explain, but I think most of you got it. Anyways, I'm currently on my third draft of it, I'll post it when(if) I finish it.

No, I did not do my avatar in photoshop. I found it on a google search. I thought he seemed to match with my sig better then anything else I saw.

Ok, here's the third draft of chapter two. If you don't like, join the group <_<. I personally think it sucks compared to chapter one, so please voice your suggestions. Please? :( Well, here it is, crappy chapter two:

Ashley layed on her back, shivering. She had already decided it had all been a dream, the result of a restless sleep. As she layed there, she reached down to pull the covers up around her. No matter how hard she tried, however, she couldn't find them. Regretablly, she opened her eyes, expecting the dark gloom of her room. Instead, she found herself staring into the grey morning sky. As she thought about this, she realized she wasn't sleeping on her old yet comfortable bed, but the hard pavement. This was strange enough in itself, but what struck her as weird was that she didn't seem to mind. It was as if she could acheive the same comfort laying on a couch or a bed of nails.
As placed her hand on the concrete to lift her, she glanced down at a sight of horror. She stared into her own eyes, glazed with death; her body twisted in in a horrible form. None of this matched what she next saw. The hand she had placed on the ground was now impaled through her body. Screaming, she pulled her arm back quickly, falling back. She stared in amazement at the body. Even through the massive carnage, she still would have been able to see the large hole created by her hand. The body was cleared of any such wound, however.
Ashley slowly rose, eyes fixed on her maimed corpse. She stared at it for a good five minutes before looking around her. Everything was perfectly calm; far too calm. The small group of girls was now a gathering of statues. All of them had looks of horror, some hunched over vomitting. Ashley passed her hand through several of them, each time going all the way through, leaving no mark in it's place. As she spun in circles, looking for something that wasn't completely frozen, she first saw him.
He was walking down the middle of the road, not frightened the least at the threat of a car mowing him down. He approached Ashley, his cold eyes fixed on her. She felt like running, running from this strange man and never stopping for a moment, for if she rested he would catch her. It wasn't anything about his appearance that frightened her; any of the girls would have fallen for him instantly. Clad in a black shirt and jeans, he looked like the bad boy of some rock band, the "Fuck off and die" sort of guy. On first glace, Ashley belived him armless; the sleeves of his jacket flapped behind him, free of any tangible prescence. As he came closer, however, she realized the jacket was merely hanging from his shoulders, his arms in the folds.
It was the way he walked that really frightened her. He seemed to float in an etheral way, his shoes making no sound. As he reached her, he stopped and cracked his knuckles. He did so in the same fluid motion, beautiful and eerie at the same time. Leaving no time for introductions, he began speaking. "Ashley Williams, am I correct? I'm here on the behalf of the Almighty One to welcome you to the afterlife. There are several matters with which we must discuss. You see, we-"
"No, I don't see," Ashley interrupted, extremely confused, "What is this all about?"
"Don't pretend you don't know," the man groaned, rubbing his head, "You got ran over by a damn car, and now you're dead, and now I'm here to see if you're worthy of being admitted. Now, if you're done with the questions, we can-"
"Admitted where?" Ashely asked, obviously not done with the questions. If she had had any idea why this was happening before, she certainly didn't now.
"Oh my Almighty, why do I always get the slow ones? You have to get admitted into Heaven, you know, land of eternal bliss, blah blah," the man droned, obviously uninterested in what he was saying. Reaching into his jacket, he produced a clipboard and pen. "Now, you seem to have no major sins on you, nothing to worry about. You have the all clear with me, and now if you excuse me, I have some other business with which I need to attend."
The man turned around and began to walk off, much to the annoyance of Ashley. Picking up a rock, she threw it at his head. The rock passed through the man's head, clattering on the ground in front of him. Sighing, the man turned around. Rubbing his eyes, he quietly uttered a rather profane string of curse words. "What do you want now? I'm a busy seraph."
"I want some...seraph?" Ashley yelled out. She had the expression a person has when they place their sunglasses on their head and then spend the better part of the day looking for them.
"My god, I'm in the presence of an idiot," the man cried out, "An angel, you know, pair of wings, live in Heaven? Haven't you ever been to church? As for the rest of your questions, I guess I have a little time. But please, let's do it over coffee." Raising his hand, he snapped finger, and both of them disappeared.

thats so good! I love your seraph character! (I have a thing with characters...)
Its v. good, and the beginning gives you a shock :)

thats awesome i want more....

Here's the first draft of chapter three, written entirely today. Don't let that make you think less of it, I've had the idea for the last few days, just looking for a place to stick it.

Ashley remembered little between the span of their teleportation, just a black period in her mind. One moment she was in a frozen street with an angel, the next she was in a coffee shop with an angel. Unlike the street, however, the cafe was perfectly lively, filled with morning latte addicts. Across from her was the angel from the street, already sipping from a cup of black coffee. In his other hand he held a newspaper, a recent one by the looks of it.
In the corner of the cafe was a small tv, for football junkies and people too busy to catch the news at home. The tv was tuned for the latter group, blaring breaking news about the car wreck. The anchorwoman, a fiftyish lady well past her prime, was dully interviewing one of Ashley's friends. Ashley knew the lady could care less about her death, and that she was just three years from retirement, and had already picked out a wonderful house in the- Ashley's eyes widened in shock. She had never met this lady, let alone see her before, so how could she know these private details?
"You're dead," the angel replied, obviously able to read her mind too, "The human mind is no longer a limit to you. You can read anyone's mind at anytime you want. Just...steer clear of mental hospitals. I had a friend, pretty nice seraph, got really messed up from just walking past one."
Ashley turned to the angel in anger, her eyes slotted daggers of anger. "Enough of this. I can't take anymore of it. Just take me to Heaven, I'll sort it out there. Just stop messing with me!" Ashley expected half the cafe to be staring at her in interest, and the other half to pretend they didn't care, but to her suprise no one even glanced at them. They were moving, unlike the street group, but they might as well have been statues, for all the good they did.
The angel once again rubbed his eyes in frustration, clearly agitated. "You clearly don't understand how badly you've screwed things up, so let me spell it out for you. The kid you saved is Jacob Miller, son of Wesely Miller, the programmer. We set the child up to be hit by the car, but you had to go and save him."
Ashley stared in disbelief at him. They had set a child up to be hit by a car? If this is an angel, Ashley thought, I sure don't want to meet a devil. "How could you do something like that, you...you monster!"
The angel shook his head in the manner one uses to disagree with you when you say the sky is orange and you have 14 toes. It was a gesture that annoyed Ashley, but she said nothing about it. "First of all, the name's Azariel, not monster. Second of all, your saving of Jacob has allowed a horrible event to take place, possibly ending your so-called existance."
Taking a sip of coffee, Azariel continued. "In 5 days, a terrorist organization known as the Black Hand is going to kidnap Jacob, forcing a ransom of some computer technology by Wesely. The computer technology in question happen to be 2 nuclear missile guidance systems and a broadcasting manipulator. Wesely will make a secret exchange ten hours later, with him and his son being shot afterwards. Take those elements, and you have absolute chaos."
"I understand the guidance systems," Ashley said, "But why a broadcasting jammer? Why would the possibly need something like that?"
Azariel scratched his upper lip, contemplating the best way to say what he had to say. "A radar manipulator is a piece of equipment that can change or eliminate the broadcasting of any piece of electronic equipment. The terrorists, albeit to government knowledge, have taken a small base in the deserts of Nevada. Now, the terrorists can't launch the missiles, due to lack of guidance systems. If they were to launch them under an American broadcast system, they could easily disable the wavelength, causing the missiles to fall harmlessly in the Pacific Ocean. But, if the terrorists used a broadcasting manipulator, they could easily fly the missiles under a U.S. broadcast without Americans being able to do anything about it. Both missiles are aimed at Russian targets. With the fail safe system, you can guess what happens next."
"They fire their missiles at us," Ashley said, finally realizing the severity of the situation, "and other countries start firing their missiles...everything would be destroyed. Every great civilization, every army would be decimated. All those deaths..."
"It's not over yet," Azariel interrupted, "The Black Hand currently has a rather large guerilla army resting in Azerbijan, a nuetral area. Once the bombs stop dropping, they'll send their troops out to capture what's left over. Anyone who survives the bombing will be under terrorist control. Needless to say, that isn't many."
Ashley stared blankly at Azariel, looking past him and everything behind him. She would be responsible for 3 billion deaths, all within the month. Life as they knew it would cease to exist, all because of one child. One child.
"Oh wait!" Ashley exclaimed, "Why not just kill the child? It would be easy now, and it's not like he would be better off alive."
"Can't do it," Azariel said, "When we tried it, His Majesty didn't know we were doing it. He says it's man's business now, that He can't interfere. Pretty crappy, yes, but then again he can't save everything. Mankind had a good run, though. Over 2,000 years, longer then some species."
"Well, we have to do something to stop this," Ashley cried out, "We can't just let them shoot their missiles off without so much as a how do you do!"
"Well," Azariel stated, "There is one thing we can do." At this he beaconed Ashley closer to him. Cupping his hands around her ears, he whispered, "We can get drunk and celebrate the judgement day."

the plot thickens...cool! :D I'm loving this! I've written a load in one day sometimes, too, Desponded, so I think no less of you, infact, I'm impressed that you can concentrate on it instead of getting distracted (like...um...its can't be ME who's like that...right? ;) )

Its a really great story *bows to Desponded* write more, great master!

So do you guys draft each chapter as you go along? Or do you just write the whole thing and then change things as you go?

I'm the latter.

Wow, this is looking great, Desponded ;)

Me wants more :D

personellement, I plan it out first, kinda do a 'draft' in my head (THE VOICES!...NO, not really, more kinda working out what exactly happens) and then try to find the time to type it out, and then check for spelling/typing errors, like th, instead or the. grrr, I hate that one.

*carries on bowing to Desponded*

Most of my ideas come during odd parts of the day, anywhere from the bathroom to english. It's a very general idea, like a vague arrow pointing in a certain direction. From there I'll just start writing anything that comes to my mind.

yeah, when your writing you characters can sometimes take you somewhere you bnever dreamed of writing about...its quite cool really...

Then comes the race to find the notepad and pen before you forget what the good idea was :P

ack, the trouble I have is I'm usually half asleep in bed when I get the idea...and I really can't be bothered to reach for a pen and notebook <_<
ah well...
hmm...Its also means that often I don't remember my idea until MUCH later... :S

:D great chapter and in the words of my three year old cousin


"I wants more" :)

Here it is, another chapter! I've decided to post all first drafts here, and then work on them on my own. Maybe at a later date I'll post them in their completed forms. Anyways, ch. 4:

Azariel smiled slightly, thinking himself rather witty. Glacing up at Ashley, he knew she did not agree, and his smile faded. Looking down at his cup, he ran his index finger around the edge of the cup of coffee, speaking softly.
"It is not a matter of not being able to do anything. It is being unable to do anything at this time, so to speak. Our little "incident" earlier has caused Him to grow annoyed with me, and He has temporarily lessened our powers. And even if we were to gather enough seraphs in one place to channel the energy needed, he could easily smash our attempt. There is, however, one way, though it may lead to our exile.
"Long ago, during one of the forgotten wars, Lucifer cast a spell upon God. It was not the first time, nor the last time, but it was the most successful attempt. The spell was made to channel God's energy into a small crystal, alienating him from it. God allowed the spell to work for a short time, flowing a little under half of his energy into the stone. He then cast an anti spell, causing the stone to come to him. He cast his own incantation on it, causing the stone to double the energy within and give it to Him."
"Why would he stop at under half?" Ashley asked. "Wouldn't more power in the stone give him more power in turn?
"He put under half into the stone," Azariel replied, "for two reasons. The first is God was unsure how much energy he could flow into the crystal and still be able to stem it off. The second is if the crystal is captured, it would end it's amplification, leaving the robber with less then God's power. All He has to do is find the robber, smash him down, and regain his glory.
"This stone lies deep within Heaven, far within the Grand Temple. For some time it held a special place, sitting upon a small pedestal in front of God. It now has been moved farther back, as to deter theifs. The way is heavily guarded, and in the depths there lie worse things then seraphs. But as long as your intentions are of good, then He may not notice immedietly the lack of strength.
"If you truely wish to end the imminent danger, you must retrieve the crystal within four days, before the abduction of Jacob occurs. Bring it to me here, I shall be waiting for you."
"How will I get into Heaven?" Ashley inquired. She had yet to leave Earth, and she was both anxious and excited. Still, these emotions were paled under the immense dread, growing on her mind.
"It is quite easy," Azariel replied, "Merely believe that you are in Heaven, and there you are. Sounds crazy, but weirder things have happened. You have 96 hours."
Ashley thought extremely hard, making herself believe she was there. In fact, she concentrated so hard that she was in Heaven a full 2 minutes before she knew she had arived.

it truely rawks, this story! I'm loving it already (well, I loved the 1st chapter...but you know what I mean)

Keep at it, Desponded! :) :) :)

I really hate to bring up dead topics, and I hate even worse to be the bearer of bad news, but at this point, the Seraph is a dead project. I really liked how it started, and even how the plot had progressed up to the point, but something started to grate on me. I had originally believed this to be an original idea, but my mind kept telling me that something had been made similar to this. Thus, the story was placed on hold.

It was yesterday that the coffin was finally nailed shut, when I picked up a copy of TV Guide and saw a review for a miniseries called "Dead Like Me", and after researching it a little more, I realized that a lot of my ideas came from it. So, to say it one more time, the Seraph is gone. I would like to thank all of you who read and gave such great reviews to the few chapters I finished, and maybe one day I'll blow the dust off the idea and finish it.

You’re thinking about giving it up?

The beginning was great; it captured me and made want to read more. Maybe we can help you create a new plot. Let’s re-post this in the Plot Development section. Now that we have more members, we should have some new ideas. But if you really want to start writing about something else, that’s all right. We will help you no matter what you decide.

Don't you hate that? You come up with a great idea, you work with it, and then you realise that you've subconciously (sp?) copied it.

Or when you come up with a great idea, start writing it and someone else presents that idea before the world has seen your work - meaning that they think you are the one that copied it (despite you starting it long before that!).

Anyway, Loner, it's a shame to see the lid shut on the Seraph, but all writers have a pile of unfinished work waiting to be resurrected!

Yeah, I'm going to keep the basic idea of the first chapter, if not the entire thing altogether, and rehash everything else to fit into a more original idea that I'll be working on. So, in a sense, the Seraph will be reborn from it's ashes.

subconciously :P

and the seraph was gooood! The guy who wrote Artemis Fowl wrote a book abotu being dead and heaven and hell, but he put a twist on it. If you could do that It'd be great!

Here is the new Chapter Two of the Seraph, hope you like.


Azriel watched Ashley as her body was smashed against the concrete, smiling slightly. He had seen his fair share of accidents in his life(afterlife, to be more correct), but he found car on person hits to be most satisfying. Chuckling slightly, he watched as Ashley's soul fought it's way from her dying body. Walking towards the wreckage, Azriel pulled a small, pointed stone from one of his many pockets. Standing over the body, he plunged the stone, blood red and ominously glowing, deep into Ashley's chest. None of the bystanders saw him approach, nor the thrashing of Ashley's soul as it was sucked painfully into the stone thrust inside her.

Azriel's hand began to shake near the end of the ritual, as it always did; he had preformed the ceremony a hundred times over, and would do it a hundred times again. Once it was finished, he placed the stone back into his pocket, ignoring the echoing scream eminating from his trenchcoat. He had a breif idea to slay the rest of the onlookers while he was there, but he had done what he was ordered. Blinking slightly, he disappeared from the street, and those who watched had no idea of his presence, besides a dark feeling in their heart that something horrible had taken place.

Azriel watched the world flash by him in bits and pieces as his body thrust through the folds of space, catching bits of images: a old woman watering her lawn, a large man hammering a nail into a board, and a young couple engaged in some sexual act. Soon he was at his destination, a small cafe in London, appearing in a stall in the men's room. It had taken Azriel many attempts to get such precision, and had ended up in many walls in the process. Stepping out of the bathroom, he sat down at a table for two, in front of a ominous man; dressed in a long black coat and a oversized black hat, covering his face from view.

The man spoke softly to Azriel, in a voice that could freeze volcanoes and kill babies in their womb, should he focus it hard enough.
"So, my friend, you return to me willingly, that is a good sign. Most fools tend to run when they fail. Like that could save them," he said, adding a small chuckle at the end.
"I retrieved the soul, like you said. Now, what about my part?" Azriel asked, handing the red stone over to his companion. The black man, fingering the stone with long, spiderlike fingers, made a sound of approval, and spoke again.
"Yes, you have done well. You will have what you wish...soon."
"That wasn't the deal, and you know it," Azriel spat, greatly annoyed. "You have what you want, now give me what I want."
"My friend, you are foolish to ask for the world as it is. You would be obliterated by God before you even knew it. No, you must take away his greatest weapon before anything can be done for you.

Azriel shook his head, muttering as he did. "There's no way it can be done. Even if I could get into Heaven, I wouldn't get ten steps in before He caught me. I'll take my chances as they are."
The man laughed loudly, a cold laugh that dripped of hatred and evil. "My friend, you do not think I would send you past the Pearly Gates, do you? I have my own plans to get the Orb. Do not despair my friend, the Earth will soon be yours for the ruling."
Azriel smiled largely, shaking the man's hand. "I was wrong to doubt you. I will continue my work, my friend."
The man leaned towards Azriel, speaking even softer then before. "Please, Azriel, call me Lucifer."