The writing contest

I think your writing style is very good, I enjoyed reading it. You are good with descriptions, as I can imagine pictures of it in my head. If I may give some feedback: in the beginning there's a bit of double words; "routine", "as usual", "like I always did." The last two aren't necessary, as you stated the protagonist does so every night already. For me, the memories at the end aren't necessary in the story. I didn't think it fit at first, but combined with the last few lines it kinda does, but for me it feels like a recap you could miss; that doesn't support the story as a whole, because the style differs. Overall I think it's a good story and if you have time and ideas I would like to read more from you.

Thank you, I fixed it! I hadn't noticed it was repetitive, but now that you've pointed it out I can see it. I'm sure I'll write more stories later on, but I certainly won't post all of them on Penpal Gate so it might take a while for something new to pop up.

Thank you, I fixed it! I hadn't noticed it was repetitive, but now that you've pointed it out I can see it. I'm sure I'll write more stories later on, but I certainly won't post all of them on Penpal Gate so it might take a while for something new to pop up.

I'm glad you learned from it. I'm looking forward to your writing, take your time of course. Are you posting anywhere else or do you keep them private? I understand very well if you do keep them for yourself.

eehhhmmm........... i didnt write my second part about the 'detective story', i hope it doesnt matter? i dont really got the time to write it.......

That would be very cool Mare when you have time!! 🙂

And @Miss_Penpal i think that @-Kiki- is right that you are VERY talented with writing!! Sorry i comment in this forum so late, but i read it now and I think you should share any time you want stories on the forum. I think many of us will like to read them A LOTTT!!! 🥰🥰

I'm glad you learned from it. I'm looking forward to your writing, take your time of course. Are you posting anywhere else or do you keep them private? I understand very well if you do keep them for yourself.

I only post on Penpal Gate because I'm afraid that my writing will get stolen or something if I put it on more known websites. And also I'm too lazy to make a thousand accounts and passwords just to get new places to store my stories...

I only post on Penpal Gate because I'm afraid that my writing will get stolen or something if I put it on more known websites. And also I'm too lazy to make a thousand accounts and passwords just to get new places to store my stories...

That's a realistic fear, I get that. I also get the second thing haha. Hope the laziness won't stop you from writing too. 👀💫

I remembered to post the new stories on my own, yay!
They're a bit shorter than others I've written before, but I'm still proud of them. I'll put them one at a time, because they take a while to write on my computer (I have them on pieces of paper) so I only transferred one because I had a homework where I had to write a short story, but now I have other homework to do before transferring the other story.
The title of this one is "Don't look back"

On a cloudy night, all normality left when a rift to another world opened. The little Cynthia was the one who caused it. Her parents never really paid much attention to her, so she had learned at a young age to keep psychological walls between her and other people to protect her feelings.
On that night, she was sleeping peacefully and dreaming about playing with her imaginary friends before waking up abruptly for no apparent reason. Cynthia then noticed she needed to use the restroom, and slowly felt fear creep up on her. She had always been afraid of the dark, and the hallway leading to the restroom had plenty of darkness in store for her. During the day, the hallway had beautiful paintings along the pretty purple walls, but during night, it was another story. With not much light, the paintings seemed moving and alive, watching your every move as if waiting for a chance to drag you into the shadows and smile as if nothing had happened the next day. The purple walls seemed cold and endless, as if taking one step in the hallway would trigger some kind of nightmarish trap that would keep both ends of the hallway away from you and trap you within it forever.
“I wish my friends were here, thought Cynthia, they always help me when I’m scared.”
“But they’re not here,” answered a cold, emotionless voice in her head. The little girl looked around, and, seeing nothing, took a step into the hallway.
“Who are you? I’ve never heard your voice before.” She spoke in a whisper, not wanting her parents to hear.
“Does it matter? I’m not like you, and you couldn’t comprehend what I am. You just couldn’t understand.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. And also everything. You don’t need to know now.” The unnamed entity said. A shift in the air could be felt, and Cynthia was alone again.
With something else than the terrifying appearance of the hallway to keep her mind busy, she had no problem reaching the restroom.
On her way back to her room, Cynthia felt something weird. It was the same feeling you get when something is about to go horribly wrong, and she didn’t like that. She stared intensely at every portrait and every shadow on the wall with as much concentration as she could, trying to figure out what could be the cause of that feeling.
When she walked next to the mirror, the sudden movement from the corner of her eye made her jump. She looked at the silvery surface, and, with her heart beating fast, she placed her hand on the cool object. Unlike a usual mirror, it rippled where her hand had been laid, before a silvery hand reached out and grabbed hers. Cynthia couldn’t even scream before she was pulled into the mirror, the object breaking behind her, stopping any possible escape.
The crashing of the mirror woke up Cynthia’s parents, but when they arrived downstairs, she was already gone. They called the police, but their daughter was never found.

Very nice that you posted @Miss_Penpal!! Sorry i am JUSTTT home after super long day but will read your story this evening!!! I VERY MUCH liked the other stories you wrote before so it will be very nice again i think!!! 😊😊

Can I do poetry instead of stories????

Can I do poetry instead of stories????

Of course!

This is my poem
Blue
Sometimes you just need a little blue
It won’t take away the pain
But it’s comforting.
Though it might not fix your problems
It’s alway there to help.
To wrap around you like a blanket
Soft and warm.
To protect you from harsh words thrown your way.
Or the thoughts inside your brain.
Sometimes you just need some blue.
Blue like your veins that keep your blood from flowing out.
Keeping you from seeing red.
It take you away
From the sadness
The anger,
Because sometimes you just need a little blue.

This is my poem
Blue
Sometimes you just need a little blue
It won’t take away the pain
But it’s comforting.
Though it might not fix your problems
It’s alway there to help.
To wrap around you like a blanket
Soft and warm.
To protect you from harsh words thrown your way.
Or the thoughts inside your brain.
Sometimes you just need some blue.
Blue like your veins that keep your blood from flowing out.
Keeping you from seeing red.
It take you away
From the sadness
The anger,
Because sometimes you just need a little blue.

Wow! I just have one question, is this inspired by the Dream SMP? I think I remember there was something about blue dye going on at some point (I'm not sure though), and since you like the Dream SMP I thought maybe it was about that. Anyway, good poem!

I only post on Penpal Gate because I'm afraid that my writing will get stolen or something if I put it on more known websites. And also I'm too lazy to make a thousand accounts and passwords just to get new places to store my stories...

I know this is very late but if you really want to post it some where archived of our own has a catigory just for original works and you could post it there. They are pretty reliable and free. This isn’t an add but I just wanted to let you know about it

Wow! I just have one question, is this inspired by the Dream SMP? I think I remember there was something about blue dye going on at some point (I'm not sure though), and since you like the Dream SMP I thought maybe it was about that. Anyway, good poem!

Ya it’s inspired by friend (my favorite blue sheep) for the Dream smp

I also have this on but warning it’s kind depressing
And it’s a mixture of a story and poetry

Emotions are like a stream
They just flow and flow
With out a single care
Some can control it
But most can’t
Just like me

I’ve tired to dam it up and turn it into a lake
But every single time the wall will break

I try to push away those who make me feel
But they always return anyway with more zeal
Sometimes I just wish I could run away from my stream
But instead
I just bottle it up and don’t let them see,
This stream that lives inside of me.


Regan dropped her pen and her hands were shaking. She glanced at the page that was once empty, and it was covered in tears and scratchy writing. She stared at it for a while, but after a minute…
Regan wiped her eyes and regained his composure. Then dropped her little note book in the desk drawer and locked it.
Her time to cry was over, and her foster parents in an hour would call her down for dinner.
They aren’t supposed to see her red eyes wet with fresh tears so she needs to stop now.
And she did.

Dinner was a blur.
There was shitty mashed potatoes with no butter, a stir fry of vegetables that tasted worse than musty water, and oily hamburger helper.
Despite its lack of cooking skill Regan was grate full for the meal. In her foster parents words,
” They were providing her with a house, food, and schooling. He should be grateful.”
And she was to the fullest of his abilities. She wanted them to like her. To accept her as one of their own. Too many places had sent her away, and too many people never wanted her. She wanted them to be different, and needed them to accept her.
So she ate her food with no complaint and headed off to do her chores. Tonight she had dishes. One of the things she hated the most, but she was willing to do it. She would do anything to make them want her.
She even acted righteous at church with them. As if she had been a part of religion her whole life instead of the last two weeks. That didn’t matter though.
A few days ago she had accidentally broken a plate and that’s when she figured out she was drag in the family,
” everything you do causes more problems!” The mom had said.
” You have been such a brat this last week. It makes sense why nobody wanted you. Not even your actual parents did!” The rest of the family mumbled under their breaths.
That's when she started to try poetry. It was rough at first but after the countless poems she wrote till midnight pouring out not only tears but her heart, she had finally caught the hang of poetry.

It’s a thing of the heart,
Something that only emotions can truly start.
They don’t have to be extreme.
But you do need to tie them together with rhymes as the string.

Ever since Regan discovered poetry it’s the only way she can truly feel free

This story is both about how you shouldn't change yourself for someone else and about how you should think before acting. It's not the best, I only had a vague idea of what to do with this, but it came out better than I expected so I'm proud (:

The sewing machine

– Can I have a sewing machine?

He asked.

– Okay,

she said. And she took up sewing soon after.

– Is that what you wanted?

She clarified. He glanced her way and frowned.

– No. You’re just sewing. You’re not a machine.

And so she replaced her arms with robots. Sharp needles now replaced her warm hands and made embracing him impossible without hurting him. It made her sad, but she didn’t say anything, so as to not ruin his fun.

– Now, are you happy?

She said.

– No! It’s just your arms! You’re still not a machine! He cried. I want a real machine!

And so she slowly replaced her body parts with cold, soulless metal scraps. “Are you satisfied,” she would have asked him if she could, but she couldn’t. He had gotten what he thought he had wanted more than anything : a sewing machine. She was gone, and now in her place would stay a simple machine. Was he happy? At first, yes. He got his clothes sewed as he wanted them. But when what he did sunk in, he noticed her absence everywhere. The silence was suddenly so loud, and he missed her. He ended up selling the machine. It was only a painful reminder of what she used to be, he thought. He regretted it soon after, when he saw the empty desk in the corner of the room. He had sold her, he realized with horror. The sewing machine might have ended up boring to him, but it was her, and she had given up her own soul to make him happy. Tears fell, so did he. He stayed there, on the floor, in shock and full of sorrow, and cried. He cried for her, he cried because his actions caught up to him, and he cried until his throat was dry. Then he numbly got up and walked out the door, hoping to clear his mind and find out what to do next.

This story is both about how you shouldn't change yourself for someone else and about how you should think before acting. It's not the best, I only had a vague idea of what to do with this, but it came out better than I expected so I'm proud (:

The sewing machine

– Can I have a sewing machine?

He asked.

– Okay,

she said. And she took up sewing soon after.

– Is that what you wanted?

She clarified. He glanced her way and frowned.

– No. You’re just sewing. You’re not a machine.

And so she replaced her arms with robots. Sharp needles now replaced her warm hands and made embracing him impossible without hurting him. It made her sad, but she didn’t say anything, so as to not ruin his fun.

– Now, are you happy?

She said.

– No! It’s just your arms! You’re still not a machine! He cried. I want a real machine!

And so she slowly replaced her body parts with cold, soulless metal scraps. “Are you satisfied,” she would have asked him if she could, but she couldn’t. He had gotten what he thought he had wanted more than anything : a sewing machine. She was gone, and now in her place would stay a simple machine. Was he happy? At first, yes. He got his clothes sewed as he wanted them. But when what he did sunk in, he noticed her absence everywhere. The silence was suddenly so loud, and he missed her. He ended up selling the machine. It was only a painful reminder of what she used to be, he thought. He regretted it soon after, when he saw the empty desk in the corner of the room. He had sold her, he realized with horror. The sewing machine might have ended up boring to him, but it was her, and she had given up her own soul to make him happy. Tears fell, so did he. He stayed there, on the floor, in shock and full of sorrow, and cried. He cried for her, he cried because his actions caught up to him, and he cried until his throat was dry. Then he numbly got up and walked out the door, hoping to clear his mind and find out what to do next.

I think it's an interesting story, but I don't understand why she didn't buy him, or that he bought himself, a sewing machine? Changing yourself into a machine because of this wish doesn't occur to many, so why and how did she even think about it and even actually did do it, without any hesitation?

I think it's an interesting story, but I don't understand why she didn't buy him, or that he bought himself, a sewing machine? Changing yourself into a machine because of this wish doesn't occur to many, so why and how did she even think about it and even actually did do it, without any hesitation?

I know it doesn't make sense, it's on purpose. It would be way too horrible of a story if I made up a reason that made people replacing their bodies with inanimate objects actually make sense. There are also many poems and stories that make no sense when you read them, and the only reason they exist is because the reason behind it all is what the stories/poems is about.

My story is about how you shouldn't change yourself for someone else, I never meant for it to make sense. It was just meant to send a message across, and I hope that's what it did because I really had no idea of how to go about this.

I know it doesn't make sense, it's on purpose. It would be way too horrible of a story if I made up a reason that made people replacing their bodies with inanimate objects actually make sense. There are also many poems and stories that make no sense when you read them, and the only reason they exist is because the reason behind it all is what the stories/poems is about.

My story is about how you shouldn't change yourself for someone else, I never meant for it to make sense. It was just meant to send a message across, and I hope that's what it did because I really had no idea of how to go about this.

I think it would make a very intriguing and interesting story if you could actually come up with a plausible explanation. However, I do get your point about stories and poems. Sometimes I tend to take things too literal, but I do like the clear message of your story.