Writer [five cents per word but can be negotiated]
Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2014 10:18 pm
Hello, everyone. I may be a lemma newbie, but I've done quite a lot of writing in my time, including published essays and other VNs. I would make my rates lesser if it weren't for that I am currently a sponsor at another studio and would appreciate the income to further pay others.
I can give several samples of my work, from first pages of novels to essays to quick bits of comedic dialogue. All you have to do is ask.
For now, take this as a sample:
“What’s your name?”
“Sasha.”
I wish you could be here. I wish you could feel whatever this is. It’s in the air. I can’t describe it. Eeriness? No. No, eeriness is fog and swamps and monsters. Suspense? No, suspense is old mansions and cobwebs and killers in the dark. Intensity? Are the colors sharper? Is the world brighter? No. I cannot tell you what it is. I wish you were here.
I have nothing. I have no descriptions. I have no way to communicate myself. All I have is this name.
“Sasha?”
“Sasha.”
I touch his face as the world slants. His cheek feels ordinary. There is nothing special. The universe has just blotted itself out. We are the same. It is the rest of the world that has become the figures of rain on the car windows. I love Monet. Lily pads. I wish you were here.
“Would you like to come home with me, Sasha? Would you like to see my house?”
“No.”
He walks away. I am alone. The rest of the world has left and become abnormal, and that is the feeling I do not have. The lack of abnormality is not normality; it is this. And now I am alone. I wish you were here.
I hope to find a job soon.
Lovely
I can give several samples of my work, from first pages of novels to essays to quick bits of comedic dialogue. All you have to do is ask.
For now, take this as a sample:
“What’s your name?”
“Sasha.”
I wish you could be here. I wish you could feel whatever this is. It’s in the air. I can’t describe it. Eeriness? No. No, eeriness is fog and swamps and monsters. Suspense? No, suspense is old mansions and cobwebs and killers in the dark. Intensity? Are the colors sharper? Is the world brighter? No. I cannot tell you what it is. I wish you were here.
I have nothing. I have no descriptions. I have no way to communicate myself. All I have is this name.
“Sasha?”
“Sasha.”
I touch his face as the world slants. His cheek feels ordinary. There is nothing special. The universe has just blotted itself out. We are the same. It is the rest of the world that has become the figures of rain on the car windows. I love Monet. Lily pads. I wish you were here.
“Would you like to come home with me, Sasha? Would you like to see my house?”
“No.”
He walks away. I am alone. The rest of the world has left and become abnormal, and that is the feeling I do not have. The lack of abnormality is not normality; it is this. And now I am alone. I wish you were here.
I hope to find a job soon.
Lovely