Proofreading:
I'm a quick reader and I'll always get back to you ASAP once I'm done reading your stuff.
I'll work with non-commercial projects for free, and for commercial projects I charge a quarter of a penny per word. So 1,000 words would be £2.50. I take payment through PayPal.
I won't proofread/edit:
- Pedophilia
- Non-consensual romantic (or more) activity
Everything else is free game!
Writing:
CURRENTLY ON HOLD.
I'll write for non-commercial projects for £0.02 per word (£20/1,000 words), and for commercial projects £0.03 (£30/1,000 words).
What I won't write is the same as what I won't proofread. My areas of expertise are fantasy, historical fiction and anything fairytale-esque, but I am comfortable expanding my horizons as necessary! I'm comfortable with working off of an outline, a storyboard, or even just general concepts. I'm the lead narrative designer for Briar (currently on hold), and graduated highschool with 93-95% in English Advanced, English Extension 1 and English Extension 2 (Creative Writing).
Samples:
The sound of her voice made his pulse quicken and he could feel it coming from his heart, instead of from some thickening pit inside his stomach. There were no misdirections of blood to clot in his throat or his eyes or his brain. No jittering bundle of symptoms, but a solid man smiling evenly at the woman he adored. Since getting over the initial hesitance from their first kiss, his embraces were decisive; his hands steady when aligned to her, and staying so for hours afterward. He didn’t want to be away from the man he was with her.
They plant themselves across from him on the bedroll. Their knees are bent to the side, the soles of their feet pressed together, hands wrapped around their ankles. It intrigues, and comforts: the figure that had been so recumbent after the Breach is, in fact, a bundle of energy. He wonders how they sit when reading.
They dip their eyes towards him, almost conspiratorial. “Magic’s not far and away, is it?” And then their legs begin to twitch, up and down, like the wings of a butterfly.
If you'd like more samples of my work, or to see the entirety of something I've written, just shoot me an e-mail.Everything is black and sickly with warmth. The world is tar bubbling around her face. Her eyes and mouth are stuck shut, but she can hear again, there is words through the ringing.
Mutters about the Maker; her name, over and over. Prayer, or begging, or both.
The fervency of it makes her remember Cullen. Oh, he understands, as much as she wishes he couldn’t. They were both weary-shouldered. To die would be to relinquish responsibility and nobody would blame her for it. Cullen understands. He would forgive her. She loves him dearly, but to love was to live, and that had been so hard.
