I'm an english literature graduate. My grades in university creative writing were in the 90% range, and I've got experience in reading and editing papers by ESL students. I speak both English and Swedish, and grew up bilingual in Sweden. Therefore, I have lifelong experiences of explaining grammatical rules to ESL speakers who are learning the language.
My main focus was fiction from the early middle ages(ca 900 AD) to the Jazz Age (1929). Thus, I am able to edit and/or write pseudo-historical manuscripts so that they seem 'authentic' within the world you've chosen to write.
The genres I prefer are horror, drama, sci-fi, and historical fiction. I will write any relationships or combination of such, and am not afraid to deal with heavy subjects. Lighter subjects are also fine, though.
20 dollars per 1000 words(non-commercial games)
I write quickly and am no stranger to deadlines. My recorded average is around 2,500 finished words in one day.
Contact me for more information regarding commercial games.
(For all those that I have been in contact with before 00:57 6/12/16, the old rate of 12 usd per 1000 words apply.)
If you'd rather give me an advance and share the royalties with me later, we can work something out.
Note: My writing services are closed for the time being. I'm still open for editing and proofreading, though!
Proofing and Editing:
I want to proofread your projects. No matter the genre or plot! Mystery, drama, love, comedy, everything is welcome! I'm not particularly squeamish, and can probably take on whatever gorefest/depraved smut/adorable G-rated fanwork challenge thrown at my desk.
Being an english student, I'm qualified to trim your story so that it flows to maximum potential. I'm not afraid to make heavy edits if such is desired. In the case of rewrites, I'll always try to preserve the intent of the project.
I'm also able to focus on only proofreading and light editing.
Proofreading with minor edits for grammar and spelling:
Anything up to 7,000 words is free, anything after that is 30 dollars+25 dollars per extra 10,000 words.
Heavy editing for story flow:
Anything up to 7,000 words is free, anything after that is 40 dollars+30 dollars per extra 10,000 words.
Anything below 7,000 is completely free.
Note that free projects will be undertaken in my spare time. They will not be given the same priority as paid work.
All I wish is for you to mention me in the credits at the end of your game.
Editing and proofing narrative parts in Wildfire!
Editing and proofing Aseeji(tabletop roleplaying game)
If you want something translated to or from Swedish, I'll probably be willing to oblige. PM me for details.
PM me for details if you want to hire me, or write a post here if you have any questions
”No, Alex, you may not touch the pineapple.”
I could feel his blue eyes wobbling under his brow, eyelashes doing that soupy flappy motion. ”But commander, I’ve not had fruit in days!”
My eyes were about to touch the sky. ”It’s called rations, greenhorn. Now step away from the landmine, or you’ll get us all blown up.”
Alex slowly pivoted to face me. He saluted with the corners of his mouth hanging low, and got back to his place between Janet and Erikkson. I put my feet back in the mud, and let out a sigh as I led the soldiers back to the track. Thank heavens that he hadn’t cried!
After two muddy fields and an overgrown barnyard, Charles did a complete halt. He put his hands on his knees and spluttered, coughing up yellow, oozing bile. I put a hand over his boiling skin to try and determine the level of danger, but he closed his eyes and shook his head. Red curls bounced up and down. ”I’m fine, ma’m. I’ll fight just fine.” His feet trembled like taught string. I bade him sit down under a knotted oak tree. ”Wait for us here. And don’t cry.” He took three seconds to nod.
By the time we’d reached the outposts, a humid stench had taken hold of the air. Large tufts of cotton grew in Alex’s nostrils, while Janet’s nose was covered with a blue hanky. Milksops. ”Almost there!” I shouted to the ranks behind the fog. ”Keep your weapons ready to fire!” The trees were getting scarcer and scarcer now, fading into little clumps on the horizon. Before I knew it, my foot hit something soft.
I looked down and saw something red and rubbery. Like a tree-branch soaked in lye. I counted the amount of twigs on the end: five. My company was completely silent. The clump flew away when I kicked it. We walked further into the greenish-gray sea, soft beige trees lying everywhere. The end of the row stopped to dispatch itself from the line. Between Janet and Erikkson lay Alex, black eyelashes melded together. It took all I had not to grab his shoulders and shake him.
”Wake up, Alex.”
My provision bottle would soon be empty. The water ran in ripples around his soft, red cheeks.
”Mmmwha?” His mouth jerked open, and he was doing the gooey-eye thing again. I don’t think he even knew how that affected people. ”Did we blow up?” His eyelids were reddened, and his face was wet.
I shook my head. ”We’re alive, kiddo.”
”..Was I shot? Oh god, there are corpses everywhere..” His gaze was fixed on a nearby trunk.
”No. We missed the battle.” I shook my head against the mist, feeling the cool humidity against my face. The rationing tin felt heavy in my bag. ”But you can have some pineapple in a minute.”
Blacks shapes flew across the moon as he passed the signpost, treading through the freshly flat grass. He hunched under the low branches, and left the road to follow the small stream that had trickled into mist. The rosary lay chilly around his neck. His fingers touched one bead, then two, then three, yet he could not remember her name.
The branches grew tighter over his head. He had to hold it with both hands now, tighter and tighter as the ground grew crisp and brittle under his feet. A faint stench of rot still lingered, but the gallow-tree had not yet broke. It stood in front of him now, a gnarled oak tree with a dark growth hanging from a branch like a a cocoon.
He tried his best not to look at it. The flesh rubbed and clung against his fingers. He kept telling himself how it wasn’t her anymore, just something that needed to be properly handled, a final document for him to stamp and sign. It went feet first into the sack. His knuckles were freezing. Her cheek was cold. He drew the string and slung it over his shoulder, buckling slightly from the weight.
I have recently taken up the hobby of bird-watching, as the physician has informed me that there will yet be some time until I shall be able to ride off on Pan again. I did attempt it before the rain, but Emilia made me get down as soon as she saw the look on my face. A second attempt was made during the afternoon, but swiftly shot down by father. He argues that pain is a way the body uses to lessen harm to itself, and therefore I am not to ride while ’incapacitated’ on the daily solution. Thus, I am not to be using the solution for sport or merriment, which appears to defeat the intended purpose.
In Eric, the productive idea of romantic friendship manifests through the titular character’s friendship with Edwin Russells. Both boys are popular at school, though Russell attains this status through his nurturing attitudes and attention to religion, setting him up as a spiritual authority. In contrast, Eric gains respect via his athletic talents, which feeds his desire for popularity, and by extension his ’cardinal sin’, pride.
He is unjustly punished several times, thus justifying a distrust for the master’s authority. Said authority is soon replaced by Upton, Russell’s cousin, who takes him as a protege. Upton is described as a magnet for hero worship through his constant caring for bullied, and thus vulnerable younger boys.
This worship is explicitly described as harmful, due to Upton’s "misdirected impulses, and […] great notion of being manly, which he thought consisted in a fearless disregard of all school rules”, thus giving Eric a ’corrupted’ figure to emulate in place of the masters. This is made explicit through the description of Eric as ”a ready pupil in all schemes [Of Uptons] mischief”, showing the relationship as enabling unmoral behavior, thus setting Upton as a bad influence. (Eric, 83-84)