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I've been quite interested in VNs since I played Sepia Tears and Katawa Shoujo, and hence (as a hobby only) i'm willing to be a writer/proofreader. I'm not picky as to whether it's a commercial/free project, as long as it's interesting!! Will be able to contribute partially during October and significantly from Mid Nov - April 2016
Have virtually no VN writing experience, but well versed in English
Please add me on skype(will check by the hour)/send me a PM (by the day)
Posting a sample of something that you've written might be helpful.
Some of my visual novels are at http://www.the-new-lagoon.com. They are NSFW
Poorly done hand-drawn art is still poorly done art. Be a Poser (or better yet, use DAZ Studio 3D) - dare to be different.
Quick excerpt from a short story I wrote a year ago:
All I could do is cry. Brief whimpers, an occasional shake of my chest, nothing big, but I was still crying. As my car pulled even with the bus in front of me, I crossed my heart. This was how it was going to end. ‘My fellow Palestinians, for our holy land.’, I whispered, and pulled the trigger.
***
I knew they were coming. I watched the Israeli men in their grey spotted uniform marching towards the pale-bricked house that I was sitting inside. They wasted no time, no time at all running inside and outside, the only difference from entry to exit was the addition of two men and a woman in excruciating headlocks. The air tasted metallic, the red tinge of bloody mist was visible from my position, an inevitable result of their ambush.
Did I do the right thing, I wondered as my tears started to trickle down my cheek.
Sitting there, on the dusty roof and observing the chaos underneath, I felt a sudden swell of helplessness come over me, a drowning sensation, as if I am being inundated by the bloody river that I helped create. The pavement beneath was dry, but then again, I was in the desert. It didn’t help stop the drowning feeling though. As I saw the struggles below subside, I felt my whole life spilling into the river, dissolving just like salt dissolves in water, everything I could have had, everything I have ever had. I turned them in. I turned in those dearest to me.
For what, though. For what? To satiate my own sense of self-righteousness? I don’t know. Maybe I never will.
As my sobs started to grow in an ever-increasing crescendo, the men below would all look up for brief periods, throwing me an occasional salute, some others would smile and flip their thumbs so they pointed upwards. Droplets of rain began to fall, slowly gaining momentum. The well-built, stocky man who looked uncannily similar to me roared. That voice which had chided and scolded me so many times in the past had never seemed so enraged. It was a side of his anger that he would never dare show his family under peaceful circumstances. Profanities streamed from his mouth as his face contorted into an expressional of unrecognisable disgust, disgust that he only ever shows to his most hated enemies. The momentum of the rain soared, the crescendo coinciding with the escalation of profanities. The Israelis seemed to have had enough. A knee swung powerfully around and connected with his chest. The profanities disappeared instantaneously, as quickly as they had come. It felt weird, but the rain died too.
The sudden swell of helplessness came back. The flood came back, except this time; there was no more life to spill. The spilling had finished. I was drenched inside this river, swimming for my life. On both sides of the banks I had people that I recognised, my family members on one, the police and justice system on the other. My parents called to me, beckoning for me to come back. Oh, how I wanted to, but it seemed as if the waves would continue to carry me closer to the other side, to the devilish grins of the army officers. It just wasn’t possible. I had made my choice.
A muffled cry pierced the air. The men laughed voraciously, opening their mouths as great globs of saliva landed on the new prisoners, defacing them. I watched as the prisoner’s get struck not once, not twice, not thrice, but four times by the stinging crack of the whip, each time met by condescending smirks. I watched as the woman got pushed to the ground, heavy hands wrapped around her body, forced to eat dust. As she flailed in her attempt to resist, the commander curled his fingers around her blonde hair and began to pull. The harder he pulled, the louder the shrieks.
It was agonizing.
As the men started moving away, I felt like a man on the beach looking towards the horizon, the waves of men slowly lapping away. The sand, like quicksand, slowly sucks me in. I notice an incredibly painful sensation nipping at my ankles as if the sand was plagued with underground devils. The sea, now full of blood, full of my life, draws inexorably closer, promising to subsume me. Is this the path that I want to tread down?
The red-hot emotions scorched through me. Thoughts cascaded through my body like a scalding wave, refreshing my mind.
I had the power, the opportunity, to protect my family, but I threw it away, just like how I used to take the rubbish out to the dumps every week. It occurred to me, how I effectively treated my family as rubbish. I degraded them to the point where they were to be treated as savages, tortured to the brink of death. I could get them back. I could ensure that they had a chance to live their lives normally. In order to do that, I have to change. A trigger. I need a trigger. I need to save them. I am going to get them back. I will get them back.
That was how I found myself negotiating with the Palestinian leader, for the rescue of my parents. ‘We’re going to need a distraction, and you’re going to have to make a sacrifice, an enormous sacrifice’, he told me. I nodded eagerly, submitting myself to the fact that I needed to redeem myself and hit back at those wretched Israelis. He bent down, and whispered to me, my expression of shock, courage and enlightenment revealing my future plans.
The sudden swell of helplessness returned, but this time, I could feel that it was different. I can feel a trigger in my hand, the trigger of a massive explosion that could send me careening back to the shore where my parents resided. I could feel some control of my life. Was this for the best? Maybe. Time was of the essence, however. This chance was dissipating as quickly as my thoughts were flooding into my brain.
***
I stared as the car draw nearer to the bus, my time on this land existing in the form of an hourglass, my life represented by those fine grains of sand, slowly falling away, dissipating. The grains of sand were almost gone.
But I didn’t care anymore.
--
I know that this isn't probably what is quite required for a VN, but like above, i'm a newbie, but hopefully I have the necessary writing skills?
