Writing Books/Novel


Hello, I am 14 years old and I am currently writing a novel. This is a piece of it and I was wondering if you can tell me if it is good or bad or if it can be published?

I just turned 16 in the 11th grade of High School. I feel younger than everyone else, and I like it. It makes me feel like a kid. Usually, people are already 17 when they are a junior but not me. I was 15. As I walked home from school, taking a circuitous path, I start to think:
“Has anyone ever had a friendship with someone one year and then the next year they suddenly changed and don’t talk to you anymore?”
That is how I felt. It seems like no matter whom I make friends with, in the end, they’re going to leave you.  I once used to talk to this group of people that I sit with at lunch in the 7th grade, surrounded by adolescent laughter and understated humor. I used to act a bit crazy that some people thought I was demented, when I was actually scared and trying to hide my true feelings from the rest of the world. I could not express myself, nor did I have good social skills, so it was invariably difficult for me to make friends with people, and to sustain one. Once people find out your true self and can see that you’re annoying, then they start to change their minds about you and decide to not want to be your friend anymore. I just don’t relate to people at all.
“Hey! Move out the way!”
I turned, startled from a senior on a bicycle going straight toward me, snapping me out of my reverie. I quickly moved to the side to let him pass.
The sun was setting beneath the horizon and I was finally home, walking up the front steps to my house and then ringing the doorbell. Five minutes later, my dad opened the door and greeted me with a small smile.
“Dinner’s on the table”, he said.
“Not today Dad, I have a ton of work to do.”
“Are you sure? I made pot roast.”
“I don’t like pot roast anyway dad”, and then I rushed upstairs and ran to my room, quietly closing the door behind me and locking it.
I lied. I didn’t have a lot of work to do; I just didn’t feel like eating. I stared out the window and saw hues of pink, orange, and yellow illuminating the sky. After that it rapidly became dark, and before I knew it, it was lights out.
  My eyes opened to a streak of light shining through my window. I hear the sound of the alarm clock ringing continuously in my brother’s room. It is Saturday, I realized. I woke up and saw that it is 9:28. I got out of bed lazily and went down the steps that lead downstairs.
“Good morning Ava”, my dad said grinning.
I looked at him skeptically. There was something wrong with his tone.
“Could I talk to you”, he said, sounding uneasy.
“Sure”, I said, suspiciously.
We both sat down in a chair, facing each other from across the table.
“Listen Ava, I think it is time for you to transfer to another school.”
“Really?” I said, surprised.
He nodded. “You don’t seem to have any friends and your grades are slipping.
“Dad, you know I am completely incompetent at Math and Physics. I’m good at every other subject but those two.”
“I know you are, but I think it’s time for you to make a fresh start. Maybe you should expand more in your horizons, and experience something new, Hun.”
“Alright, what school am I going to?” I asked.
“I enrolled you in Spring Hills High. You start next Monday”.
  I thought about going to the new school for the rest of that day, and felt a bit anxious.
Will anyone like me? Who will I meet?
Days went by rapidly, until it was Sunday. I was so nervous that day, and packed and repacked my book bag over and over to make sure I have everything I need.  I got into bed and tried my hardest to relax and go to sleep.
The next day, I woke up tired. I could not sleep well last night from having the new school issue on my mind. I brushed my teeth, took a shower, and got dressed-black pants, black shirt, and a black jacket. My Dad doesn’t like me wearing all black and says I should wear something more colorful or attractive but he can’t change my style.  I feel comfortable in something simple and loose. I would never be seen in a skirt at all. I went downstairs and poured myself a bowel of cheerios and a glass of water. My brother wasn’t down yet. He probably left early, since he can drive. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and my dad appeared into the kitchen.
“Good luck Ava. I have to leave early, so I can’t drive you. You’re going to have to ride your bike there, do you know the way?”
“Yes, dad, it isn’t really far from here.”
“Good. Well, I’ll see you later this evening.”
He smiled and then he was out the door. I can hear the engine turning on from outside and hear him taking off.
When I was done, I rinsed my bowel and went outside in the garage to get my bike. It was cramped in there with dust and stacks of boxes piled up all over. With great difficulty, I pulled my bike out, opened the gate, hoped on, and started to ride. I felt free with the wind blowing in my face as I gathered momentum through peddling. New Orleans is a nice city with a couple of old antebellum houses that I admired looking at.  I past Audubon Park and then four more blocks to the left was the school. As I got there, there was a pack of students everywhere, from the parking lot to the front steps. I felt a bit embarrassed parking my bike and locking it because most people had a car and I didn’t. I have a permit but cannot get a car yet until I prove to my dad that I’m responsible.
  I was awed by the architecture of the building. There were stained glass windows at the front of the façade. The building was painted a light brown and there were trees and shrub surrounding the grounds of the building. I rode my bike through the parking lot to park my bike and feeling embarrassed because everyone seemed to have a car but me. When I was done locking it, I walked up the front steps, feeling the intensity of people’s stares. I found the office and a nice woman at the front desk greeted me in a friendly voice, and gave me my schedule. Then the bell rang. My stomach felt as if it did a back flip and I knew I would have a hard time introducing myself, feeling baffled. I found room 201 and saw a reasonable number of students in the class. The teacher turned his head to me and gestured for me to come in.
“Hello, you must be Ava Virupaksha. You can take a seat in the back over there”.
I walked over to the back of the class, keeping my eyes down and trying not to make eye contact with anyone. When I sat down class began and the teacher, Mr. Winstrum, introduced me.
“Everyone, we have a new student. Her name is Ava Virupaksha, and she will be joining us for the rest of the school year.”
Everyone turned their faces to me and I felt so vulnerable and painfully shy that I couldn’t seem to smile back at them.  Two girls next to my table cast glances at me and whispered something inaudible to each other.  Then I saw him. A boy sitting in front of me turned his head and looked at me with kind eyes. His face was pale and serene with angular features and high cheekbones. His hair was a dark chocolate brown that looked soft and velvety that I wanted to run my hand through it. He was gorgeous and I couldn’t stop gazing at him until Mr. Winstrum started his lesson.  Later, I thought he reminded me of George Harrison but without the bushy eyebrows.
  At the end of class, I headed out the door but stopped, for I knew I forgot my notebook on my desk. When I turned around, he was standing in front of me, holding my notebook. He was statuesque with a tall and slightly muscular build. He looked intently into my eyes, and said:
“I think you forgot this.”
His voice was calm and sweet. He handed me the notebook and strode off into the opposite direction that I was walking.  I wanted so badly to see him again.

I'm sorry, I do not do readings at no charge. I am a professional editor as well as writer and can not read every one's submissions or I wouldn't have any time for my work and career.

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Jannie Balliett


I am a published writer, Chief Editor and own A1 Editorial Service. I teach writing, specializing in novel writing, and creative writing. I can answer most any question concerning writing a book, plot and characterization, tighten the prose, and the editing process, and help advise with publishing and the requirements of obtaining a literary agent.


I'm a published writer, freelancer, and Chief Editor and own A1 Editorial Service. I teach writing for my two Online writer workshops.

Sisters In Crime Internet Chapter, The Short Mystery Fiction Society, and Brazos Writers Group.

Writers Post Journal magazine, May 2006 issue, Augusr 2006 issue, Nov/December 2006 issue and soon in 2008, On A Whim, flash fiction anthology, offered in Barnes & Nobles and Amazon.

Some college, creative writing, fiction writing

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I have numerous clients using my service through my editorial service and numerous members in my Online writer workshops.

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