Writing for Sale!

Short = 600-800 words ~2 GC

Medium = 1200-1500 words ~3 GC

Long = 3000 words ~6 GC

I can do many different styles of writing and I don't mind editing.

Past or present tense. 1st, 2nd, or 3rd person. 

Exchange Rate:

80 SC : 1 GC

Example:

My heart is my pack. My pack is the hunters and howlers. My pack is with me always. My pack is my family. My pack is my heart.

My pack is safe in our meadow. Our meadow is our home. Our home is the sparkling ferns and lush moss. Our home is golden and green and frost white. Our home is sheltered by evergreens. Our home is our meadow.

I am a poet. I listen to my pack, I hear their howling. I listen to the birds, I hear them singing. I listen to my sister, my mother, my father, my brothers, and I hear their hearts. I listen to the rain, I listen to the wind. I listen and I hear. I am a poet.

My love is my pack, my world is our meadow, and my wealth is the wild

I am rich, I am blind, and I am a poet. I was not always blind, I will not always be rich, but I will always be a poet. 

My mind soars high and low, through the skies and through the meadow. My mind takes me where my sight cannot. 

In our meadow, my sister is talking to me. I listen to her. I hear her tail wagging and her heart drumming. 

“An elk! An elk at the edge of the meadow! It was eating the ferns, Sky! Mother says it wasn’t healthy if it came to our meadow…”

“What colour was its eyes?” I ask, picturing an elk at the edge of our meadow. 

“Dark.” My sister says, “like wet bark.”

I sigh, my heart aching. I do not remember the colour of wet bark. Which is a shame, as it’s the last thing I ever saw. How long has it been since that fateful night? I still remember the acrid scent, the hot light, the cold water… 

My sister nudges me with her head. “Come on, Sky.” She says. “Come on, I’ll show you where the elk was.”

I whine, unwilling to leave the warm hollow where we sleep, but my sister is deaf to my complaints.

“Come on,” She insists. 

I say her name - Fern - but she ignores me. I sigh again, and stand. My limbs are stiff and cold. I stretch out, quivering, feeling my muscles strain and blood rush to my paws. 

I follow behind my sister. I listen to her walking. I hear the absence of her missing leg. I know how hard it was for her. I ache for her. Then, I ache for my sight. I ache for my family. I ache for that night. We all lost something that night… 

At the edge of the meadow, I stop, listening to my sister pace around. She is looking for the ferns that the elk ate. 

I have seen the edge of the meadow before. The only time was that night. I remember seeing how high the evergreens were. I remember wondering how something so great could be lost so quick. The picture in my mind of the evergreens has grown blurry. Although perhaps it was already blurry that night, from the grey smoke. 

My mind wanders. I think of sight. I long for new pictures. I long to see the sky again. I picture the meadow. I picture the sun and moon. I picture the eclipse. I ponder what birds look like. I ponder owls and nests and silver cones and gold cones. I picture colours and ponder some more.