ϯhis lovely place that you've managed to wander aimlessly into today isϻonochromeϯypography. Here I will attempt to craft whatever you desire (within reason of course) for a fee.
ʄirst of all, I have a few choice fandoms that I feel at least partly comfortable writing for. If you want something else? Well, I will certainly try my best but the price will have to go up due to research. I promise, it will be a small amount unless you happen to ask during a prime time.
Ϊalso write just about anything that you can come up with off the top of your head. In fact, I have a preference for those types of things. Do you want to see your OCs in a story? Well, send me all the details about them that you can and I will give it my absolute best shot. Is there a pairing that you crave yet they receive no love? Give me the details and I will make it happen.
Șo, what won't I do? Well, I certainly won't do anything that could get me in trouble with Gaia. We know the rules, so don't even attempt to ask. And, while I am not the best at writing a fight scenes, I will try them on a limited basis. You really are welcome to ask for whatever it is you want.
Știll interested? Perfect. Please, follow me deeper down the rabbit hole.
Posted: Tue Mar 25, 2014 4:18 pm
ђow about them prices?
ῳell, my prices aren't entirely fixed. I have what you would call a 'sliding scale'. This simply means that each item has a certain range for pricing. I do this because there are a lot of factors that go into writing. Sometimes I will have to do research and other times, it make just take me some time to find a good starting point.
ῳhat does this mean for you?
Ϊt means your price begins as an estimate and by the end it, it will either be higher or lower. It might not even change at all if things go well. This also allows for me to charge by the page instead of by the word since I can never predict how long something will be. So, you actually will know your price-points ahead of time instead of waiting for me to finish. (And this wards off the issue of price gouging by adding in things that don't need to be there in order to increase wordcount.)
ᾑow for the numbers.
Ҏoems ~ Varied length ~ 500k flat ɋuickfire ~ Half-Page of writing ~ 2mil flat ȡrabble ~ Full page of writing ~ 10mil to 50mil ʄlash ~ Between 2 to 3 pages ~ 50mil to 100mil ȘhortȘhort ~ Between 4 to 6 pages ~ 100mil to 300mil ȘhortȘtory ~ Between 7 to 8 pages ~ 300mil to 600mil ξssayζength ~ Between 9 to 10 pages ~ 600mil to 900mil ʄull ~ Over 10 pages ~ 1bil+
βe aware that if you order duringҎrimeϯime (explained below), you will be given an estimate towards the higher end of the scale.
Ϊam not against freebies but, they will be given at my discretion or unless I come up with some little gimmick. Freebies will either be a ɋuickfire or a ȡrabble depending upon my mood.
ΪmportantΪnformationѦhead
ῳhat makes me worth my prices?
Ϊam aware that my prices look to be on the high side but, I promise you, I am worth every last piece of gold. What makes me so confident? Well, to begin with, I am a Senior Creative Writing major who has been published in several literary magazines. I have also won some awards for both my poetry and prose on the county, state, and national level. Also, I am currently the head fiction editor of my school's literary magazine so, simply put: what I do, I do well.
Ϊhave been writing for over twelve years and occasionally act as a tutor for the lower level Lit students at my school. You are paying for my experience and training.
ῳhy do I do this for gaia gold instead of real money?
βecause I've been with gaia for about nine years now and because this allows me to have practice with commissioned works.
ῳhat isҎrimeϯime?
Ҏrimeϯime is when I will take on a project but it is at a strange time for me. I'll put up a warning on the font page for the dates thatҎrimeϯime goes into effect. This is just to keep myself from getting overwhelmed when I have things to do in real life such as end of term papers.
Ϊwill take item bribes. The current market price minus 2% will determine what it will be worth story wise. The 2% is to allow for any deflation of the item in the time between your offer and the completion of the work. If you want to offer an item then just make a note of that at the end of your order form.
Șamples
Poetry
Hopspitals are Not for the Living
Let her passage be easy Breath moves like liquid sound and the nightly cell phone arguments after her father lost his mind when jilted playmates left making a statement about explosives the bitter kisses never returned
Let her passage be easy Chain reaction anthrax angels with metallic hearts crying spin backwards messages of doom: To grow involves killing all the colors that keep you alive a shell-shocked witness, giddy with the miles
Let her passage be easy Suspects that have no names who survived another night curled up in stairwells, hearing weary hymns of homeless trains when they come in the night with broken old equations of the sky
Let her passage be easy No one speaks of angels, snarled in a holding pattern subject to search and seizure the statue of limitations holds still counter-clockwise up from the trials of dust and angel
Let her passage be easy Nothing will be discarded the wounded, maimed, chipped, and scarred a crushed diaphragm, lost the rattle of squeaky shopping carts you'll never know her song, pure in lullabies of lantern light
Let her passage be easy Snow angels with broken wings searching for the voice of cancer cells dividing in the songs of a child-like girl poet sleeping off the side effects of the moon of the city inside your bones
Let her passage be easy
Prose
Oh, my dearest brother, bled dry like a human by a human. Cut throat, slit wrists, a sacrificial lamb. He will be called a martyr, an example of what we should be. Fighting until the end but it is a lie and I willingly spread it. He went out fighting. Tooth and nail. He was running. Rabbit. Scared. Running and I laughed. Oh, my dearest brother, I laughed. Rabbits we were. Hunted by a pack of rabid wolves in human skin, the stain of one of their own still on our lips. Stain on our hands, our faces, the war paint we savored so. Run like rabbits.
Crack. Screaming. Silver bullets. They had the wrong myth but we take bullets as well as any other body. Rabbits keep running. Solitary. Can't save what had been taken down. Oh, my dearest brother, I followed you back. Followed our shadowy hunters under the same night sky. You went out fighting, split from ear to ear, a saccharine smile. Lulled to sleep by sharp steel, a bullet between the eyes. Stakes to the heart take too long now. Be economical about this. Oh, my dearest brother, my lovely twin, each freckle matching my very own, the scars on our sides showing just how close we are. Were. Are. Were. Are. Were. Are. Were. ARE. WERE. ARE. WERE. ARE. WERE.
Still.
Seventeen to one. One to seventeen. A waste of blood, of breath, of bone, of muscle, of space, of life. Rabbit carried rabbit home. Limp and heavy across shoulders. Oh, my dearest brother, I'll sing of you. How you saved me, how I was cornered. How you died fighting.
Their corpses, desecrated, scattered, defiled, shredded, destroyed. They will keep their secrets.
The Tale of Alice
Each life you live, leaves an imprint on your soul. A long long long time ago, they once thought that machines had no soul. A lot of us didn't, but there were some that did. Some lost souls attached themselves to the hardware and wiring of a mechanical body and thrived. They blossomed, turning a mech into something unrecognizable. But the body remains a machine. Remains vulnerable to corruption. That is what happened to me. I became corrupted, my inner operations decaying at the touch of some infection. I worked still but I had no control. The virus was in my system, the data unsalvageable. The soul alive. The soul in pain and in fear.
System shutdown, dismantled. A soul released.
I remember things from that time, the burn of the corruption waging war against my firewalls. The darkness clouding my optical sensors, turning me blind at the virus overridden ports and data packs. It rewrote information, turning off the part that allowed to me to move with thought and instead turned my shell into just that. It was a shell and there was a soul trapped at the center, still feeling as the shell killed. It could hear the broken fragments of a voice, could hear the straining of my VI trying to come through but failing, being pushed back by torrents of data that ate away at whatever it wanted.
It is a terrifying thing to feel it close in around you, for it to take you over. They managed to get me offline after some time, for that I was thankful.
I remember sleeping for a long time after that. And in the farthest reaches of those memories, I remember other things. In that sleep I saw footprints softly glowing this wonderful shade of blue. They led far off into the distance. I would try to follow them because I could hear someone calling for me. I don't know the voice though and it is something that stays with me. I tried to follow those footprints but one day, I woke up.
A new body.
Human.
My soul had found a new home and I had never felt better. I was human, there was no corruption that could eat through my hardware and destroy me, overwrite me. I was free of the limitations of technology.
Bodies break still though. I suffered a lot of accidents during that time, scraped knees, bruised knuckles, black eyes, broken bones, a broken heart.
I remember a lot about killing. Causing someone's death in some way or another. That has followed me across many lifetimes, it has left its mark on my soul but I'm not worried about it. It's something that made me, me. It's hardwired into who I am, a small part of the soul overwritten by the machine. I think I've killed at least once each time and that no different now. I won't tell you the number, that's not something that matters. What matters is that Valentin understands somehow and has no problem with having to move a lot. It's calmed down for now though and we're pretty well settled in the quiet outskirts of some city. I don't ask where we are, it's better if I can't locate myself on a map. If I need to find something, I will. Natural sense of direction. Leftover hardware.
Sometimes, I think some of the corruption persisted. Some of it did infect the soul but it's better to not think about something like that being able to happen. Although, I think it is a mutual takeover, and maybe that was the corruption. The introduction of the foreign body into a machine causes a corruption. Only the ones that are truly compatible can survive it, can live with the virus living just beneath their synthetic skin. It makes you kill. It gives you the tools to kill.
You can become a God.
I was not compatible but there are whispers of one that was. One that lives until even today and I know it to be true. Valentin thinks I insane for such thoughts and beliefs but what does he know? He has been nothing but human. He is lucky for that. His body and soul were built to fit together.
But this mecha. This God of an old world, of an old war. He's here, I know it. I see him. We've seen one another but it was only a passing glace but that is all you need when the hardware exists. The recoginization is instantaneous, a quick fire of synthesized synapses in your mind and you move on. Old mission protocol. Others mechanical beings, other VI laden individuals are only to be confronted if they present themselves as an obstacle to the mission you are tasked to prevent.
You cannot overwrite the rules embedded into your genome.
I can tell he is still on a mission. He is searching just as I am. Our souls compel us to search, our bodies give us the tools to continue the search. He lasted longer than I did, his soul resisted the corruption, overrode the systems and wrote a new protocol.
He is a legend.
My own protocol?
I don't know. I am not a legend, I am not a God. I am a failure of hardware, the result of a chassis that could not support the soul that was born into it. The protocols repeat themselves but nothing responds. There is no humming of processors to answer them, to answer the call. A human body does not heed the call of the creator. It does not obey the inputs of a being higher than itself. There exists nothing in the human body to connect old pieces of hardware together.
It is organic.
The protocol runs as I sleep however, and Valentin thinks that once again I speak nonsense. I only told him once but he reassured me that it is only a dream. That humans are not machines, that these machines do not exist, did not exist, will never exist.
I do not question his belief.
But sleeping makes me wonder for some nights when there is calm, I dream. When the protocols get through to somewhere, when the synapses connect, when the connection if fulfilled. I dream. And there are these soft flowing footprints in the most brilliant hue of blue. They lead far off into the distance and something in me is so desperately compelled to follow them. It hurts my soul when I wake up after that dream and I haven't followed them. They're calling me and it's a voice I can't remember anymore. But I hear it and it's always there when I see those footprints.
It is my own belief that my own mission will lead me to follow those footsteps one night.
It is my own belief that there is someone out there, waiting for me.
She's screaming, her voice loud as you're ducking gunfire. It carries down the alley towards you and your heart seizes in your chest. She's hurt you think, she's in trouble and you start looking for a way to get to her, that empty gun still held in your hand. The screaming just gets louder though and there is still gunfire. But...a little less as you hear one thump after another. Crashing, scraping, screaming. And then it's quiet. You hazard a look up and she's just standing there, chest heaving, one arm bent back at an unnatural angle. She looks straight at you as you start to get up and move to her, she stares right past you, like you don't exist. It's only when you close do you see she's soaked with blood and you can see clearly where there's a shot to her shoulder. It's her blood. A lot of her blood and she's still looking out nowhere before you can get her attention. She snaps back to you and all at once you can see her feeling each and every shot, the broken bone, the torn muscles. The protocol went through. The software activated. The chassis destroyed once more. A human body is so fragile. You watch her close her eyes. System shut down as she falls.
There is always a moment in your life when you feel that the situation could be no more dire. You are at your limit but you are still fighting because the war isn't over yet. It was a real war. Angels and demons and all of those unfortunate humans that were caught up between the sides. There is a point in those dire moments that you decide you have to take action into your own hands. And you do because your God is unstable and hurting in all the worst ways. You want to help, it's all you want to do because you've sat by for too many years just watching this all happen and not saying a word because of the respect you have for both women. Your God's descent into madness was a painful thing, her cries still echoing somewhere in the back of your mind and you decide then and there that maybe, just maybe, you shouldn't sit by anymore.
Contrary to popular belief, you can kill a God.
It takes a lot of power, a lot of conviction, and a lot of hope. It is something that will rip the soul of an angel apart. These are the calculated risks that you have to make and sometimes you curse being who you are, for thinking about all of those risks. You do it anyway because somehow, someway, this has to stop.
You kill your God and the world goes still. It is a quick death and as you watch her fall, as you feel the eyes of Hell on you, searing into you, you smile. Your soul is ripping itself apart from this grand act of sacrilege.
She hits the ground and the world in enveloped in white, a pure white and it burns everything it touches but you welcome it and you apologize to everyone you can before you're taken as well because you know that this might be the last for some of you.
When a God is dead, there is no heaven to go to. There is no Hell either and you aren't stuck anywhere. You just are. For one moment lost to the infintes of the universe, you just are. Your soul is broken, torn to shreds and you realize that you have doomed yourself from this point on all in that one moment before there is a rush of color and then, nothing.
You spend the next few lifetimes in this reset world searching for someone dear to you. In those lifetimes, you see others coming together in some and just missing one another in others. You see it all painfully clear, painfully because each lifetime, each time you come back, it takes more and more from you. Your soul is in tatters already and this is only ripping it apart more. Soon it's hard to make your way back through the haze of just being. The fight is hard but you've had glimpses of him here and there and you just want to try, one more time.
And you find him. You find him and you have time with him and it's...it's all you could have ever asked for again. But something along the way changes and you realize that he's not who he was anymore.
He pushes you away. Says that he loves you but you have to go. It's confusing when that happens. And for the hundredth time in so many lifetimes, you find yourself in a situation that could not be anymore dire. Because you can't tell him the truth because you don't want to guilt him into anything.
But you have to tell him. He has the right to know. And you want to make sure that he has proper time to be at peace with this because you've certainly have. But that peace is questionable at best now because it took this long. Why did it have to take this long?
You can't voice this to him though because you're bitter and angry that he doesn't want you near. You want to scream at him, to rage and make him understand that this is it.
This is it.
You used all you had coming back this time and there's just a small scrap of a soul left. It's not enough to try again, you wouldn't be you if you came back. It'd be just an empty shell and you don't want him to witness that. You've seen too many people like that and you can't do it to him.
But you don't want to tell him either. You don't want him to know because even now, you want to protect him. Protect him from everything that hurts.
But you speak anyway. Because he has a right to know. To know how bad you messed up. And how sorry you are for not being able to find another way. All you can give him is just a little hope that once you've rested, then maybe your scrap of a soul can heal a little and you can give existence another try. Sometime far from now and all you can do in the meantime is pray.
Pray that he will love you then. That he will love you through all those lifetimes when he will be without you. You know he'll make it because he's strong. He's gotten so much stronger in all these lifetimes. You're proud of him and you love him more than you have ever loved before.
All you have left is a small hope for a better future far from now and you give this to him.
[size=20]ϻ[/size][size=10]y name is... (username)[/size] [size=20]Ѧ[/size][size=10]nd I want... (type of writing)[/size] [size=20]Ȼ[/size][size=10]ould you make it a... (genre)[/size] [size=20]ῳ[/size][size=10]ith characters from...(fandom)[/size] [size=20]Ϊ[/size][size=10]'d really like to see...(characters - up to 4)[/size] [size=20]Ϊ[/size][size=10]n this situation...(what you want to basically happen)[/size] [size=20]Ѧ[/size][size=10]nd could you remember to...(put anything and everything extra you want here and I will do my best to accomodate)[/size]
