My family keep telling me I should write a book because I have a good imagination. But personnally I think i'm too lazy. So I figured I'd try this and then I'll find out if i'm lazy and everyone else can tell me if its any good.
So the story begins.

Esra couldn't remember a time when she hadn't spent all her time surrounded by horses, cleaning tack, mucking out, feeding, grooming. She let out a big sigh."
God my life's soooo boring,"
she said to no one in particular. Turning towards her her bedroom window she stared unseeing at the scene below. Horses heads nodded over their doors. The yards collection of non discript dogs rooted around in the mud looking for titbits. Children excitedly led their ponies towards the large building in the corner which was the indoor school ,ready for their lessons. Esra thought frustratedly that she just wanted something to happen. Anything! She wanted to be glamorous, tall , blonde. Like one of the showjumpers on Jacks yard up the road. They drove up in their smart sports cars and shiney 4x4's at all times of the day and night. Swishing their uniform long blonde hair, in tight fitting jodpurs or designer mini dresses, with endless long legs in sky high stilleto heels. Totally unsuitable;
but they looked amazing. Turning slowly towards the dirty cracked mirror on the wall, Esra inspected the figure within. In her head she imagined she was also tall, thin and exciting looking. Unfortunately in reality she was small, almost elf like;
with masses of long black curls, which tumbled down her back in disarray. She had large green eyes which dominated her face and a slightly too large mouth. All inherited from her romany grandmother;
as was riding and need for excitement.
Esra had worked at Sky equestrian center since her fifteenth birthday, when her family had decided she should either marry her cousin joe or step out on her own. The pain of being rejected by her family still stung, but the relief of life without the lanky, bullish and slightly creepy thing that was cousin joe won out every time. Shrugging her shoulders Esra determindly picked up her old green barbour jacket and sqaushed her feet into the battered old riding boots which had laid forlornly on the bedroom floor."
I'd better get outside before Joan goes mental."
she said to herself. Joan was the owner of Sky. She was a large agressive woman, with short manly cropped red hair. Her clothes strained in every direction when she moved and her strident voice carried for miles as she screeched insults and instructions at her poor unfortunated staff.

Well thats my opening. All advise gratefully recieved. By the way I can't spell so expect mistakes till I work out how to use the spell check.

That's a great start, you should carry on in my opinion!

Don't worry about spelling, I'm a very good proof-reader (have to be in my job!)

beautifulangel wrote:

cleaning tack, mucking out, feeding, grooming.

Don't miss the cleaning tack and mucking out, but I do miss the feeding and grooming and the overall smell of horse!

However, having to smash the ice in the water buckets in mid-winter, at the crack of dawn before heading off to work isn't much fun either.

Give me worn-out riding boots than short skirts and heels anytime (mmm before anyone starts, I mean on the ladies, not on me!).

Thanks i'll keep trying. I've always wanted to have a go and when I've finished my psychology degree in a couple of months I'll be at a bit of a loose end. Will add some more later when ive finished in essay.

Reads like a good opening for a women's magazine story. Why don't you finish it and send it to somewhere like 'Chat' or 'People's Friend' who are always looking for stories? If accepted you will be paid as well as gaining confidence in writing. Blogs are all very well but rarely get feedback and too many people are doing them nowadays.
Don't worry too much about spelling - that's the editors job.

Reaching the front door. Esra began to cower, Joan had barged through the door just as Esra had reached out for the handle. Joan towered in the door frame;
red in the face, angry and obviously looking for a victim. Grabbing her by the throat, Joan raised her up untill they were looking eye to eye. "
Thats no mean feat, "
thought Esra irellivantly, "
especially when I'm 5ft nothing and she's 6ft2"
. "
Why aren't the pony boxes mucked out?"
bellowed Joan. "
Great"
thought Esra, "
that was marie's job, but daren't say anything because marie has only just recovered from the last beating she got."
Taking a deep breath Esra replied, "
I couldn't be bothered to do them."
She knew from past experience any sign of weakness and Joan would pounce. As it was she had a healthy fear of romany curses and Esra relied on that belief to avoid the kicking and punching that she so happily dished out to the other four slaves;
"
I mean members of staff,"
she thought ironically. Joan dropped her to the floor as if she had been stung. "
You couldn't be bothered!"
She screeched, her voice getting higher with each word."
No"
replied Esra with fained disinterest. "
That's it! you ungrateful scum! after everything I've done for you. Taking you in, treating you like a daughter."
Esra tried really hard not to laugh, "
Daughter"
she thought. "
Underpaid slave, general dogsbody, whipping boy."
Those were nearer the mark. Joan continued to rant and Esra switched off, she knew from experience this would go on for about fifteen minutes then it would be over. All of a sudden Joan's words caught her attention. "
Fired, one week to leave."
Joan turned away and marched off in self righteous indignation. Esra sunk to the floor and began to shake. "
What have I done?"
she thought as she felt fear slowly gripping her throat. "
I've got no money and nowhere to go. I can't go home."
The image of cousin Joe loomed like a spector infront of her eyes. Panic gripped her. "
No matter what I am not marrying cousin joe."
She thought.
Time ticked by slowly whilst Esra sat staring at the peeling wall in front of her. Her mind wandered as she tried to get to grips with her unexpected situation. She and Joan had shared many confruntations like todays in the four years, she had been there and never before had the word, "
Fired."
appeared. Looking around dispondently Esra noticed a crumpled letter angrily disgared on the hall sideboard. Shuffling forward she reached out and pulled the letter towards her. It was a solicitors letter from someone called Brown &
Brown and it was adressed to her. More confused than ever, she began to read. "
We have been instructed to inform you, on behalf of our client Sir Lawton Smyth;
That on the death of his son, Lord Samueal Wilton;
as his daughter you are the sole benefactor of his estate. Please contact us at your earliest convienince to discuss the matter."
Esra sat back in confusion. "
How could she be the daughter of a Lord? Ok she knew her father was absent. But that wasn't uncommon amongst her tribe."
She wished she could have talked to her mother, but since her death and the subsequent marrage feasco there wasn't anyone to ask. She considered asking Joan why she had opened what was obviously her mail. However there didn't seem much point. The only thing to do was collect her few meager possessions;
leave the place that had in it's own way been home and travel to London to see Brown &
Brown. Looking at her watch she realised if she hurried she could catch the two o' clock train. Shaking her head she ran back up the stairs. It seemed a lifetime ago that she had stood dreaming at the window, wishing for change.

Thanks for the comments. I think i'll finish this way then I might submit it if it turns out any good.

You certainly have a flair for this kind of writing I have really enjoyed reading this and I think if I could write like this I would defiantly take to the next level, I don't think there are many people who can write like this who haven't at sometime in their life written a novel so my advice is keep it up and I will wait to read more if you have more

Raking under her bed she pulled out an old battered ruck sack and blew off the dust. So few were her possessions it only took a couple of minutes to drag open the draw and throw in an assortment of underwear, T shirts and jodhpurs. Changing into her only pair of rather faded skin tight jeans and a flowery gypsy style top;
she kneeled down next to the bed and pulled up three loose floorboards. In the gap laid her few most treasured possessions, her passport, birth certificate, a few meager savings and an old tatty photograph of her mother and a man she was told was her father. Suddenly a wave of despair flooded through her. Deep down she has always secretly hoped that someday she would meet the tall handsome dark man in the picture. It was a dream she had clung to more since the death of her mother. Now she had nothing but questions with no one to answer them. "
Well, maybe not no one,"
she thought as a glimmer of excitement flared deep inside her stomach. “Maybe Brown &
Brown will have the answers.”
Grabbing her bag and taking one last farewell glance out of the window, Esra rushed out of the door and down the stairs. Pausing at the bottom, she took a large breath and opened the door. Hesitating for a moment she considered saying goodbye to her fellow workers. But they weren’t close and she had never liked goodbyes;
so shrugging her shoulders, she turned away from the yard and out through the front gate.
The walk to Frensham station only took a few minutes and soon she was stood on the picturesque platform, listening to the bees buzzing around the pretty hanging baskets. Esra obsessively checked her watch. The train was due in ten minutes. But time seemed to be dragging on for hours. With every passing minute her excitement and anxiety grew. “What if they couldn’t help her? Who was this Sir Lawton Smyth and what if he didn’t like her?” feeling herself begin to panic, Esra tried to distract herself by imagining the Pony Club B test which she had been practicing for the local show;
which she would have been attending on Tuesday, had she not got the sack. “I’d better get a copy of Horse and Hound and check out the vacancies,” she thought. She was brought back to her present situation by the station tannoy system, announcing the arrival of the London express train.
Staring out of the window, Esra became lost in her memories. Images of bareback riding on her stocky piebald pony;
Destiny, across golden fields of corn;
with her mother running along side, her arms full of flowers, flashed in front of her eyes. Her eyes filled with unshed tears and she dashed them away. Determinedly she blinked away the memories and forced her attention on the scenery that sped past her window.

The train pulled in to Victoria station. Esra was pushed out on to the platform by the passengers eager to be on their way. She looked around in confusion, not really sure which way to go. She headed towards the taxi rank near the front entrance. Climbing into the first bright yellow car she handed her letter to the driver. “I’d like to go there please,” she said hesitantly. “Ok, duck,” replied the large jovial looking driver. He threw his half smoked cigarette out of the open window and ran his fingers through his greasy brown hair, before pulling away from the rank. Looking towards Esra he thought what a stunningly attractive girl she was;
not your classic sort, more an earthy kind of beauty. “So are you a visitor?” he asked, trying to engage the silent girl in conversation. “Erm, no” she replied. She vaguely remembered her mother advising her not to let cabbies know you were a visitor so they didn’t overcharge. Unfortunately too much had happened already today and she couldn’t concentrate. She gave him an apologetic smile;
which lit up her face, momentarily shocking the driver. “You ok, honey?” he asked in concern. Esra smiled again, “it’s been a long day,” she replied, unwilling to confide in a stranger, she lapsed back into silence.
The taxi pulled up outside a large imposing looking building on Piccadilly square. Paying the fare she stepped out. Gripping her letter in her hand, Esra walked slowly towards the steps. Not really sure what to do she walked with trepidation towards a desk marked reception. A cool snooty looking blonde sat filing her nails. As Esra approached she looked her up and down in distaste. “Can I help you?” she enquired, in a tone that suggested she would like to do anything but. “I’d like to see Mr. Brown please.” Esra replied. “Which Mr. Brown?” the snooty looking blonde replied, looking decidedly bored. “There are three Mr. Brown’s. How am I supposed to know which one you want?” Esra handed over her letter, “I want to speak to which ever Mr. Brown wrote this.” The blonde took the letter and began to read. Suddenly her attitude changed. She became solicitous and unpleasantly ingratiating. “Please take a seat Miss Wilton, I apologies for the misunderstanding. I will fetch Mr. Brown immediately.” As the blonde rushed away, Esra looked after her in confusion. “What was that all about?” she said to herself.

Reads well. Why don't you send a couple of chapters to a magazine asking if they would be interested in your full contribution? Might be worth a try to guage what they think as professionals. You could probably 'Google' for email contact.

I must agree with you oldun it reads very well and this young lady has a great talent and she should make use of it I'm sure if you send it off to a publisher or agent they will be very interested . Well done.

Just make sure that in your heading you mention that your piece does belong to you so no-one can copy. I will try to find the actual wording you should use.

Thankyou all for your advise. Guess my mum is right and I should get my finger out. I have now submitted the first three chapters to a publisher so fingers crossed.

Excellent read I'm sure you will go a long way with your writing skills good luck to you and I hope you get recognition

beautifulangel,

Not a bad start for a beginner, but like all new writers you still have a lot to learn about writing a story.

First thing first, once you’ve write something, then edit the piece and look for what is known in the writing world as ‘Weasel words.’ These are words that are not needed, i.e. Children excitedly led their ponies towards the large building in the corner which was the indoor school ,ready for their lessons.

This could read - Children excitedly led their ponies towards the large building in the corner, ready for their lesson. The words read better and you’ve lost nothing in the meaning, nor have you insulted the reader’s intelligence. Let the reader picture your words within their mind.

You have thoughts inside speech marks, Thoughts are not spoken words so don’t have speech marks. However, you should alter them so that the reader knows it’s not speech. This is normally done by placing the words in italics. If you’re not sure of something glance into a book and see if you can find what you are after.

The pain of being rejected by her family still stung, - This is a very emotional piece and needs more putting into it, i.e. tell us more about her feeling and how at time it caused tears to well and overflow onto her cheeks.

Oldun - said that, ‘Don't worry too much about spelling - that's the editors job.’ Has a retired editor I can assure you that it is not the editor’s job and an editor finding a spelling mistake on the first page would not bother to go any further, and your MS is on the slush pile.

It is your job to get it right. An editor may get a proof reader to go through the manuscript if he/she accepts the story. A publisher or agent will not look at a anything unless it is a full MS, so never send in a part MS unless they ask for it.

Sorry Silky - of course you're right that a full manuscript will get more attention. I thought the topic was'trying blog writing' not writing a book and sending it to a publisher. Beautifulangel went a bit off-topic I suppose and as such was taken more lightly although some of us wanted to be encouraging.
There is also a way of submitting a manuscript which will protect the writer against fraudulent use and will look more professional. It depends how seriously she is taking the writing. Maybe taking a professional writing course would be a good idea which would come with all kinds of helpful books and her work would be studied and corrected, as you have done Silky.
As for blogs themselves - the point of these escapes me. Either people, like me. enjoy the interaction of forum writing, or they keep a private diary or write professionally. A blog seems to be for people who like to write but hope that people will read and enjoy with no criticism. It is said that we all have a book in us, meaning we all have a life. The trick is to write in order to make it interesting for others to read which is not as easy as people think. Creativity is needed with a good use of English. I always read a book's preface and often authors have been journalists so its not unusual for the good ones to go into writing books. After all, quite a bit of reporting is creative is it not?