Cycle 2: Most Improved Writer

Clawtooth · Aug 4, 2012

Most Improved Writer

Welcome to Cycle 2 of this yearâ€™s KHV Awards!! Jayn and I shall be your guide for this weekâ€™s cycle in our awards celebrating the more creative among us, from role-playing to writing and poetry, to video editing and more!

Please vote honestly and remember, if you sould have any queries about voting procedure, please read our voting rules here, and if your question isnâ€™t answered there, donâ€™t hesitate to contact Misty.

Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favour!!

Nomination Samples:
Guardian Soul

From Disconnect (recent work):

As of late, Iâ€™ve been having these dreams. Dreams of a city. This city has no sun and it has never seen a clear sky before, yet it is never entirely dark. A light, although faint and flickering, shines and gives form to this city. The streets and alleyways are empty and desolate yet there are shadows with nothing to cast them and soft whispers with no mouths to utter them. In this city, I am isolated for there is no life but myself but I always feel that something exists alongside me in this world. Something that is similar to me but also my polar opposite.

But today was different. Today I heard a sound, the sound of glass shattering. It came from the second floor of the house that I had been staying in. What could have caused it? Nothing happened in this ominous city unless I caused it. Something else was here. For once, I wasnâ€™t alone.
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No old work available.

Clawtooth

From Cargo (older work):

â€œCaptainâ€™s log, 27^th of June in the year 1834â€, I wrote. I leant back in the chair and sighed. It was to be 3 weeks before we would be back in England. Three weeks is a long time for the heart of a man, and especially that of a woman. My wife, Elizabeth, would be overjoyed to see me return, and I could not wait to see her again.

â€œWeather â€“ Hot, little to no windâ€, I penned, using the pan given to me when I had last visited France with cargo. Fountain pens they called them ... and I must say they wrote much better than a quill, if living up to their name every-so-often by splashing one with a torrent of ink. It was hot, sweat beading on my brow in my cabin as I wrote, the sun a lidless eye staring through the windows of the cabin behind my desk. I still thought about Elizabeth ... and my mind wandered. I saw her standing in the church in her dress, with I beside her. My mind snapped back to the task in hand almost as quickly as it had wandered.

â€œDayâ€™s eventsâ€, I scrawled. What a day it had been. Sometimes the cargo was more trouble than it was worth...
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From Sunshower (recent work):

The light shone down harshly as I stepped outside, a lidless eye in the sky, fixing its gaze upon me. Judging me - taunting me. I turned my eyes skyward in search of answers, seeing only the azure glare of the sky above.

My god it was hot.

I began to walk along the dusty road, seeing no-one in site. The city was a dead land today, the dusky shadows of skyscrapers giving no protection from the sun in the heat of the day. You would have thought it a ghost town, no-one moved on the dusty streets, no cars, no excited tourists, no surly businessmen on break. There was only I, walking alone along the sunbaked street.
And then I felt it, a soft drop on my arm.

Curious, I looked â€“ broken from my reverent stupor by the unexpected sensation. A small bead of water glistened upon my arm like a jewel, reflecting in it the sun above, softening it, making it banal, as though taking its rage and anger, and softening it into ambivalence.

I felt another then, and another, small drops from heavenâ€™s still unclosing eye. Before my eyes, the drops fell harder and faster, soothing the heat-plagued earth as I stood in wonderment.

People appeared now, the tourists, businessmen, and others running for shelter, the buildings now offering their arms of safety; cars in queues, gridlocked as far as I could see, as people ran to escape this life-giving rain.

A thunderclap shook my ears, and then there was but silence and darkness.

I awoke in a sweat, my eyes blinking in the mid-dawn light of my room, the sopor seeping from the gentle sunâ€™s rising eye.
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Cycle 2: Most Improved Writer

Who is the most Improved Writer in 2011/2012

Guardian Soul

Clawtooth

Clawtooth Keelah se'lai!

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