I'm wondering how to become a famous author. I'm 13 years old and a published poet, and an aspiring author. I don't really care about fame, I just want to publish a book. I'm in the middle of a writer's block here - I'm stuck with the plot. They are trying to mutate all humans, but I'm not exactly sure how to bring this in. Somewhere in the story, Emazas the angel, will walk on the earth and no longer exist. {read and you'll find out why} But she comes back from the dead and commences war between Gods and human. This causes fire and war around the earth. But I am stuck on what the villains plan will be. Suggestions? {hence the reason; Rite of the Angel, Rite means death, so basically Death of the Angel}


A howling storm was brewing distinctly in the distance beyond the old manor house. The house was hidden away on a secluded incline on the northern outskirts of America. Rumbling of thunder was heard in the distance, with flashes of lightning, striking the far afield roaring waves in the aqua coloured sea. Madness was upon the sandy bay which lay aside the crashing sea, as lightning struck not once or twice but three times! It was perpetual as it seemed. Almost inaubile sounds of people wailing and weeping for help as they clambered off the beach hurriedly. Children were crying in fear, tenaciously clutching their mum's hands, rushing to the edge of the cliff. Rain was pouring down and the lightning-lit purple sky was full of jet black clouds and clashes of thunder. The scene was horrifying and ghastly, yet deteriorating. A single rain droplet was heavier than a cloud and had more ability to destroy than a bomb.
In the cryptic and clandestine manor house on the steep incline stood Talon, a middle-aged, stout and rotund man. He owned the most evil blue eyes anyone had ever seen, with enough deepness to form the Atlantic ocean. He had a unmerciful and malevolent looking face. Talon had tufts of limp brown hair. And he wore a sophisticated and refined black suit with an impeccable black bow tie, almost entirely covering his plump chin. He managed to bare a grimacing grin before praising his hands together and narrowing his souless eyes. A slight menicing laugh was heard from his mouth as loud growls of unlit thunder were heeded from the cut-off cove below. "Sir!" A voice was hearkened from the rear of Talon. He thought for a few seconds, before leasurely turning to perseive that his waiter, Locke, was standing in front of him. Locke's combed-back shadowy black hair was filthed in sweat. He situated in a perpendicular stance, holding his hands behind his hackneyed back. Talon furrowed his unkempt eyebrows to Locke, facing him jadedly. "Well? Did we prosper?" Talon questioned Locke quizzingly. His former waiter manipulated his emaciated thumbs, staring at the void surface below him.
"Not exactly," Locke cleared his throat, "Sir." By this point he was shaking with trepidation. Talon could smell apprehension drifting amidst the dense air, and was feeling slightly behindhand.
"What?! How did we fail such a unpretentious plan?" Talon winced irritably. Locke's candid posture botched itself and drooped into an unnerving position. "Your involvement in this meticulous plot is absolutely FUTILE! I am just speechless."
"But..." Locke prolonged with fretfullness and angst, "We have another plan."
"And what may that plan be?" Talon painstakingly stimulated his cheeks, wondering.
At the break of dawn the next day, Talon, Locke and Bod the chihuahua scratched their way up Baycrest Street. Creeping into cracks and sliding into shops.
Silence hushed upon the 3, leaving them an easy prey to the mercotu, Emazas. God the for good and hell for the humble. She was a spirit type of mercotu, none other than you would imagine. Her body was made entirely up of clouds of dust, sparks of flames and the rumbles of thunder. Her cheek bones were rigid. Mercotu's like Emazas were able to fly and but not walk. She could drift, she could soar, she could float. But what she could not do was walk; walking on the earth for a mercotu was forbidden. If any part of her body swept onto the floor of the earth's crust, her life became an illusion; a myth; a fairy tale. For she would no longer be in the book of existence.
Emazas, could see they were being rather sly at this point; more than usual for that. What else was there she could do apart from walk the earth and stalk? Nothing. If she drifted behind them, someone or something was bound to see her at some point. Emazas could not risk her fate, but nor to be seen. She decided the best option would be to watch from a blur in the heavens above. Down on earth, hell was lurking just around the corner. Hell was a death cloud, waiting to pounce on the bad. It captures each inch of sins and replaces them with a cold, murderous chill to make your nightmares a reality. Not did the four know, but they were closer their goal than they thought.
"So...." Locke hung the word in the silence, leaving Bod to finish his sentence.
"We thought and potentially planned an idea. An idea strong enough to remark darkness into a lace of whiteness and to scare ghouls into a permanent hibernation.

How did you get your poems published? Traditionally or self-published?

How do you become a famous author? For fiction, you write something that hasn't been done to death before, or, if it has been done to death, you put an entirely new spin on it so it's fresh and engaging.

Writer's block. I do not write fantasy, so I can't give you ideas on how to continue your story. There are all sorts of techniques for defeating writer's block, one of which is to write somewhere else in the story, such as at the ending or go back to the beginning and edit -- the umbrella technique being to write somewhere in the piece. Rarely do novels get written from page one straight through to page 250.

Critique on what you've done so far? It's a bit flowery with too many adjectives, such as "In the cryptic and clandestine manor house on the steep incline stood Talon, a middle-aged, stout and rotund man." I'm not sure what a "cryptic manor house" is and "stout" and "rotund" mean the same thing. "Silence hushed upon the 3" -- silence IS hush, so that is redundant. It's the same with "sophisticated and refined black suit" -- sophisticated IS refined. Pare down your overdone descriptions and throw in dialogue when possible to advance your story.

It seems like you are grabbing at every vocabulary word you ever learned and then are consulting a thesaurus to add more words and synonyms as you write. Just write the bare story and then go back to fill in with dialogue and description. Did you begin with an outline of your story so you don't wander off the main path?

There are phrasing and grammar problems too, but those can be dealt with during the editing process. The main thing to do right now is to get the story written out. Oh, and "rite" doesn't mean "death."