Purple

[Purple]

PURPLE

[/li][li]The Generals[/li][li][/center]
Name:

Purple

Age:

16

Category:

both

Experience:

roleplaying for about four, writing for seven

[/li][li]The Favorites[/li][li][/center]
Favorite Genres:

Mostly action and romance. I like drama but only to an extent, and I love fantasy, scifi, and historic or historic fantasy, but realistic is good too.

Favorite Topics:

Fighting and violence are always good ones. I've done some good stuff about vengeful people. Mostly I like to write about characters who defy the norm in some way or another. Some of the few topics I won't write/roleplay about are graphic sex scenes and anthros or talking animals.

Favorite Reads:

Basically, I like to read what I like to write. However, I will read and comment on almost anything if asked. The one exception is, as above, graphic sex scenes. Sexuality and any sort of vague description of sex is okay, but if I see any vivid descriptions of genitalia or what's being done with it, I will stop reading.
Favorite Type of Writing:

I do mostly long stories (with multiple chatpers), though I do a good bit of poetry as well.

[/li][li]The Skills[/li][li][/center]
Strengths:

+grammar/sentence structure
+character development
+plot twists

Weaknesses:

-initial plot development
-keeping the plot of a roleplay moving
-giving minor characters personality

Area of Expertise:

Well grammar for sure, but I'm also really good at making sure sentences flow and sound good.

[/li][li]The Question[/li][li][/center]
Why do you want to be a tutor?

I want to be a tutor mainly because I want to be able to help people get better at writing or roleplaying. I also want to help make Missing Muse a great site for writers who want to improve their skills.

[/li][li]The Samples[/li][li][/center]
Sample Writing 1:

This is the prologue from a story I'm working on, 09 Spark.

Maybe I’m a fool for saying it, but I was wrong. Somehow the streets don’t look so good in crimson, nor the sky in black. Somehow this isn’t what I wanted. No. It’s what I wanted. There’s no denying that now, not when so many heard those words, not when so many believed them. But somehow, this isn’t what I want. Not anymore. Funny how much you can still lose when you think you had nothing left. Funny how it can still hurt after you’ve gone numb.

Sample Writing 2:

A Post from this rp.

Darcy watched him closely, noticing the initial freeze followed by instant wariness. Her family was infamous where others were famous, and she could tell that he was trying to decide what to make of that. She nodded when he mentioned her mother, though she didn't like claiming the woman as such. Most people tried to convince themselves that she was some other LeStrange, unable to believe Bellatrix had actually had a daughter, but those who knew her family knew that the only other LeStrange out there was her uncle Rabastan, who had never married, so that was impossible.

"Yes, Bellatrix. Dear old Mummy," she said sarcastically, pushing her dark locks out of her face. She stood there for another moment, watching him looking at her. She knew he was trying to see how much she looked like the Death Eater, which, unfortunately, was a lot. She had the woman's dark curly hair and pale skin, as well as her slender figure and serious look, though with the benefit of youth and not having spent the last fourteen years in a cell in Azkaban. She shrugged off his apologies and started walking the way she'd been going before the little collision, moving slowly in the hopes that he would go and leave her to the Room of Requirement. A moment later she glanced over her shoulder, only to find him still there. She started walking again, checking another moment later, only to find him still there. Another of these moves and she had had enough. She stopped and turned to face him with an annoyed sigh.

"Are you trying to go there too?" she asked, pointing at the blank wall where the door would appear, "Or are you just stupid?"

Sample Writing 3:

Guilt is the thing with talons
That tears at every soul.
It speaks without any words
And never stops at all.

Often in the night it calls,
And gentle must be the hand
That could call off the vicious bird
That has pained many a man.

It's called for the gravest sins
And with the strongest plea;
Yet, never, in all those times
Has there been true change in me.