#1
I'm trying writing a novel again. Whoopee! After Leech kind of crashed and burned, I took a step back from writing, and simply read and studied more novels, as well as learned from the mistakes made in Leech. So, just yesterday, I started writing a new novel (slightly in the vein of Leech character-wise, but I plan to give it a fairly different plot line). It won't be out for a while (as one of the lessons I learned from Leech was to write a good portion, if not all of, the story before beginning to release it, or get swamped with writing deadlines), but here is the first little bit I've written (1st draft, keep in mind). There isn't much plot development or anything yet, because it's the very beginning; I wanted to submit it more for my writing style to be critiqued thus far as opposed to the story itself, since I'm still fairly new to the novel writing biz. Thanks to anyone who takes the time!
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The meager room that currently held Kirk Vant on the first day of his graduating year gave him all the bleak impressions he needed of this new school. The liverish brown that plastered the walls gave the ambience of distress, and the bland posters, depicting diagrams of human organs and various species of animal, did not help to improve this mood. Kirk was in no way happy with his current whereabouts; having to relocate with his family in his graduating year, and start his time in this new school with (what he viewed as) a class that held no use to him. Kirk could tell he was going to despise this school, much like its predecessors. However, one should never mistake Kirk for a “**** my education, I’m going to skip” kind of student, for he was rather brilliant. However, his appearance and some of his actions seemed to contrast that, if viewed under ‘social norms’. In fact, Kirk loved to learn and gain knowledge, and only had distaste towards the ‘system’ of education - the facility that was slowly starting to turn away from cut-and-dry ‘learning’ to a teaching of how to behave. He felt that the education system was turning into more of a parent and less of a teacher, and he did not like it at all. Yet, since he valued his education, and longed to get through to the hopefully brighter post-secondary education, he would ingest this bittersweet candy, and hope not to spit it out.

The drab class was almost finished, and Kirk had only scratched a few lines of empty facts onto his page. He really had no need to take notes on Biology, as he had no need to become a biologist. He, in truth, wanted to be a full-time musician, but since that was frowned upon by his family, he chose a ‘career’ path based around one of his other passions - law, a choice that was somewhat ironic for his character. Therefore, biology held no substantial weight on his shoulders. If he did need to grab a few notes, to study for a test, he could just borrow them off someone else. But then again, whom did he know in this new environment? He had been shipped away to some backwater community, without any advanced warning. Although he hated it, he may as well make it his home for now.

His weak desk, browned with use, was against the west wall of the room, meaning there was only one person directly beside him, on his left. He had blonde hair, about an inch above his shoulders that showed no signs of an attempt at styling. His sharp chin looked like it had not been shaved for a few days, and his eyes were sunken and tired, yet brilliant in their blue color. His frame seemed limp, with clothes haphazardly tossed on. This neighbor was taking about as many notes as Kirk himself, so he figured there was no worry of disturbing him with an introduction.

“Hey,” Kirk started, turning to the man beside him, and startling him a little. “How's it goin'?”

The neighbor paused for a bit, examining Kirk (understandably, as Kirk, at first glance and based solely on appearance, did appear somewhat snide and troublesome). After a brief pause, he slowly replied, “I’m doing alright”. His voice was small and fragile.

“I’m Kirk. Kirk Vant.”

There was no pause in the neighbor’s response this time, although his voice shrunk even smaller, and became unintelligible as he mumble something that sounded somewhat like ‘paltry’ to Kirk.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Kirk said, leaning in to hear the small man with more ease.

“Paul Terry,” he repeated, louder. “My name is Paul Terry.”

“Well nice t’meet ya, Paul.” Kirk replied in a friendly tone.

Paul whimpered a “you too” while turning back to his paper, and began scribbling some lines. He clearly had no want for a conversation, so Kirk followed suit, although still abstaining from the ‘writing’ part.

Soon enough, the bell sounded, ushering out the banality of the first class of the day. The students hurriedly packed away their limp notebooks and worn pencils, and made their way to the door, each showing very little consideration for the equally inconsiderate person trying to squeeze through the door at the same time. Although Kirk was just as eager to leave the small confines of the classroom, he waited briefly for the herd to die down. He did not feel the need to be mixed up in the typhoon of bodies; a mass trying to tear its way through yet another day. Kirk liked people in small quantities.
I'm just like the Jonas Brothers,

I'm no longer relevant and write mediocre music.