reading log

Lately this weak, I have ben writing my short story instead of reading, so I'm not as far as I want to be in the book. Still so far in World War Z the people are on the hunt to find a cure, and survive. However I have achieved much on my short story. Ive ben focusing allot on the detail, and the mood hoping to make it a thrilling story.  Example here is the beginning.

It was said to be caused by the winters cill, that bites through the bone, on days of starless nights when a man breaks. It was one in witch however much madness, and kayos is caused, and the ones so dearly loved lie six feet under, the cold forgotten ground. A night that causes the tarting of madness, has days before just leading, and nights binging one closer and closer to there fall. The sights once happened, had never ben seen in such a small town such as ours, we are known as the peaceful, happy people, no worries, no fights, no nothing. Here your life is set up for you, who you ar, your work, social class, how you should act, all according to your stance in money, and gender. It docent mater how smart or dumb you are, how pretty or strong, your family is like so, and so it would only make sense for you to be like that. People just come to accept it here, we grow close, and seam to live the most happy lives. But every one is human, and even the most peaceful organized ones have a Demond in side. It was said to be on a night where there was no way to run from the bite of the frosts dogs, and one where mist covers the ground. No starry heavens were open then, and only the lone ghostly moon was the lantern for all. But such a ghostly seen can affect the mod of one that can change every thing. It is said that at that night, and the ones to fallow that when the old grandfather clock struck at 1, and you were awake listening to the sounds of the ghostly air, you would hear. Down in the misty hollow of the woods a thathump, thathumo, of a devils stead cross the road. And if you are as interested in the sound, the one so close to the sound of your heart beat, you'll go to the window. If you believe in what you hear, looking at the ghostly, mist covers land scape, you shall see, off in the distance behind the wooded trees, a field of grey. There in the distance with the squinting of your eyes, a shadowed phantom man will ride. The balkiest cape flows in the wind, and the pounding of his nightly stead, and a mask of pure balk can be seen. For only a second, you will see, the mad man ride on back, to the depths in witch he came, back from his work of the night. 

Reading time 1 hour

writing time 1:40