Hi, I am Ravenmasteroftele(:

Name: Stephanie

Sex: Female

Age: 18

Height: 5'6

Weight: 120

Hair Color: Red

Eye Color: Dark green

About Me: I'm a published author. (No Seriously, guys, I am now.) I would like to believe that a lot of it had to do with this website. In real life my name is Stephanie Campbell, and I am beginning my freshman year in college. I haven't really written fanfiction for years, mostly because I've recently become succesful in the publishing world. That does not mean, however, that I won't continue to finish my Artemis Fowl story. Of course, since I haven't posted a chapter in three years, many of you probably have your doubts. I will continue to keep my previous stories posted as well, even though some of them are over five years old, for reading purposes.

I adore this website. I think that any place that makes people be creative is truly amazing. I've heard a lot of people quit fanfiction.net because they believe it to be juvenile, but I think that the opposite is true. Every time someone writes a chapter to a story, or writes a review looking for critical mistakes, they learn. Not only does it help your imagination, which is one of the most important aspects of survival in this world, but it also increases your writing and analysis ability. Trust me, some time down the line, whether you become a writer or not, you will use these skills in the real world. Fan fiction is, thus, anything but juvenile.

Now, a little bit about me, since that is what you came here for. As people know, I am a fantasy novelist in real life. I also enjoy writing poetry, though most of it is only on . (If you wish to have look, go to http:///)Currently, my debut novel that has been recently published is called Until We Meet Again. This is the first of three in my Blood Stone Trilogy. In college, my major is english teaching with a minor in Japanese Language and Culture. (Wow, I sound so adult.) My goal in life is to someday support myself on writing alone, but until that time comes I plan on being a Jr. High english teacher, so I can help imploy the love of writing and reading in others.

About my Debut Novel: Since I know that a few of you probably have questions about my book, here is the plot: Her mother, an ex-model, will do anything for love—and all the neighbors know it. Her father, a rich business executive, is cold and, on too many occasions, more than verbally abusive. Now the Schmidt family has moved to California, and eighteen-year-old Eden must face a tough new school and a creepy, old house that certainly feels haunted.

When her mother is killed in a freak auto accident, Eden finds a wooden cross among her mother’s possessions. Triggering what will become a final confrontation with her father, Eden accidentally falls down the stairs and breaks her neck.

“She could still remember looking deep into the eyes of her petrified father as she plummeted towards the ground. His mouth was open in a horrified “O,” while his face flashed so many colors that he was like a giant revolving jeopardy wheel. It was at that moment that she truly felt the fear course through her, for the truth finally hit her: she was going to die.”

Though die she does, Eden also awakens to a new reality to learn that she has entered into purgatory—a place called Zemiothstai, where angels, beasts, and demons battle, and humans are tested as to their worthiness to enter heaven. Eden is told that she must be a light in a world of darkness, that she must find a way to reopen the gates of heaven, that it is all up to her to save the thousands of souls who may be forever trapped in hell if she cannot accomplish her mission. And she thought high school was hard.

Preface of my Debut Novel: Osier Schmidt stood beside a bulky gravestone, his balding head glistening with a thin jacket of sweat. The sun was hot--too hot. The weather never used to bother him the way it did now.

St. Rose’s Graveyard sat on a soft hillside of rolling grass where giant willow trees whispered when the wind blew. Not all that long ago, when he had searched for a family plot, it was himself that he had been shopping for--not for his wife, Rudbecka, and certainly not for his eighteen year old daughter.

The graves of Rudbecka and Eden Schmidt were under the shade of the greatest oak in the place. The top of their gravestones were faded with time. It had been, after all, twenty years since their passing.

The simple things of this world meant nothing to him now. He had gone from being one of the greatest executives in his company to a wine stain on the ratty suit that was existence, and he found it more enjoyable than he should have. Torture was nice; pain was nice. Anything to make the guilt stop consuming him like a giant, flesh eating monster.

His once muscular body was now a donut of fat. He had a double chin from years of eating away his problems, a sweat soaked body from days without personal hygiene, and a well-rounded belly from being a drunken mess. As far as he was concerned, he deserved every inch of torture he received. It was he whom had taken the life of his only daughter. He had to watch her struggle through every breath, every twisted attempt she made to once again stay in this world. No matter how she tried, it hadn’t worked. His daughter was now and forever dead.

With a flask clutched in his fat fist, he took a chug of his favorite alcoholic beverage--the strong stuff. It chased the pain out fast, and led him into a drunken stupor even faster. Yeah, this was the life. Sitting on the grave of his youngest and only, counting the days until his liver failed him and his life would end.

Nearby a crowd gathered around a freshly dug grave. It was filled with lots of children, sobbing women, and men pretending to be tough while their eyes secretly leaked from beneath their masks--beautiful. This was not the environment he needed to lay about in his stupor. Osier belched loudly, then reached up underneath his messy, wrinkled t-shirt that hadn’t been washed for weeks, scratching his dark belly hair. Maybe he should go scare them off. Nothing broke up a funeral like a drunken hobo screaming profanities.

His eyes were slits as he watched them. They were the type that he hated, the exact same type he used to be. They had their fancy golden watches, business suits, and BMW’s. The parents probably never bothered to take even a single day off to spend with their kids. They would try to replace their affection with physical things. “That’s their type,” he decided. “Some of those kids will get Corvettes as birthday presents.”

He allowed another loud belch to exit his belly before he waddled up the hill to the funeral, a crazy smile on his face. This was just the kind of crap he used to do when he was a teen--scare off partiers with weird faces and sounds. Now, sadly enough, he didn’t need to pretend. It all came to him naturally: the psychotic grin, the yellow teeth, the weird, unknown stains on his used to be white t-shirt.

When he approached from the hill below, everyone was too distracted to even give him a second glance. Their eyes were all glazed with pain, the very presence of death standing at their sides. One woman especially, a lady with a blackened veil across her pale face and dark brown hair, bellowed like an elk during mating season. Either a widow or a mother, he presumed, but he probably would never know for sure.

Most of the mourners were young women. A few even began to notice him, scowling at his presence. People were never too kind to those who didn’t dress as they should. Angered and swimming in memories that he didn’t want to remember, he rudely pushed his way through the unknown mourners to the headstone.

He gasped sadly at the inscription--Julianne Clark. The inscription read that the girl died at eighteen, a terribly young age. There was no more will in him to try to disrupt anything now. Too many memories and too much pain overwhelmed him. He took a swig from the flask, sighing at its numbing affect--sheer bliss.

The gravestone was in the shape of the a rainbow, leading into a sunset valley. A pretty one, but not one that he would have chosen for anyone in his family. The guilt returned, even stronger than usual. Would his Eden have liked to have had a stone with a happy sun on it? If she did, he would never know.

A weird tingling ran up and down his spine. He at first assumed that it was the affect of his high blood alcohol level, but almost immediately he knew that he was wrong. It was a feeling that somebody was watching him, breathing down his spine unseen. ‘Am I the only one who?…’ No, he was definitely not the only one. The beautiful bellower had stopped yelping and all the soft whisperers were silent.

It inspired an odd feeling in his heart, a similar one--the old house. He shivered at the thought. That house was not something he wanted to think about. What he wanted to reflect upon was his alcohol. It was easy and, even with its slight dangers, felt slightly safer than his somewhat distant memories.

Nobody dared to speak quite yet. It felt like they were all waiting--waiting for someone or something that none of them knew. He now wished he wasn’t among them, but at the same time he was glad. It had been a long while since he had even stood next to another person.

Suddenly, a gasp rippled through the crowds like a set of dominos, and everyone moved either to the right or to the left, making way for something. He couldn’t understand what it could be. Maybe it was the black sheep of the family; maybe somebody was here that shouldn’t be--like him, but worse.

He strained even closer to whatever it was that was causing such a stir in the crowd. It seemed bizarre to see all these people with their mouths open…Even when he came, the local freak, he hadn’t caused this kind of effect.

There was a soft whisper as the crowd backed away, and there, with a hand resting on the bellowing woman’s shoulder, was a beautiful girl. The girl had wispy golden blonde hair down to her waist, mismatched eyes that pierced the soul, and a warm, loving smile that could make ice boil. That girl was his daughter--the very one who died twenty years ago.

About My Fan fiction: I haven't added any additions to my fan fiction in three years, but I plan on doing so once I have more time on my hands. I am still a compulsive shipper, and spend long hours drooling over books looking for signs of a lover affar, particularly if the couple is Holly and Artemis. They are currently my favorite epic couple of all time, especially since they have recently sealed themselves as canon with a kiss.

It has been a LONG time since I watched Teen Titans, and I am sad to say that my passions for Rae/B has faded. I still fully support them as a couple, but I no longer watch the shows I purchased long years ago looking for hidden symbols. (Probably because, in case you can't tell, I have grown up a lot. Things I used to love no longer appeal to me.)

Favorite couple: HollyXArtemis

Least Favorite Couple: MinervaXArtemis

My message to all shippers of Minerva is this: "I fart in your general direction..."No, just kidding. Even if you do support Minerva, I love you anyway. (=

Now, since I have begun to quote Monty Python and the Holy Grail, I know that it is time for me to make my leave. If my book has peeked your interest at all, feel free to check it out at http:///booksearch/isbninquiry.asp?r=1&ISBN=1432735519 or http:///s?ie=UTF8&submit.x=30&keywords=9781432735517&tag=outskirtspres-20&index=books&submit.y=12&link5Fcode=qs. That is all! I love you guys forever, and I hope that you never give up on fan fiction!