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amybraunauthor · 10-18-2016, 07:48 PM

This is what came back with the first email:

The first 14 paragraphs actually contain:
 The gentle snowfall became a full-fledged storm after we left the tavern. It became too dangerous for us to make our rendezvous with Davy, our local food supplier. We had to hope that he would be willing to find another day to restock us. Sawyer, Gemma, and Nash fought off other marauders and thieves attacking Davy in exchange for food, water, and fabrics. But with winter coming, Davy insisted he would hunker down for the snowy months. We would be lucky if we got half of what Sawyer originally bargained for.
 Using our stolen Hellion skiff, we careened through the whipping snow toward the ports of Westraven. Before The Storm, Westraven was the pinnacle of trade, ships coming from all edges of Aon to barter and exchange good and services. That all stopped when the Hellions invaded and set up blockades around Westraven, making it impossible for survivors to escape. Those walls were currently being demolished by engineers and angry survivors determined to leave the city while they had a chance, a few brave souls adapting our idea and stealing any fallen Hellion skiffs they came across. No one really knew where they would go, or if there was still anywhere to go. 
 A few of the new explorers left for days, coming back with grim faces and saying they found nothing. Rumors started to form about the other cities being obliterated after The Storm hit Westraven. Ten years of destruction would leave none alive, and the Behemoth had remained over Westraven as a warning. No one knew for sure, and our crew wouldn’t leave. I didn’t know who was taking the greater risk–those who wanted to carve out a new life for themselves past the barricade, or us for staying behind in a dead city. 
 My indecision and curiosity dissipated when I spotted the rounded air hangar sitting in the middle of a hundred yard tarmac. 
 Despite being the only reliable station in the city, few survivors ventured by the remnants of the ports. Demolished from countless Hellion attacks and considered cursed, the Wanderers decided to make their home and berth there. Inside the air hangar behind the port’s lonely tower, sat the Dauntless Wanderer, the ship that had been at the heart of so many nightmares over a decade ago.
 It always amused me to think that the ship I used to fear was now my home, and the safest place I could be. 
 Sawyer lowered the skiff to the ground about fifteen feet from the door, right where the concrete turned into sheets of metal plating. Sawyer let the engine idle and I stood up. I grabbed a pair of thick gloves from a compartment near the mast, pushing aside the billow of the pitch black sails tied to the metal post. Once I slipped the gloves on, I hopped out of the small, roughly constructed ship. I was always glad to be off the stolen, scorched vessel, even though I knew the dried blood had been cleaned away and the horrible spear figurehead was removed. Every time I looked at the bolted patches of metal, all I could think about was the Hellions leaping from it to grab anyone their onyx claws could reach, or using the spear to skewer victims and carry them to an even more agonizing death. 
 But like the Dauntless becoming a new home, I had to admit the skiff was useful. It was fast, tough, and made any other Clans think twice about crossing us. The memories of the skiffs and the creatures that owned them were still too fresh in our minds.
 Returning my attention to the tarmac, I pulled a custom-made torch from my belt. I pulled it apart slowly, listening to the familiar gears click together as the glass tube emitted a warm yellow light. I walked five careful steps, then knelt down, took out a length of thin rope with a wide fisherman’s hook at the end, and looked for the tripwire. 
 It was so well hidden I could barely see it myself, but if I couldn’t, neither would our enemies. Tucked in the two-inch crevice between the cracked tarmac and metal plates was a black wire. Being exceedingly cautious, I slipped the hook into the crevice and searched for a much larger wire. It took a few tries, but this route was safer than using a magnet. My Pitfall detected any large vibration that passed over it, and proceeded to send a massive electric charge through the metal plating, effectively frying everything on the plates. The trap’s charge wouldn’t hit the air hangar, so we would be safe. I made damn sure of that, since the charge I used was a fraction of the power from my Volt, the device I used to help bring the Behemoth to the ground. The device that killed dozens of Hellions–and nearly the entire Wanderer crew–in the process. Since that day, I’d been toying with the power of electrical charges. Now that Garnet Dayton’s substations were up for grabs, I was able to take his electron-cells and charge more than one device. It made for impressive designs and constantly powered equipment, as well as effective traps.
 The hook finally slid underneath the cable. I drew it up slowly, glad that I’d hooked it near the timer. It was a cylinder connector with a stopwatch set to tick aimlessly at midnight. I put the torch aside and took a screwdriver with a slim head from my belt. I opened the back of the stopwatch and turned it off. Once everyone was in the hangar, all I had to do was flip the breaker switch by the door to reset the trap. 
 Satisfied that I wouldn’t electrocute myself or my crew, I closed the back of the watch, lowered the cable into the crevice, gathered my things, and hurried back to the skiff.
 “We clear?” Sawyer asked when I’d climbed on. 
 I smirked at him. “As if you ever doubted me.”
It looks like in Chapter 1 is appearing correctly, but not so where the paragraph contains:

10-18-2016, 07:48 PM	#3
amybraunauthor Junior Member Posts: 7 Karma: 10 Join Date: Oct 2016 Device: Kobo	This is what came back with the first email: The first 14 paragraphs actually contain: <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>The gentle snowfall became a full-fledged storm after we left the tavern. It became too dangerous for us to make our rendezvous with Davy, our local food supplier. We had to hope that he would be willing to find another day to restock us. Sawyer, Gemma, and Nash fought off other marauders and thieves attacking Davy in exchange for food, water, and fabrics. But with winter coming, Davy insisted he would hunker down for the snowy months. We would be lucky if we got half of what Sawyer originally bargained for.</p> <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Using our stolen Hellion skiff, we careened through the whipping snow toward the ports of Westraven. Before The Storm, Westraven was the pinnacle of trade, ships coming from all edges of Aon to barter and exchange good and services. That all stopped when the Hellions invaded and set up blockades around Westraven, making it impossible for survivors to escape. Those walls were currently being demolished by engineers and angry survivors determined to leave the city while they had a chance, a few brave souls adapting our idea and stealing any fallen Hellion skiffs they came across. No one really knew where they would go, or if there was still anywhere <i>to </i>go.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p> <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>A few of the new explorers left for days, coming back with grim faces and saying they found nothing. Rumors started to form about the other cities being obliterated after The Storm hit Westraven. Ten years of destruction would leave none alive, and the <i>Behemoth </i>had remained over Westraven as a warning. No one knew for sure, and our crew wouldn’t leave. I didn’t know who was taking the greater risk–those who wanted to carve out a new life for themselves past the barricade, or us for staying behind in a dead city.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p> <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>My indecision and curiosity dissipated when I spotted the rounded air hangar sitting in the middle of a hundred yard tarmac.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p> <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Despite being the only reliable station in the city, few survivors ventured by the remnants of the ports. Demolished from countless Hellion attacks and considered cursed, the Wanderers decided to make their home and berth there. Inside the air hangar behind the port’s lonely tower, sat the <i>Dauntless Wanderer, </i>the ship that had been at the heart of so many nightmares over a decade ago.</p> <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>It always amused me to think that the ship I used to fear was now my home, and the safest place I could be.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p> <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Sawyer lowered the skiff to the ground about fifteen feet from the door, right where the concrete turned into sheets of metal plating. Sawyer let the engine idle and I stood up. I grabbed a pair of thick gloves from a compartment near the mast, pushing aside the billow of the pitch black sails tied to the metal post. Once I slipped the gloves on, I hopped out of the small, roughly constructed ship. I was always glad to be off the stolen, scorched vessel, even though I knew the dried blood had been cleaned away and the horrible spear figurehead was removed. Every time I looked at the bolted patches of metal, all I could think about was the Hellions leaping from it to grab anyone their onyx claws could reach, or using the spear to skewer victims and carry them to an even more agonizing death.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p> <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>But like the <i>Dauntless </i>becoming a new home, I had to admit the skiff was useful. It was fast, tough, and made any other Clans think twice about crossing us. The memories of the skiffs and the creatures that owned them were still too fresh in our minds.</p> <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Returning my attention to the tarmac, I pulled a custom-made torch from my belt. I pulled it apart slowly, listening to the familiar gears click together as the glass tube emitted a warm yellow light. I walked five careful steps, then knelt down, took out a length of thin rope with a wide fisherman’s hook at the end, and looked for the tripwire.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p> <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>It was so well hidden I could barely see it myself, but if I couldn’t, neither would our enemies. Tucked in the two-inch crevice between the cracked tarmac and metal plates was a black wire. Being exceedingly cautious, I slipped the hook into the crevice and searched for a much larger wire. It took a few tries, but this route was safer than using a magnet. My Pitfall detected any large vibration that passed over it, and proceeded to send a massive electric charge through the metal plating, effectively frying everything on the plates. The trap’s charge wouldn’t hit the air hangar, so we would be safe. I made damn sure of that, since the charge I used was a fraction of the power from my Volt, the device I used to help bring the <i>Behemoth</i> to the ground. The device that killed dozens of Hellions–and nearly the entire <i>Wanderer </i>crew–in the process. Since that day, I’d been toying with the power of electrical charges. Now that Garnet Dayton’s substations were up for grabs, I was able to take his electron-cells and charge more than one device. It made for impressive designs and constantly powered equipment, as well as effective traps.</p> <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>The hook finally slid underneath the cable. I drew it up slowly, glad that I’d hooked it near the timer. It was a cylinder connector with a stopwatch set to tick aimlessly at midnight. I put the torch aside and took a screwdriver with a slim head from my belt. I opened the back of the stopwatch and turned it off. Once everyone was in the hangar, all I had to do was flip the breaker switch by the door to reset the trap.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p> <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Satisfied that I wouldn’t electrocute myself or my crew, I closed the back of the watch, lowered the cable into the crevice, gathered my things, and hurried back to the skiff.</p> <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>“We clear?” Sawyer asked when I’d climbed on.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p> <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>I smirked at him. “As if you ever doubted me.”</p> It looks like <p class="p5"> in Chapter 1 is appearing correctly, but not so where the paragraph contains: <p class="p4"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>