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Well, to say i'm nervous would be an understatement. This is the first time i've put anything up for criticism outside of my own little circle in a long while, but i've started to hear "yea this is good man" too many times to believe it, and I can tell my head's getting bigger by the day. I'll preface this by saying it's a first draft - but I feel pretty proud of it, and I also have the feeling that if I don't put it up now, i'm not going to have the excitement i'm feeling right now to help me make the leap later. And while i'm no stranger to critiquing my own stuff, i'm equally used to completely overlooking core problems with my writing in favor of tightening up the prose. The chapter takes place after a short time skip from Chapter Eight, and takes place in winter rather than autumn. The main character, Jeff, is a night shift guardsman in Oaken Village. He used to have a partner in his friend Tommy, but after Tommy tried to throw a punch at the barkeep, Tim, Tim forced the would-be guard to work for him in penance. Normally, the captain of the guard would have disagreed, but Jeff met a spooky ghost thing in Chapter Four, and while Brandt and his friend Phillip convinced Jeff that it was just his imagination, in reality it's a sign that Jeff might be capable of some pretty crazy stuff. So they figure Jeff can probably handle things on his own - and that it might even be better for him. That's all the real backstory you need to know and then some. The chapter itself takes place in winter, and contains a whole lot of metaphorical stuff near the end. I usually gently caress the metaphor stuff up real bad, so don't hold back. The rules say not to just post a link - honestly I think the font on the document itself looks a lot better, so i'll compromise and put a link here along with the main body of the story in the post. If that's also not cool, just let me know and i'll take the link off. https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BzGYefnwpLK2dnM5UGlsaGp5dGs/view?usp=sharing Chapter Nine: Sun Rises, Sun Sets, Sun Rises Snow fell softly on the barren plains, bathing the world in white. Jeff's eyes watered in the fresh cold, the faint wisps of a beard clinging to his chin. He drank in the scenery hungrily, interrupted only by his eyes flicking unwittingly toward the fading sunset. The shadows lengthened, a tree cracked in the forest. Days hardly lingered long enough for lunch, and a peaceful slumber held the village in its cold grip. With one last deep breath through his nose, Jeff turned his back to the plains, fixing Oakentown firmly in his sights. As he turned, his new breastplate caught the last dying gasp of sunlight, flashing orange atop the hill. Jeff winced as it nearly blinded him, and began to rub hurriedly at his eyes, and his lack of attention nearly sent him rolling down the hill like a one-man avalanche. Instead, he slid down the hill, wildly flinging his arms about to keep his balance, his eyes streaming, and upon reaching the bottom without incident, his grin was fit to light the village with no need for lamps. Jeff had slid down all the way to the houses, and in one of the windows he spied a pair of eyes staring back at him. He spared the child a quick wink and a grin, and walked on to his beat without pausing for a moment. In the autumn most people were too busy to make trouble, and in the winter it was too cold to bother doing it outside, so outside of patrolling the bar there wasn't too much to do. Nevertheless, Jeff's boots led him through his usual routine. If crimes only happened where they were expected, they'd be poor crimes indeed. Aside from his fellow guardsmen, there were few wandering the streets. The one exception to the rule were those who had taken on the role of scraping snow off the buildings – if too much built up, one might suddenly find themselves with their roof as their blanket instead. They were spread out, but you could generally find one on any given street – usually the same one, as the work attracted territorial types. It was easier for everyone to have their own turf than to be the tenth one asking an irritated housewife for work. Jeff shook his head, his eyes rolling upwards almost of their own accord. The other towns and villages in the area had their roofing done by someone with sense, and gave up their little balconies and decorations for the ability to shrug off the snow without constant maintenance. Still, he mused, better to have more work for those who need it. Even if it might result in the same for those who'd rather have a beer. Still, they were working diligently enough, and even worked well as lookouts in the increasingly rare case of bandits. Save an odd grunt or shout from the roofscrapers, the newborn night had already grown quiet. Distant shouts indicated the direction of the bar, but there wasn't an edge in them, and it was too early to bum a mug. Jeff shook his shoulders slightly, savoring what little warmth he could. The sound of his boots crunching through the snow was steady as a babe's cradle in motion, and his breathing came fit to match. In this steady rhythm, becoming complacent was a simple matter. Jeff's neck remained unbent despite the tiny icicle beginning to form under his nose, and while his eyes didn't dart from point to point, neither did they ever stop moving. Ever since that night in the autumn downpour, Captain Brandt had taken extra care in lecturing Jeff, and expected more to boot. Jeff had assumed that when Tommy started his work at the bar that he'd get a new partner, but Brandt hadn't broached the issue; and more than that, Jeff had appreciated the opportunity to think without interruption. Time to think had become something of a valuable commodity for Jeff. Brandt's new drills really did seem meant to teach one man how to fight with the strength of two, and when Brandt was satisfied, that only meant Phillip took an interest. Days off were spent sparring, and the nights were spent in the woods – and that could mean anything from hunting to gathering herbs. Jeff had complained at first, but Phillip only pointed out that learning to spot them at night would make them obvious in the light of day, and Jeff could only shrug vaguely in response. One aftereffect of this was not the ability to ignore the cold – that wasn't quite possible. But it did teach one how to handle it. In the forest, it was hard to pretend that you'd be right back into the warm; so instead, you stopped huddling around and wasting time, you covered the important bits, and you got on with things. And the guard uniform, uncomfortable as it might be, didn't do a half-bad job of staving off frostbite. Phillip's wife, Jen, also took the liberty of knitting him a warm sweater – an act that earned Jeff a couple of days of silence from Tommy, but was easily worth it. The breastplate fit over it like a glove. A shadow stirred from the mouth of a nearby alley, and Jeff's steps didn't falter an inch. His gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead of him, and he peered into the alley through the corner of his vision. When the shadow ducked back into the alley proper, Jeff stopped. That alley in particular, if he remembered correctly, wound quite a ways – but ended with a brick wall. The guardsman waited patiently for curiousity to kill the cat, his eyes focused on the alley. The shadow poked its head out for a solitary instant, and the strength building within Jeff's legs unleashed itself all at once. The sight of a reasonably hearty policeman charging at you doesn't inspire a great range of reactions, but in terms of intensity few things can match it. The shadow turned (without hesitation, Jeff noted) and the chase began. If you asked Jeff why he was chasing the shadow so intensely, he'd at first look at you like you'd suddenly grown a tumor on your nose. Then his mouth would open, nothing would come out, and after a few moments of silence, he'd look you straight in the eye. “Well, I dunno, seems pretty suspicious right?” The speed at which the shadow moved was a testament to how suspicious one might act when they find themselves in mortal danger. The alley didn't allow much light in the first place, and with the moon blocking the clouds, the shadow didn't become any clearer despite Jeff's best efforts. But with each duck and weave, and every perfect turn, something began to tickle the back of the guardsman's mind. He wanted nothing more than to set it aside and enjoy the chase, but his legs disagreed; Jeff slowed, and the shadow disappeared further into the gloom. As he rounded the final corner, revelation came in the form of the sound of air splitting not an inch from his ear. “They haven't missed a single corner.” The long, subtle thought began, unravelling in one frozen instant. “If they know the alley, they know it's a dead end. They know it's quiet. Separate. Attack.” Brandt seemed to appear before Jeff in that moment, his form melding with that of the shadow. The instant become a second, and the second after saw Jeff leaping upon the shadow, truncheon already in its violent course. Even while Jeff's mind readied itself for the punishing blow, the effortless dodge and counter that was Brandt's signature, the heavy club hit home. The shadow sprawled against the wall like a marionette without a master, and all was silent. By a trick of chance, the clouds parted. Silver moonlight streamed down from above, catching on Jeff's breastplate. The shadow became a woman. On her right cheek was a tattoo of a wolf's head, fangs bared. The thought came to Jeff, in an idle fashion, that it was lucky that he wasn't left handed. He knew the tattoo. A sign that one had pledged their life to one of the more prominent bandit clans – or had been pledged, as the case might be. The implications of this did their best to thunder through Jeff's mind. Plans of action bubbled and died as the seconds passed. It was only when the clouds returned and the light died that Jeff could bring himself to scream. In the darkness the shadow rose again, its unseen mouth open in a silent roar. The darkness around it flowed and gurgled, and their hands reached... The guardsman turned, realizing his role in the ancient dance of predator and prey with a strained whimper. His gait had the promise of steady speed, the result of mere weeks honing his body; but without his mind to guide it, the crossbow fallen from the bandit's grip was effective enough as a tripwire. He twisted as he fell, landing roughly on his back. His breath lept from his mouth into the air, becoming no more than fog. The shadow stood over him, the stench of spilled blood invading the freshness of the snow. It glared at the fog writhing through the air as one might regard an intruder, and without a word, devoured it without a sound. Jeff backed away, first on his elbows, then on his hands, on his feet. The bolt, shattered on the alley wall, began to reform itself as naturally as a stray cat draws breath. Jeff felt more than saw it fly towards his face, and only instinct kept him from a brutal death. He turned the corner, and flew down the alleyway with the hounds of hell baying behind him. And just as he entered the final stretch, another shadow dropped from the roof, its silhouette clear against the beckoning light of the streetlamps. “Loved her, y'know. Ain't said it yet.” The shadow spoke as if it expected even a moment of mercy, but Jeff was too out of his mind with fear. All the boy's eyes saw was something standing between him and the safety of light. This time, no deeper than the mouth of the alley, Jeff could see the man's face just before the club hit home. It was curious, how blank its expression was – vacant of anything more than faint surprise. Jeff turned – the light drove the shadow away, but it glared at him nonetheless. And as he stepped backwards over the bandit's body, some part of him noting the thick clothes of a roofscraper, the shadow observed him carefully. Even as Jeff turned and ran, shouting alarm, fresh blood streaming from his truncheon, it watched. It kept its eyes on the boy, long after he'd made it to the bar, rallied the guards, and began his dance with whirling death. And somehow Jeff knew that it would never, ever look away. END OF CHAPTER Oaken Village is such a dumb name but I needed something. I have no idea if roofscrapers are an actual profession, but in an earlier chapter it's explained that the village was founded by a bunch of eccentric rich people with too much time on their hands, so I imagine it might not be so crazy for it to come up. That's also the reason the alley is such a ridiculously winding thing - they drove the newly minted city planner drat near crazy with their specifications, and it resulted in the town looking like something out of an Escher painting turned right side up. I feel like a kid going to get his first shot. Well, don't be gentle.
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Dec 7, 2015 04:57
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disclaimer: im not a good writer and im doing this for extra words in some other thing. kind of just consider each comment i make and decide whether or not you feel it works for you -the opening. setting is good, but an opening sentence thats describing the setting is kind of boring. id jump straight into the action using the main character as a focal point. softly falling snow bathing something in white seems kind of generic but i like the tone youre going for -im not sure how someones own breastplate can blind them -jeffs character seems really inconsistent. first he *almost* trips and falls down a hill, then hes being an a1 ultimate guard that troops around in frigid temperatures. if you want this dual nature to be a part of his character, you should frame it in a way thats a bit better, because its hard to take someone seriously if they just *almost* fell down a hill picking up snow like in a cartoon -i like the roof as a blanket expression -i like the roofscrapers, they make the world seem cozy. im not sure about having jeff pause to comment with his thoughts. id assume hes familiar with this practice and has prolly exhausted the insight he can reach on it at this point -sometimes these character namedrops seem awkward and dry considering how, if im getting your intro right, we should have been hanging out with them for a while already. for example, "Jeff had assumed that when Tommy started his work at the bar that he'd get a new partner, but Brandt hadn't broached the issue; and more than that, Jeff had appreciated the opportunity to think without interruption." if tommys been hanging out with jeff for 8 chapters, it feels like his absence should be a bit more palpable -personal thing but im really bored by characters training to sword fight or find herbs or whatever. maybe theres some way you can make the herb gathering at night more vivid or something -"fit like a glove" you can prolly do better -if something turns to run away from a running cop im not going to assume it hesitated mid turn -"The speed at which the shadow moved was a testament to how suspicious one might act when they find themselves in mortal danger." i feel like there might be a more exciting way to communicate the velocity of this mysterious running shadow -zombies ok so i dont think anything esp thematically clashes or is that inconsistent. i feel its awkward how you go from bumbling cop to death zombies, but if you tightened it up it could make for a compelling set piece. id rly work on the writing, it seems really dry, which mostly comes from the fact that you use a lot of cliches e: whoops take the moon fucked around with this message at 09:23 on Dec 13, 2015 |
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Dec 12, 2015 09:22
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klapman posted:Chapter Nine: Sun Rises, Sun Sets, Sun Rises Yeah, uh, this was alright, not like amazing or anything, but you know, not the worst thing in the world. I focused mostly on mechanics since, you know, I don't really know your whole story )and I'm not a novelist) so I don't think it's fair to criticize the story too much. What you need to work on is rhythm and how to make your action flow. You gotta sometimes let your words breath and just say it like it is. The most important thing to think about when it comes to action is making it clear. This goes for writing in general, but most importantly for action, but don't add poo poo we don't need. It gets in the way, it breaks up the rhythm, and brings down the intensity when you want to bring it up. You could also work on clarity in action as well, since sometimes it was vague and weird and I wasn't quite sure what was going. And, uhhh, yeah, that's all I got.
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Dec 12, 2015 09:24
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While it's less of a problem for a chapter than the opening line of an entire book, starting without a character and action is bad and starting with a weather report is worse. And a fairly cliche-ridden weather report at that. It's a bad habit of a lot of writers in fantasy, unfortunately including some rather successful ones which means it gets imitated by people who can't get away with it. Second up, you're using the exactly same sentence structure three times in a row in the first paragraph, (independent clause, past or present participle phrase), and it's not a good one to use much at all. Try to mix things up with some short, simple sentences and other variations of longer ones. (Turning the comma splice that follows into a period would help. A semicolon would be better grammar than the comma, but the period is even better for narrative.) Second paragraph: 'nearly' is a word to try and avoid. In general, it's weak, but here it draws the reader down a false trail, putting one set of images for the action into their head and then backtracking in favor of another. Don't do that. Actually, there are three sets of images here, because I first imagined him sliding down on his butt and have to revise that to upright skiless skiing in the third paragraph. (Which itself has the same problem, making the reader revise the idea of when he switches from sliding to walking.) I don't like the fact that it isn't until paragraph ten that there's any actual conflict. I really don't like the shift into an omniscient chatty point of view in paragraph eleven. You may think that using “the boy” rather than either “Jeff” or “he” adds useful variety, but it really just adds a little confusion. Again, the omniscient and slightly chatty narrator is out of style and for good reason. A disciplined third person limited point of view would likely improve the entire piece.
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Dec 13, 2015 01:39
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klapman posted:
If you have any questions, I'll try an follow up as best as I can. Also, feel free to jump into the flash fiction Thunderdome. We'll help you iron out the prose-level kinks.
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Dec 13, 2015 02:04
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Wow, thanks for the critiques guys! I worked up the nerve to refresh the page like 5 times the day after I posted it, and started freaking myself out so much that I decided to just let it sit till today. My problems with prose have been a constant issue in my writing, and even though i've made some progress, I really needed people to dive in there and pick out the specifics. Especially the shadow bit. The thing is, the entire situation there is meant to show how Jeff's gone into shock and he's kinda losing it. I went way too heavily into the metaphor and instead of "oh wow poor kid accidentally killed someone and he cant bring himself to admit it yet" its "these bandits have maaaagical poooowers and they're very spooky". As to the opening, since everything that happened earlier took place in autumn, I really wanted to set the winter-time atmosphere from the word "go". This is the only time i'll defend myself with something written in an earlier chapter, since I didn't give those to you guys, but I figured that since it was the start of a new arc in the story that the descriptions should be thorough. What they weren't meant to be was flowery, and that's an issue. It's supposed to be the village that Jeff's lived in his entire life - it shouldn't be some distant, vague mutterings, he should be thinking about the secret spot he and Tommy built in those woods, the awkward little snowman on the edge of the forest, that sort of thing. The way I wrote it, he's more like some kind of dull tourist dragged along on a boring trip. In fact, that's a problem with quite a lot of the story. It's from the point of view of someone who's, say, watching a movie for the tenth time instead of the first. Someone who's watched it so much it's become habit, and while they're only seeing the broad strokes, they're taking just as long to watch it as someone who's fresh. It's like even while I was writing it I thought it was dull - that wasn't the case, sure, but that's definitely how it reads. And then when things do pick up, they're so thickly steeped in metaphor that it becomes a mess of nonsense. It's like i'm trying to tackle calculus before i've gotten addition down pat - a scene like that might be interesting if it was preceded by traditional action. Instead, it's the height of tension in the chapter, and that's really not saying much. Now the breastplate is kind of it's own thing. This is the bit where you can tell i'm writing each chapter in one go, without too much of a plan at all. It's supposed to be taking on some kind of symbolism, it's supposed to go through its own little arc, and then I brought it up in too many silly ways in one chapter alone. I also didn't quite understand the fact that symbolism is cool, but it should give way to reality drat near every time. The whole thing is either going to get cut in the second draft, or it's going to be massively retooled to be more sensible. I still kinda like the idea, but i'm not so sure I can really pull off symbolism at the moment - i'm starting to think I should be focusing more on the nitty gritty stuff. Once I get good at that, maybe then we can move on to the more abstract stuff. For the chapters to come, that'll be my objective. I thought Thunderdome was always a toxx for some reason. Let's loving roll deep
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Dec 14, 2015 16:30
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Well, gj on having a great attitude toward crits. Honestly, I think you should just plug ahead on the novel and make some kind of note file for stuff you want to change later. Like I said in my crit, I'm hesitant to get too deep into critiquing line-by-line, because right now, you need to be making the big, broad shapes of your story. Like, the symbolism with the armor? Yeah, it didn't *quite* work here, but I got the sense that it was something symbolic, so keep working at it. Like...the prose level stuff, you can fix. Stay focused on what you want the story to do on a more general level, then hone in on the details in later drafts.klapman posted:
Fair enough, with the season stuff. It's just, lots of times, weather and scenery are kind of boring to read about on their own. It's better when you work in details that are totally unique to your setting, relevant to the conflict, or personal to the character. But again, something to be tweaked in later drafts. I think you totally have the right instinct, re: Jeff's familiarity with the village (although i will say, I was envisioning more of a city, based on your description and the fact that there is this longass, elaborate alley). But yeah, if you want help on pure prose mechanics, jump into Thunderdome. It's good to participate for at least a couple weeks, since crits can take a while to come out. But we'd be happy to help you out! If you have any questions, you can pop into #thunderdome on synIRC.
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Dec 15, 2015 08:15
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Sitting Here posted:Well, gj on having a great attitude toward crits. Honestly, I think you should just plug ahead on the novel and make some kind of note file for stuff you want to change later. Like I said in my crit, I'm hesitant to get too deep into critiquing line-by-line, because right now, you need to be making the big, broad shapes of your story. Like, the symbolism with the armor? Yeah, it didn't *quite* work here, but I got the sense that it was something symbolic, so keep working at it. Like...the prose level stuff, you can fix. Stay focused on what you want the story to do on a more general level, then hone in on the details in later drafts. Yeah, keeping on trucking seems to be the best call. I read my latest chapter aloud yesterday, and it was one I felt even more proud of than this one, and it's the quickest I went from bliss to committing suicide by ulcer. I've been taking two days off a week, Monday and Thursday, even though i've felt the urge to write. I just didn't want to end up so far down the wrong track that i'd get discouraged - but now that I know Thunderdome isn't all toxxes all the time, I can use those prompts and low word counts to hone my craft. Honestly, now that i've spent so much time writing this alone and keeping myself from editing it, the idea of being able to work on a story for more than one day at a time seems like a luxury. By the way, thanks a ton for linking this thread in Thunderdome. That put a big smile on my face. After the initial hype and the first day of no replies I got really worried that I might have wasted everyone's time. I got all up in my own head like "Yeah, I can take it, crits ain't nothin, gently caress it!". I guess it was time for me to learn that to have nobody critique really is worse than reading through scathing ones. It's like a Sword of Damocles deal, I suppose. I really do appreciate you guys critiquing, especially since it must've been irritating to jump into the middle of a story rather than the start. And frankly, hearing that it was mediocre made me kinda happy. My biggest problem as a writer aside from the metaphors has been extremely inconsistent quality. One paragraph will be really good, the next will be hot garbage, so on and so forth. It's still present to an extent, but if the overall impression is of mediocrity rather than wordy schizophrenia, i've made some sort of step forward. I should be writing chapter thirteen and i'm doing this instead, so i'll just let it die here. I'll be jumping in on the next TD prompt with relish.
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Dec 15, 2015 15:03
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