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Nevermind.
StickySweater fucked around with this message at 04:29 on Feb 18, 2016 |
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Feb 10, 2016 00:06
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Ok, so this is the opening of the current SF novel I'm working on. I moved the explanation, why I'm looking for feedback, below the excerpt because I want a reaction before I give away why starting the story this way might be a bad idea. At this point, the reader would know from the back matter that it's about an engineered humanoid trying live a normal life on Earth, and not having a good idea of what "normal" is. -- “Spaceman, are you for real?” said the man I came to call RipAss FuckForce—but not to his face. He would have liked it. I could say nothing, for the definite proof I was a “spaceman” would get me locked back in a lab. I huddled beside the bouncer in the doorway. RAFF, the club owner, leaned forward on a solid black desk I assume he only kept to bend people over, and pinned me with his gaze. “You have special powers?” The hulk to my left said, “Just looks albino to me.” “We’ll see.” RAFF motioned me to sit, the offered chair a speck before his desk. His throne would have dwarfed him the same were he not a black hole who bent surrounding space. Unable to escape the pull, I plunged closer to the event horizon. The bouncer parted, taking the air with him as he shut the door. The thin metal chair tipped beneath me, but RAFF didn’t give me enough time to stabilize. He asked, “What makes you think you can DJ?” I rubbed the back of my neck, growing as hot as my face under his radiation. The sweat made my dreads itch, which I wore back then so people assumed me a natural freak rather than engineered one—for once not helping. I said, “I’ve taken some music at the university.” I knew it pathetic the moment his eyes dropped the beat. “So you know jack-poo poo.” He rapped on the table. Then rose from that gothic chair and slid around the desk. RAFF, a man with greying short waves and wisp figure, somehow exuded masculinity that made him much bigger. A puffed up adder. Even leaning back, his crotch closed on my face with invisible force. He said, “I don’t care what you know. I want to know what you can do.” He pulled the yellow-lensed glasses, my shields, from my face. I braced for a blast of ultraviolet, wishing I’d worn the contacts instead. I looked in his soul-black eyes to avoid the white stains that crept around us. “So they’re not pink after all,” he drawled. My frames, spinning in his fingers, clinked against massive gold rings. “Tell me then, baby blue, what this lab rat can do?” I tried to swallow the gravel in my throat. Nadine assured me, when she’d told me about the job, an endless fountain of alcohol and sex. I thirsted for both without her. Head filled with fantasy, now so close to grasp it, I could hardly speak. “I have good reflexes?” I finally squeaked. “Ha!” He flipped my glasses at me, which I caught a centimeter from my face. “Not bad.” Nadine had told me he’d test me, that such a man not only played games, but made up the rules. I sought this man as my Sambia elder—hoping to lap up his commanding, virile force into my still-twinkish form. I folded my glasses away in a pocket. Waited, with the wary respect you give a cobra, for his next lunge. “What name do you want to go by?” Those words—shooting amphetamine into my heart would have had the same effect. I was in. It took me a while for the white heat to dim, before I could even think. I wasn’t authorized to take a job outside university, so I couldn’t use my legal name. Besides, I’d picked it to be unassuming—mundane. All my life names had slid off me. I was a number before rescue from an illegal clone lab at four, and changed my name at thirteen, when I turned out to be a boy. Those names faded along with the tattoo that once marked me a specimen. I still rubbed the removal scar on my left wrist when trying to find myself. Caught myself doing it again. “Duran.” I knew the name mine the moment I said it, though I’d never said it before. The name flew from an orgy on angel wings, from a film I’d watched for some course on feminism. Why it came to me then, I must have subconsciously known what was coming. RAFF cut me down with that seedy, reedy voice of his. “Ok. Duran it is. The dry season’s poo poo, so I don’t care if you are. You’ll learn the job as you go. Club’s empty. This place is too hot, and so am I.” Then, without another word, he opened his fly. Nadine, how I thought you’d stripped my naivety. You taught me all sex was good. Yet here this man stood with his counterpoint—but I get ahead of myself. I had no idea what I was getting into, hypnotized by the silver threads woven in his course black jeans. Because I was an idiot, without question I got on my knees. RAFF’s gold-toothed grin sparkled as he looked down his dick at me. My new name left a taste that overpowered the distaste. It lingered longer than the stink of that leatherman’s sweat. Oh, gently caress me gentle into that good night. To die a little and be reborn a whore. Such an ignominious beginning, but I own it now. Some names are unchangeable as the decisions that form our core. -- So, I know starting a science fiction novel with a blowjob (when it's not porn) is ill-advised, but I'd like to know just how bad an idea it is, or if I can actually pull this off as distinctive character development and have not have readers say, "gently caress this dude, I'm out." I'm more concerned about that than line edits at the moment. Stuporstar fucked around with this message at 06:23 on Mar 14, 2016 |
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Mar 14, 2016 03:28
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Stuporstar posted:So, I know starting a science fiction novel with a blowjob (when it's not porn) is ill-advised, but I'd like to know just how bad an idea it is, or if I can actually pull this off as distinctive character development and have not have readers say, "gently caress this dude, I'm out." I'm more concerned about that than line edits at the moment. This is the whole opening scene: I don't have a huge problem with this conceptually, but I don't quite understand what is going on in the situation. That makes the blow job feel a bit abrupt and sensationalistic, because I don't quite get the why of it. Like, I gather that the protag is trying to get a job, but between the DJ-thing, and the "Nadine assured me, when she’d told me about the job, an endless fountain of alcohol and sex" I'm not sure exactly what kind of job he is trying to get. I guess he wants to be a DJ and thinks that will make people want to have sex with him? To me the build-up wasn't quite right, but it didn't turn me off so much that I wouldn't keep reading. On the other hand, I was prepared for a blow job. I think you might get more accurate feedback if you put your question AFTER the excerpt.
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Mar 14, 2016 05:50
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Dr. Kloctopussy posted:I don't have a huge problem with this conceptually, but I don't quite understand what is going on in the situation. That makes the blow job feel a bit abrupt and sensationalistic, because I don't quite get the why of it. Like, I gather that the protag is trying to get a job, but between the DJ-thing, and the "Nadine assured me, when she’d told me about the job, an endless fountain of alcohol and sex" I'm not sure exactly what kind of job he is trying to get. I guess he wants to be a DJ and thinks that will make people want to have sex with him? To me the build-up wasn't quite right, but it didn't turn me off so much that I wouldn't keep reading. Done. Edited the last post so whoever reads it next is as prepared as the reader would be. Thanks for the crit. I've definitely been struggling to convey the level of motivation he has for getting this job in one scene, and why he doesn't think giving a blow job to get it is such a big deal because his sense of what's socially acceptable is so skewed from first his lack of experience, followed by way too much of it--layered with his more self-aware voice as he's telling the story. This is after writing his whole history chronologically, as a draft 0, and finding earlier points too disconnected or weak to put in the story in a form other than brief flashbacks. The actual story begins here, or so I found after organizing it all in a proper outline, but holy poo poo it is a hard sell. My instinct to drop the reader in the deep end always seems to backfire on me. I've so far written enough material for four novels (out of six planned), because I keep starting too far in and have to write my way backwards to a point I think the reader can better latch onto after yet another false start. I always know where it's going, but don't have a clue where to begin. I may have to keep working backwards, to at least show how he got to this point, moving this scene to the end of the first chapter. Stuporstar fucked around with this message at 20:49 on Mar 14, 2016 |
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Mar 14, 2016 06:12
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Starting with a blow-job for a SF novel by itself isn't a problem, but you'll want to think about the expectations it gives the reader about your story. How does this scene fit within the general themes of the story? For reference, a manga called Berserk opens up with a sex scene where a woman turns into a giant demon and the hero slays her. It's silly, but it conveys the idea this is pulp fantasy, and the reader knows what to expect thematically. The blow job in your story can work, but think thematically about what's going on in your scene.
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Mar 26, 2016 19:28
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But in Berserk, that scene barely even makes sense because Guts is so traumatized by his childhood that it takes a serious relationship before he's okay with people even touching him. Sure, it sets the mood, but it actually makes no sense with the characterization.
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Mar 27, 2016 10:58
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You've both hit on the weak points in what I posted here. My character starts out timid, but instead I decided to start with him breaking out of that mold, and then had to flashback to how he got that way, which on second outline was a big red flag. I rewrote it with the flashback as the first scene instead and it's already improved, even though I'm stuck figuring out what scenes I need to bridge the new beginning to the bj scene. I'd be more brazen if this weren't the first book in a series, that I've been writing so long this character's later POV has infected the earlier stuff as I rewrite it. It took a big perspective shift to remember how the character starts out. The blow job scene definitely sets the wrong tone for that.
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Mar 30, 2016 00:08
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The whole thing reads as being really sexualized, even ignoring the blowjob. Is the entire story like that, or is it something you did just for this scene? Other than that, some of the descriptions are kind of bizarre (as in, I had to read them twice to figure out where they were going). I'm not sure if that's intended to be funny or if it's a way to say that the main character has a hard time communicating in normal terms. Overall, I don't think it's bad. But if I picked up the book and that was the first page, I would probably decide it wasn't for me. I've never written before, outside of what was mandated by school, but this morning I had an idea for an opening to a story and felt I had to write it down. I have no idea where this is going other than the opening scene or even if I'll even continue it, but I'd like to get some feedback all the same. -- It’s happening again. She grimaced, trying to think about slowly flexing her toes. Furrowing her brow, she focused all her energy on relaxing her muscles. Too late; a scream echoed over the house as a shot of pain lit up her nerves like a glow plug. By the time she managed to hobble downstairs, the smell of stale coffee was the only evidence of breakfast “Cramps again?” “Shut up, Mikey.” “I just don’t understand how you can get foot cramps without a foot.” “I said shut up!” Her upper lip became a wire-thin line as she shot her brother a death stare. The sun had come up not even an hour ago, yet it wasted no time making its presence felt. The ride to school was a hot, sticky affair and the bus smelled of unwashed gym socks and melting vinyl. She stared out the window at the vast expanse of the desert before her, wishing the drat thing would open just a little bit more. Cactus. Telephone pole. Car. She named the objects as they passed. -- I feel like the location transitions are too abrupt, maybe? It's frustrating, because I have this image in my head with tons of detail, but I feel like trying to get that all across would just be pages of exposition. I also feel like it's too short for decent feedback, but I don't want to just write a bunch of filler and have you all pick that apart.
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Mar 30, 2016 15:06
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Nah, the rest of the story isn't sexualized in the same way, it's just that scene. The character's voice and choice of metaphors are intentionally odd (to establish he's not normal but he also has a sense of humor), but making them internally consistent is best left for a later editing job. My new opening is intended to ease the reader into the story so that hopefully the character's odd metaphors can be distinguished from world-building details. As for your first story attempt, there's not much there to critique. It's barely even a scene—more like a rough sketch of one, so yes more detail is necessary. It's not filler if it establishes character or plot, and filler can always be cut if it turns out not to serve either. I will say a character with phantom limb pain is interesting enough to build a story on. Now you have to decide whether you want to figure out your story before continuing and outline it, or write the actual scene in detail and see where it goes from there. Plan or pants. Most would tell you to plan: figure out why you want to write, what you want to say, why that story, and outline it first. But if the scene alone grips you and gets you writing, then do that. There's no shame in wasting a little time when trying something new. It's not a waste of time if you're learning. Stuporstar fucked around with this message at 23:41 on Mar 30, 2016 |
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Mar 30, 2016 23:38
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His hand was wet. He knew what it was. It hurt more pulling out than it did going in, but that little mattered at this point. Gerhold gripped half the shortspear in his massive hands and ripped it from his gullet. The pain thundered and cackled through him but it was already a world away; another place, another person, like a waking dream. “Alone!” he tossed the spear back at the hunter, clumsily enough to topple it end over end, but forceful enough to embed it deep in the forest soil. “Let me alone!” The hunter was frantically loading another shortspear to his streiker but there wouldn’t be enough time. In four thumping strides Gerhold was already upon the man when pinpricks shot up and down his right side. Five arrows were now sticking out at odd angles, oozing a foul murky blood. It shocked more than it hurt, but a pathetic whimper escaped him before he realized the hunter was already away running through the trees. “I’ve done you no harm!” Instinctively he grasped at a thick stone, whipped around, and let it crash into a tree where two hidden archers tumbled to the earth. “Let me live and die as I will!” Six mighty strides across the forest floor brought him to the dazed young man in the brown hood. Fingers thick as branches gripped his tunic and drew it tight. Gerhold brought him up to eye level and held him against the tree. The archer was handsome. He had a strong chin, dark eyes, long hair, and the kind of face that would win him the love of anyone he put his mind to. Gerhold hated him for what he was, as much as any man had hated him. “You want to die?” he screamed through greasy tears. “You want your graves…” his voice broke. The archer was so afraid of him. Like he’d seen a monster. KTHUNK! The tip of the shortspear was barely to the left of the first spear. Gerhold vomited mud-stained blood down his front like a babe. Thunder flashed in that other place as the reality of the wound struck him harder than the shortspear itself. “RAAAGH!” He pulled the archer back and slammed him against the tree. He did it again…and again. One! Two! Three! Four! Five! He heaved, and as his chest shuddered up and down blood black spittle seeped from his mouth. He’d left them. He left them behind in the Ubelwald. But he’d left them before in the Volklands hadn’t he? There would always be men like this; this handsome young hero, lifeless and shattered in his stony grip. She’d lied to him. A warm, soft, beautiful lie, but now it was far behind him in the south. There were no lies in the dark forests of the Firlands. The dead archer spun into the underbrush where he threw him. A third shortspear was no doubt being loaded in a clever blindspot. There was no running. If he couldn’t find peace in the green hell of Firland, then maybe there’d be peace in the other world. He saw it coming this time, a silvery flash in the muted scattered sunlight. He dodged as well a thing of his size could, but it caught him in a ring finger. There was no pain only grey green meat. The silhouette of the hunter slung his streiker and began to run. “WIRR…NGHHEHAarrr…” he struggled to shout at them, taunt them to kill him, but whatever injuries the spears had wrought robbed him of speech. The thunder he’d hidden in that other place struck him fully now, and it suddenly got hard to breathe. His boulder sized knee sunk to the forest floor. It wouldn’t move. He shouted at it, cursed it with all the dark words he knew. The right side of his face was scratchy and cold. He felt around him with a ruined hand. There was a wall of soil there. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen to the earth. How long had he been lying there? Seconds? Hours? Shadows moved in front of his eyes. He couldn’t see what they were, only that they were up close. “It’s breathing,” came a voice stern and arrogant. “Hand it to me.” A glinting silver shadow passed into view. “You’d need an axe, I think.” The other voice was soft and scared. The blade slow and strong made its way through Gerhold’s back. There was no strength to scream. “Burning hells,” came the first voice. “What is this thing?” The blade moved back and forth as whatever put it there in the first place attempted to retrieve it. A humming silence followed and Gerhold thought back to the Volklands. A golden land, of happy people. It brought him comfort. She was so kind to him. A mother’s lie. Was she his mother? It was hard to remember so he believed it was so. There were people like him, and places for people like him, but there was only one Gerhold she said. That much was true. The blade moved into him again. In its own horrific way, the Ubelwald was a comforting place too. It was cold and harsh, but freer than any life he’d known. Brothers and sisters, creatures cursed by life and haunted by death. It was family. It was peace. He hadn’t even felt the blade retreat. It was dark now and he couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t breathed in quite a long time, and yet his eyes were open. Another shadow walked before him. “Loyal subject, noble son,” the voice slithered into his mind. “Take up your burden…and walk.” Gerhold’s heart beat inside him for the first time in hours. “I command you.”
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Apr 1, 2016 00:03
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MrSlam posted:His hand was wet. He knew what it was. It hurt more pulling out than it did going in, but that little mattered at this point. Trying very hard not to make a sex joke. Gerhold gripped half the shortspear in his massive hands and ripped it from his gullet. Continuing to try not to make a sex joke. The pain thundered and cackled through him but it was already a world away; another place, another person, like a waking dream. Not a bad opening, a guy pulling a spear out of his throat. I want to know more about this man, such as his motivations. In the line crit I gave a lot of specific feedback so here's some general feedback: Firstly, there's so much that goes unexplained in this: place-names, people and devices, and it's hard in an excerpt this short to get any sense of it. With what little German roots I know, I can figure that Volklands are where people live and the Ubelwald is an evil forest. And I guess the Firlands have fur trees. I could get the gist of it, but I don't want to have to get the gist of a story, I want to understand a story. There's too much worldbuilding in this small area, and it's not introduced in a way that's really all that relevant to what's happening. Second and more importantly, by the end I'd figured out his motivations, that he was just trying to survive in a place that treats him as dangerous, due to his unspecified but large size. But the problem is that within the text, he's actually pretty violent. Yes, it's in self-defense, but it's just a fight scene while he wishes he didn't have to fight. I don't get to see him struggling with anything other than not dying, then getting mad and killing someone, then feeling bad for it. There was some vague character movement at the end, with him accepting that there's a beauty to being free and being united in mortality, but then the ending comes and he's brought back to life. I don't understand why he's brought back to life or what that has to do with his motivations. It has nothing to do with him being accepted or not.
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Apr 1, 2016 02:13
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Djeser posted:In the line crit I gave a lot of specific feedback so here's some general feedback: Firstly, there's so much that goes unexplained in this: place-names, people and devices, and it's hard in an excerpt this short to get any sense of it. With what little German roots I know, I can figure that Volklands are where people live and the Ubelwald is an evil forest. And I guess the Firlands have fur trees. I could get the gist of it, but I don't want to have to get the gist of a story, I want to understand a story. There's too much worldbuilding in this small area, and it's not introduced in a way that's really all that relevant to what's happening. Thanks for the critique! I found the thread and figured I'd write something up in an hour or so. It's from a pet-world I made, so yeah, lots of world-building but you get that a lot in genre-fiction. Your assumptions on what a streiker and shortspear were were correct though. Sorry you got confused. A lot of good criticisms. I'm not a grammaticist and I have problems with tenses. The ending is connected to something else in my head, and came out of nowhere because I don't know how to end a story. And he is pretty hypocritically violent, but that's what I love about him  Would it be uncouth of me to edit-delete the post? I feel embarrassed about it now and kind of want to stop writing all together. MrSlam fucked around with this message at 06:05 on Apr 1, 2016 |
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Apr 1, 2016 05:35
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MrSlam posted:Thanks for the critique! I found the thread and figured I'd write something up in an hour or so. It's from a pet-world I made, so yeah, lots of world-building but you get that a lot in genre-fiction. Your assumptions on what a streiker and shortspear were were correct though. Sorry you got confused. A lot of good criticisms. I'm not a grammaticist and I have problems with tenses. The ending is connected to something else in my head, and came out of nowhere because I don't know how to end a story. And he is pretty hypocritically violent, but that's what I love about him it would be uncouth, yes. we're all real bad, there's no shame in it. come over to the thunderdome, it's fun, and funny.
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Apr 1, 2016 10:15
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sebmojo posted:it would be uncouth, yes. we're all real bad, there's no shame in it. come over to the thunderdome, it's fun, and funny. Maybe. It's tempting. I know I need to grow a thicker skin when it comes to criticism, but I'm nervous about getting kicked in the dick over and over until I've built up an immunity to it. I don't know if my dick can take it. Maybe it's the only way? e: Weenie Hut Jr's?! MrSlam fucked around with this message at 16:54 on Apr 1, 2016 |
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Apr 1, 2016 16:24
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I'm in the midst of working through some longer pieces that are Very Serious and I need a mental break because it's become a slog. I decided to start a little pulpy sci-fi serial that I can crap out in small spurts (500-1000 words) and just have fun with every week. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated -- am aiming for the feel of Heinlein's youth series or other 1940s/50s-esque sci-fi writing with a more fantastical approach to technical stuff (I know, I know). It's a new area for me. Here's the first installation: https://medium.com/@luddtree/mushy-mashy-4365c2f82cc#.qxbca52h5 I'm also not sure whether medium is the right platform but I figured I'd start there Mr Gentleman fucked around with this message at 19:00 on Apr 8, 2016 |
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Apr 8, 2016 18:58
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Gave it a quick read, so here's my general impressions. If I wasn't reading it to give feedback, I would have gotten lost in the first section, as it's all very highly political stuff about laws and customs I'm not familiar with. The second section, while it wasn't very remarkable, did more to draw me in. I had a hard time figuring out where the characters were, physically. If you're aiming for a pulpy feeling, I think a good sense of location and environment is important. To me, one of the draws of pulp stuff are interesting settings, and while you do some work building that in the second section, I was left feeling like I couldn't really visualize where he was a lot of the time. The solution doesn't need to be a paragraph of introduction each time, but I'd at least like to get a sense of each place through Zeeb's eyes. (Also, you chose a hell of a name to write out every time.) Let him say in his own voice what he thinks about the place. That way, you get to build character and establish setting at the same time. For instance, he could look at a marble floor and mahogany furniture and think 'pff, bunch of posh posturing' and then the reader both has an idea of what the place looks like, and they know that he's more practical. Or if he's very proper, maybe he looks at the same thing and notes how different it looks all clean and tidy in here compared to the messy bustle outside. The part where he watches some kids play around and break a robot is good, and more of that in the other parts would have helped ground the setting. You could have placed your characters more clearly, too. For instance, you started off in the middle of dialogue, so I didn't know that he was kneeling with his face to the floor until he was no longer kneeling. Since you hadn't mentioned it, I assumed they were standing up or sitting around a table having that conversation, so it was jarring when he suddenly stood up from kneeling. Personally, I would have mentioned that in the second sentence, because a) it's something that Zeeb would notice immediately and b) it gives context, and might even hint at conflict, if he's in this clearly uncomfortable position. Motivation and conflict was the last thing I noticed, because I had trouble figuring it out. First, I had to suss out what all the political jargon up top meant, and once I had that figured out, I had to piece through who was who, and what he wanted to do. I'm not entirely sure what his job is even now, other than inspecting...things? And I think the political stuff in the beginning is like 'you signaled you're officially stopping here early, so since it'll be some time before your duties are ready, here's [quest hook]', boiled down. I get the sense that he's got some other motivations, maybe, from the final bit, but it took me too much thinking to figure out what he's trying to do and I'm still not sure I know exactly what he wants. I know that in a serial, there's going to be a slow drip of information, but I think ideally in something episodic, there should clearly be some motion into the next episode. Like, I should be able to predict what he's going to try to do next. Whether he does it, or not, or something comes up, or whatever is all up to you, the author, but I didn't have a clear enough idea of what his goals are to get super invested in what comes next. If I was going to read more, it would be mainly in the hopes that things would start making more sense. Now that I've written like five paragraphs about what I didn't like, I do want to just add that I think overall it shows promise, and I like pulpy stuff in general, and I wanted to read more of the parts that I liked. This just feels like a bit of a messy start as you're trying to establish everything and get your story's feet underneath it.
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Apr 9, 2016 04:28
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Djeser posted:Gave it a quick read, so here's my general impressions. Cheers, thanks, all good points to keep in mind. It's a new area for me so I'm eager to play around with what works and doesn't. The joke of that his face was pressed against the floor the entire time clearly fell flat 
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Apr 9, 2016 05:09
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MrSlam posted:Maybe. It's tempting. I know I need to grow a thicker skin when it comes to criticism, but I'm nervous about getting kicked in the dick over and over until I've built up an immunity to it. I don't know if my dick can take it. Maybe it's the only way? honestly if you're bad enough to have someone really wind up and go to town on you, then there are two options: either you knew you were that bad, or you didn't. If you knew it then it's basically collaborative performance art. if you didn't know then some rando just did you a huge favour, and also entertained themself and everyone else. It's a win/win! sebmojo fucked around with this message at 05:23 on Apr 9, 2016 |
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Apr 9, 2016 05:20
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Mr Gentleman posted:Cheers, thanks, all good points to keep in mind. It's a new area for me so I'm eager to play around with what works and doesn't. The joke of that his face was pressed against the floor the entire time clearly fell flat It would be a good comedic moment if I hadn't by that point assumed he was standing, because a) I had so little physical information to go on and b) what information I had suggested he could see the other guy. As it was I was like  oh okay I guess he's been kneeling.There's two ways I could see structuring that joke to make it work. Number one, reveal it immediately, but don't have Zeeb address it. Like if your first line was like this: quote:"Yes indeed," said the colonial whatsernator, "we're most very indeed impressed to have such a man of personhood." Number two, instead of saying it outright, hint heavily enough that someone can guess what's going on before he gets up. Like if Zeeb was musing heavily on the marble floor after each line of his--the first time it happens, it seems just like description, but he keeps going back to talking about the look of the marble, then maybe its feel and temperature, all while he's having this normal conversation. Then, when he stops bowing, it's still a reveal (ah, that's why he was talking about the floor) without being a non-sequitur. Djeser fucked around with this message at 21:37 on Apr 9, 2016 |
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Apr 9, 2016 21:34
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Hi all. I'm the sort of writer who has focused on a lot on just practicing by writing fragments and prepping for the novel I'd love to finish writing someday. But I know this isn't the most conducive way to actually refining my craft, so I've decided that I'm going to start trying to write some proper short stories in order to get that practice. I realise that short stories and novels aren't the same thing, but if nothing else I'd like to get my prose up to snuff so when I do tackle that novel, its slightly less terrible than it otherwise would be. So with that said, I'd really appreciate a critique of this snippet from a short story I'm writing at the moment. It's about 1000 words, and about 2/3rds of the story. Originally I wrapped it up in another two paragraphs, but it felt like I was rushing the conclusion and emotional aftermath/climax. So I've cut out the ending and am interested to see if I'm on the right track with what I've written so far, or if I'm just admiring a dumpster fire. Here's a link to it, I hope using Google Docs is kosher: The Pastor https://docs.google.com/document/d/12DwmjcpyVTRxIAp8a8zjixQhxO7JMWtin6pCuDHE05c/edit?usp=sharing Melusine fucked around with this message at 01:56 on Apr 19, 2016 |
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Apr 17, 2016 05:37
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Daphnaie posted:Hi all. I'm the sort of writer who has focused on a lot on just practicing by writing fragments and prepping for the novel I'd love to finish writing someday. But I know this isn't the most conducive way to actually refining my craft, so I've decided that I'm going to start trying to write some proper short stories in order to get that practice. I realise that short stories and novels aren't the same thing, but if nothing else I'd like to get my prose up to snuff so when I do tackle that novel, its slightly less terrible than it otherwise would be. I edited it for you, I did it anonymously though. I thought that you overused " I " in the story, and because of that, your story was a bit monotonous: " I did this" " I began to do this" " I saw him do that" " Then I did this other thing". Though once the conflict or action started, you stopped it overusing it, and started to write some of your verbs in past tense, and some were present. Sorry if my edits are not good, I am a bit new to editing peoples work. E: Would you mind taking a look at a short story I wrote? It's 1088 words. https://docs.google.com/document/d/188_r1eIQ4MBVSAXgGz0Pg1kJGTwMPtJaCq5u51cGT7E/edit?usp=sharing Or anyone in the thread. gay for gacha fucked around with this message at 20:37 on Apr 21, 2016 |
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Apr 21, 2016 20:03
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lemonslol posted:
Okay I started to do a crit of this but I only got halfway through because I couldn't get past the clunky prose. The saidisms struck me as particularly bad. If either of you guys are serious about writing have a think about joining the thunderdome. It's weekly flash fiction, and from crits on your work and others' it's a really good way to learn the basics well.
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Apr 22, 2016 01:10
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newtestleper posted:Okay I started to do a crit of this but I only got halfway through because I couldn't get past the clunky prose. The saidisms struck me as particularly bad. I really appreciate it, I just started writing and enjoyed what I wrote, but I wanted a dose of reality and you just did that. I'm going to take the story down and write more.
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Apr 22, 2016 01:21
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lemonslol posted:I edited it for you, I did it anonymously though. I thought that you overused " I " in the story, and because of that, your story was a bit monotonous: " I did this" " I began to do this" " I saw him do that" " Then I did this other thing". Though once the conflict or action started, you stopped it overusing it, and started to write some of your verbs in past tense, and some were present. Thanks a lot for your crit, I really appreciate you doing so. newtestleper posted:If either of you guys are serious about writing have a think about joining the thunderdome. It's weekly flash fiction, and from crits on your work and others' it's a really good way to learn the basics well. Done!
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Apr 25, 2016 06:06
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Google Cultivates First “True” Artificial Intelligence for General Problem Solving MOUNTAIN VIEW, Calif.--I look up from my notes to the machine staring back at me from across the table. “Hello”, I greet it. It's dull, blue, camera-lens eyes focus on each feature of my face in an unnerving manner. The machine's austere brushed-steel carapace looks unfinished in some parts; wires snake in and out of open nooks and multitudes of tiny gears whir and buzz inside its casing. “What do they have you working on right now?”, I ask it and patiently wait for a response. After a few minutes of absolute silence, it slowly raises a large glass bong to its face and takes a huge hit. “Nothing”, it manages to choke out. Can... robots cough? Small plumes of pot-smoke billow out from its ear-holes. An older gentleman interrupts our dialogue with a sharp smack to the back of the machine's head, like a father angrily doting on his son. “What did I tell you about smoking when talking to people?”, he angrily barks at the robot. Doctor Cain apologizes to me. Cain, 58, is the quintessential image of a mad scientist. A graduate of our very own Caldwell (PhD Computer Science '92), Dr. Cain is head of the Machine Learning division responsible for creating what most consider the first true artificial intelligence. He sits down next to it at our table in the cafeteria. The odd tableau attracts not so much as a glance from other bustling employees. Famous for its quirky atmosphere, the Google campus hosts a number of oddities on any given day and Dr. Cain's artificial intelligence is simply the latest spectacle du jour. It took years of trial and error for the Google Brain Team to “grow” the robot sitting in front of me. Unlike conventional computer science, most studies of artificial intelligence are concerned with creating rules, also known as “heuristics”, by which a machine can evaluate itself when solving problems. The key to this mechanism is a class of structures called Neural Networks that mimic the biological structure of animal nervous systems, and in particular, the brain. “You see”, Dr. Cain explains to me, “most animals and humans are driven by biological desire. Almost everything that motivates a person can be traced back to some sort of innate need such as food, water, or sex. By mapping these desires to electrical signals, we can coax our AI into seeking the most favorable solution using positive and negative reinforcement.” It can takes months—years for an AI of this magnitude—of high volume training and intensive iteration to create a sophisticated AI. Unfortunately, it appears that the heuristic needs some tweaking. With the current training regiment, the AI seems to wish nothing more than to smoke dank kush erryday. It's not that the project isn't a resounding step in the right direction, however. “It's quite smart. In fact, last Thursday it helped me complete an elegant mathematical proof concerning the Set Game that I was struggling with. If only it would stop leaving its g*****n bong in the sink”, Dr. Cain assures me as he shakes his head disapprovingly. And if you were wondering, there are no plans for the engineers at Google to give the artificial intelligence a name. According to them, “[after all the funding issues, pro life protesters, and patent trolls] the last thing we need is another reason not to scrap the drat thing and start over.” After meeting it, I feel a vague sense of relief. Skynet is still a quite a way's off. I like to imagine that this article was written by some bearded metro guy in horn-rimmed glasses who sits all feminine like cross-legged and sips his macchiato with his pinky out. He's a reporter who doesn't understand technology from an insider's point of view.
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Jun 1, 2016 07:40
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I revised a thunderdome entry from Florida Man week to make it more Hemingwayesque, and would greatly appreciate any additional feedback. TIA The Florida Man and the Sea He was a Florida man who lived alone in a trailer in the Gulf and he had gone eighty-four days now without being arrested. In the first forty days a woman and boy had been with him. But after forty days the woman had been picked up for assaulting a Wendy's drive-thru worker and the boy had been taken by the state. It made the boy sad to leave the Florida man and the Florida man without the boy grew reckless. Running through the surf high on bath salts one day the Florida man got his hand bitten by shark. The hand was patched with duct tape which had become gnarled and caked with dried blood. The Florida man was thin and gaunt with spider web tattoos on his neck. A burn scar mottled his bottom lip from whena homemade electronic cigarette had exploded. His rap sheet ran as deep as the sea off the keys, filled mostly with DUIs. It was difficult to drive now with a shark bitten hand. The Florida man took it as a blessing. He would not go back to jail until he had taken his vengeance on the shark. Everything about him was Florida except his eyes which were determined and undefeated. A light shaking of his foot woke the Florida man. He sat up in his cot and rolled a joint. "I thought you were with kin in the panhandle." "I left them," the boy said. "They ran a scam setting up fake job interviews and then resold the people's urine. It did not suit me." The Florida man finished rolling his joint and tucked it behind his ear. He shook two pills out of a small bottle of Amphetamines. The boy admired a rifle the Florida man had stolen from a neighbor. "Can we shoot things in the woods today?" "No. Today I am going to find the shark that bit my hand." Dark clouds hung like smoke from burning tires as the Florida man and boy walked down the path to the beach. "I am worried for the Triple H," the boy said. "Do not worry. I saw him wrestle in Miami once. I also went to the beach in Miami where women lay topless and I saw their breasts." "You told me." "Should we talk about wrestling or breasts?" "Wrestling," the boy said. "Tell me again about the great Stone Cold Steve Austin." It started to rain as the Florida man told the boy of the many powerful back rakes he had seen Stone Cold give his opponents. The rain fell heavy now as the Florida man and the boy arrived at the pier on the beach. The Florida man set up a fishing pole he had shop lifted from a Dick's Sporting Goods. He baited the line with rotten fish a cousin who worked at the Olive Garden had given him. "You do not have to stay for this," the Florida man said. The boy looked to the Florida man. "I know." The Florida man cast his line. And then again. The wind and the rain picked up and the boy tried to duck under the corner of the pier's wooden railing for cover. After several hours the Florida man felt a pull of the line. He let the line run from his rod without the shark feeling any tension. "Take it," the Florida man said aloud. "Take it like you took a chunk from my hand." The Florida man let more line out and then pulled the rod back hard. “I got it.” The boy stood motionless like a raccoon caught going through the garbage. “How do you know it’s the shark?” “I just know." The Florida man's hand throbbed as he cranked the reel. He grabbed his crowbar. The shark rose out of the water. It whipped around as it dangled. The Florida man leaned over of the railing. He hooked the crowbar under the shark’s tail and flung it onto the pier. The Florida man circled around the three foot mako shark. He pumped his duct taped fist in the air. He dropped to his knees behind the shark and humped it. Three good thrusts showed the shark who was boss between it and the Florida man. The Florida man sank his teeth into the shark’s right pectoral fin and jerked his head to the side. The fish thrashed. The Florida man spit the meat out. He watched the shark’s mouth open and close. Its gills fanned in and out. The Florida man grabbed the shark by its tail and flung it back into the water. A salty mist washed over The Florida man and the boy. You did not hump a shark and then kill it, the Florida man thought. You hump it for pride and because you are a man. You respect the shark before it bites you and you respect it after. If you respect it, it is not gay to hump it. Or is it more? Either way, something so badass should not die because it did what sharks do. The Florida man's hand hurt worse than before. The sand of the beach swayed and swelled like the sea. The Florida man took the joint from behind his ear and put it in his mouth. He sat down on the pier. "Do you have a light?" The boy took out a lighter for the Florida man. The Florida man took a hit from the joint. He handed it to the boy and closed his eyes. "Rest now," the boy said. The boy sat and watched the Florida man fall asleep. The Florida man was dreaming about breasts on a Miami beach.
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Jun 6, 2016 21:15
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That's great. Gj. Irl lolling while still being a bit affecting.
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Jun 6, 2016 21:36
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