"How do I words?" OR "The writing advice, critique, and discussion thread!"

[Namboto]

You may be wondering "What is the purpose of this thread? Why is it here?" Well, to put it simply, this is a place for writers to talk and help each other out. Whether you simply can't think of a name for a character or you find yourself hitting a block in your narrative, feel free to come here for help.

We already have a thread for music and art discussion, as well as one for the technical aspects of both, so why not have a thread for writing? After all, while there's plenty of great artists and musicians in the fandom, there's some spectacular writers as well. I'd like to give them a chance to advertise their personal projects too. It would also give a place for developing writers to learn more about their craft and get feedback on their writing.

If we want to get really deep, we could even discuss techniques and styles of writing, the advantages of certain perspectives, and maybe gush about our favorite writers from time to time.

Why did I make this thread? Mostly it's because I love to write, but would love to get feedback on my writing and didn't really have a place to do that. Sure I could make an individual "what do you think of this?" thread, but I figured that there were other people out there with the same sort of questions that I had, so why not make a thread for everyone?


So, to start things off, I'd like to get some feedback on something I'm writing. It's the first part of the first chapter, and I'd like to know if I should expand on it at all, and if so, on what.

[Nameless1]

First off, hell yes. I approve of this thread.

Concerning your writing: You might want to make it visible, it's hard to critique something you aren't allowed to see.

[Luxian]

This thread seems like just the thing I need

[Namboto]

First off, hell yes. I approve of this thread.

Concerning your writing: You might want to make it visible, it's hard to critique something you aren't allowed to see.

Herpaderp, fixed.

[Luxian]

I have a pending fanfiction (it may have questionable content so i have drillgorg checking it over)
And if he says its okay, then Ill put it up here

In the meantime have some cute:
Scalemate Playdate

show spoiler

hide spoiler

It was a rainy day in Alternia, and Vriska was visiting her good friend, Terezi. They were playing around with assorted scalemates that the young Libra had lying around her room. “I’m Vriska and I’m a huuuuuuuuge spider8itch 8luh 8luh pir8 cahoooooooots!” Terezi mocked, holding a blue scalemate and making it ‘walk’ around. “Give me thaaaaaaaat!” Vriska exclaimed, snatching the blue plush dragon out of Terezi’s hand before mocking her with her own dragon. “H3H3H3H3H3H3 I L1K3 R3D CH4LK.” bragged the teal scalemate made especially for this purpose. “You’re not too bad though. Like maybe you could be a cool pir8 or something.” The blue scalemate said after, scootching up to the teal one so their feet were touching.
“Yeah, maybe. I’d maybe give it a shot. But there’s a catch.” “What would that be?” “Only if I could be a pirate with you.” It seemed to be just between the scalemates, but a quick glance at Terezi told Vriska it was anything but another flarp. There was a light teal blush under the red glasses she always wore. “You’d try to be a pirate with me?” “I don’t see why not.” “But pirates do illegal things.” The blue dragon protested. “Maybe, just maybe, I could let it slide for one day.” “You would?” “I guess. I mean sure I’d hold a trial for everything you do, but I’d probably put it off for a bit so I could have fun.”
“Does this mean you think I’m fun?” The blue dragon plush asked, cocking its head to the side. “I guess I do, I uh-“Without any warning the teal dragon got cut off by the blue scalemate pressing their snouts together in a plushie kiss. Suddenly Terezi got a sudden whiff of blueberry really close. “What the hell-“ Like the teal plush, the young Libra troll was being cut off by a unexpected kiss. Terezi froze, then after realizing what was happening, smiled and retuned the kiss just as tender as it was being given to her.
“Mmm what was that for?”
Vriska smiled. “Being the best pirate.”

[Quirk]

@ Namboto

First off, this thread pleases me.

Secondly: BAM! That's how you do a stinger. I have no idea why, but I really like the solid-black eyes motif. Probably because I'm a Gorillaz fan.

[Nameless1]

Right then, to business.

You need to indent paragraph and dialogue, but that's just a quick formatting error.

Dialogue: For the most part it's good, there are times when your wordiness becomes a little awkward i.e “Maybe you should take some of the bread I made yesterday over too.” Now I'm probably just being nitpicky but you don't really need "yesterday" in there, it's not a very important detail and when removed it makes the sentence a lot smoother. Other than that, try to give dialogue a little more...form. At the moment it sounds like Zane's saying whatever pops into his head the moment it comes to him, it's very erratic.


General writing (picky nitpickings):
I walked down the street at a brisk pace, wondering what this new family would be like. We’d had several other arrivals this summer; the cost of houses in this area had dropped quite a bit recently, and several new firms had opened up in town.

I got a funny feeling as I looked at the shorter of the two, a kid about my age with blond hair, a white shirt, and faded blue jeans. It was almost as if I knew him already, like I was meeting an old friend. Or an old enemy. I shook the thoughts out of my head as I approached and put on my best smile.


This section really needs something in the middle to connect it, you go from discussing house prices to staring at people. (in fact, I'd dump the house prices comment all together, it really doesn't add anything to the story). Also, you have him "wondering what this new family would be like" with that comment I'd expect him to do something like speculate on the nature of the new arrivals, not talk about houses.


It's a good start, but it needs some work. A tool I've found useful when looking over my work is to read it aloud, if it sounds strange or I'm confused by it, I know it needs editing. Best of luck to you in future wordsmithing endeavors!

[Luxian]

Could I ask for crit on mine too?

[Namboto]

@ Namboto

First off, this thread pleases me.

Secondly: BAM! That's how you do a stinger. I have no idea why, but I really like the solid-black eyes motif. Probably because I'm a Gorillaz fan.

Thanks

Also this proves that this was a good idea; Zane's eyes are solid-black (think of how other "normal" people would react to that), rather his irises are black and appear indistinguishable from his pupils. I guess I should clarify that so people don't think that he's got 8-ball fractures in both eyes.

Right then, to business.

You need to indent paragraph and dialogue, but that's just a quick formatting error.

Dialogue: For the most part it's good, there are times when your wordiness becomes a little awkward i.e “Maybe you should take some of the bread I made yesterday over too.” Now I'm probably just being nitpicky but you don't really need "yesterday" in there, it's not a very important detail and when removed it makes the sentence a lot smoother. Other than that, try to give dialogue a little more...form. At the moment it sounds like Zane's saying whatever pops into his head the moment it comes to him, it's very erratic.

Yeah, I could tell that some of the dialogue was awkward; I'll go through it later and try to make things more natural. Also formatting is the bane of my existence, as it's so inconsistent from book to book.

General writing (picky nitpickings):
I walked down the street at a brisk pace, wondering what this new family would be like. We’d had several other arrivals this summer; the cost of houses in this area had dropped quite a bit recently, and several new firms had opened up in town.

I got a funny feeling as I looked at the shorter of the two, a kid about my age with blond hair, a white shirt, and faded blue jeans. It was almost as if I knew him already, like I was meeting an old friend. Or an old enemy. I shook the thoughts out of my head as I approached and put on my best smile.


This section really needs something in the middle to connect it, you go from discussing house prices to staring at people. (in fact, I'd dump the house prices comment all together, it really doesn't add anything to the story). Also, you have him "wondering what this new family would be like" with that comment I'd expect him to do something like speculate on the nature of the new arrivals, not talk about houses.

His comment has a bit more to it than just random musings; there are six "main" characters in the story, and most of them are moving into new houses for a variety of reasons. I'll leave the comment in, but I should probably connect it better.

It's a good start, but it needs some work. A tool I've found useful when looking over my work is to read it aloud, if it sounds strange or I'm confused by it, I know it needs editing. Best of luck to you in future wordsmithing endeavors!

Thanks, and I do that as well, just not as consistently as I should.

[Quirk]

Could I ask for crit on mine too?

I'm going to be very honest: I was creeped out. Now, 95% of shipping-relating works creep me out in general, but nonetheless, it was creepy. And not in the good way.

Also your formatting was not good. Copy/pasting from Word to the forum messes everything up, so make sure to take time to edit in some spacing and line breaks.

[Nameless1]

Could I ask for crit on mine too?

Well, I'm not all that good at fanfic critique (odd as that may sound) but I'll give it a shot

First off, lines of dialogue are double spaced:

Example

And then something happened someone did something.

"WORDS" He said.

"My words are better than your words!" Said another.

That is the WORST dialogue I have ever written, but you see what I mean with the formatting?

---

Nitpicking gogogo:

“What would that be?” “Only if I could be a pirate with you.”

The last line is really strangely worded in context. "I get to be a pirate with you" or something would make more sense as a response.

---

"But there’s a catch."

Never start a sentence with "but". If you do, you are sentencing wrong.

---

Lastly, you may want to practice placement of commas, the way you use some of them causes there to be pauses in places where pauses don't belong.


Gah, I'm sorry if that was really shitty but I have real trouble critiquing fanfics for some reason. They're just so different from what I'm used to. Hope I could be of SOME help at least.

[Obselescence]

I like to write too, sometimes. But I usually suffer from some sort of crippling anxiety that tells me "I am writing total garbage" and either saps my motivation to continue, or encourages me to make a lot of modifications that may or may not make things worse. I am trying to ease myself into writing something again by writing fanfiction, but I'm suffering from similar problems with that too.

Bllluuuuuh self-confidence.

[Quirk]

I like to write too, sometimes. But I usually suffer from some sort of crippling anxiety that tells me "I am writing total garbage" and either saps my motivation to continue, or encourages me to make a lot of modifications that may or may not make things worse. I am trying to ease myself into writing something again by writing fanfiction, but I'm suffering from similar problems with that too.

Bllluuuuuh self-confidence.

Do I need to break out the encouraging speeches? Because heaven help me I will start quoting Gurren Lagann. I will quote Gurren Lagann right now if the situation calls for it.

[kholhaus]

OH MY GOD.

This thread

I have waited so long

Alright I'll be right back with an edit to this post; need to find a story I posted a while back.

Edit:
HERE IT IS! I wrote it a while ago, back in the summer, and I can already see some glaring flaws, but I need your guys' opinion.

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Two figures, punctuated by moonlight enter a doomed construction area, condemned even before completion. The once rumbling, smoke-spitting machines that worked on this site now sit silent, unmanned, in the dark recesses of the building. The pair of men tread carefully through the thick darkness, wading as if the very ground would swallow them whole. An audible ‘thunk’ was heard as the heavy door behind them closed. A metallic clatter echoed throughout the building. One of them bolted upright in surprise.

“Keep it quiet! You know how tight patrols are this time of night!”

The taller of the two rested uneasily on a pile of wood, sighing. “I don’t understand why we keep doing this, comrade.”

“Because this is the only way we can talk.”

The shorter one went silent and there was a rustling noise. After a few clicks, a light crept across the floor from an electric lamp, illuminating their faces.

“And don’t call me ‘comrade’. You know how much I hate that word!”

“But Toren, it is the law.”

He sighed. “We’ve been over this Erik, besides, breaking into this warehouse is just as illegal, and you didn’t seem too eager to stop me.”

There was a silence.

Erik broke the quiet. “The monthly drafting is taking place tomorrow, Tor.”

More silence.

Toren shifted uneasily. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. We might not see each other if one of us is selected.”

“I know,” he said. “But if either one of us gets drafted, at least we can do our country good.”

“I hate this war. It’s stupid, and we’ve been going at it with Lux’s forces for decades. When d’you think it’ll all end, anyway?”

“That’s dangerous thinking, the Chairmen would have your head, Tor.”

“That may be true, but that doesn’t answer my question, Erik.”

“Well I don’t know. The War General keeps reporting it goes one way, and then another. We’re at a complete stalemate.”

“Why can’t we just end it right now? Just stop fighting?”

“The people of Lux wouldn’t allow it. They’re bloodthirsty savages! Honestly, the Chairmen remind us so many times it’s hard to believe you forget that.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m too simple to understand these things…” Toren took a swig of a bottle.

“Drink?” He offered.

“No, I want to stay clean for tomorrow, ‘case I’m selected.”

Toren tucked it in his pocket.
“You know, I just wish this would end.”

“It will. Soon.”

Before Toren could ask when, there was a rustling outside.
Moments before the door opened, the light was out and they were both gone.

They say the knock is a symbol of pride, the day you turn into a hero. For some, who would never admit it in public, where lent ears could hear; it was the day a grave was reserved. The War was cruel, and nearly no one ever returned, and when they did, they were terribly injured and mentally insane. The afflicted screamed about nonsense, and some were even accused as spies, and then executed. This month, the knock came to Toren.

When it came, Toren nearly choked on his food, letting out a gargled cry. He staggered from the chair and opened the door with some difficulty. “Please, Sir.” He coughed. “Just let me get dressed.” The Drafting Officer was massive, gaunt. The officer sniffed. Even to the other dormitories, his dorm was exceptionally untidy. There were four walls, a bed, and a fridge with a closet doubling as a restroom. This, as the Chairmen say, is the height of luxury.

Outside, Toren could see that they were all being paraded down the street, as was the situation every month for the past 30 years. The Spire was perched atop the clouds as always on a glistening chrome needle. The streets were usually crowded and loud, but on this day everyone was solemn, excluding the whoops and cheers of the fanatics. It would be no different if the town were completely empty, except for the eyes. The eyes of the people watching were pitying and sorrowful. They wore fake facades of smiles of pride, and fanatics of the Chairmen were waving flags and throwing streamers. This continued all the way until they reached a stone building, which looked pristine compared to the dirty brick housing projects for civilians. The inside was polished marble. Toren had never seen such a clean place, it seemed so surreal. Inside the compound, he was sent to a remote location blindfolded, as were the others, by helicopter to begin his orientation.

The first few weeks were hard times. The dorms were even less accommodating than the ones back home, the air was thick with dust and the earth was ugly, hard-packed dirt.
The sergeants were harsh and shrill, screaming orders and rules. It was a terrifying experience. Toren had noticed however, that others that entered the building weren’t here. When he asked, the commanding officer yelled at him to not speak out of line.
The Rules of Combat were simple enough; Kill enemies on sight, Wear your gasmask always, and above all, win the war. Everyone but the officers wore gasmasks. Heads-up Displays within the visors indicated friendly targets, and enemies. If you saw an enemy, you were to shoot. It was just that simple. Aim, shoot, kill. Toren was surprised to find he was very proficient at various tasks, but could never quite master the standardized rifles that were common. Just when he had finally conquered the subtleties of the gun, they were sent to war.

Hours were spent in the darkness on the way to the front lines; three other soldiers were crowded together with him on the small craft. The smell of sweat filling the air, filtered through the masks, giving the smell of wet paint. He examined their faces through the lenses to find that each one of them was terrified, or a blank slate, trying to shut out the reality of the situation. Toren felt that so much had happened recently, yet so little had changed. We were at war, and that was going to stay that way for a long, long time. Erik was wrong, wherever he was. Suddenly, the copter swerved, causing the two men across from Toren to be flung to the floor. A voice crackled over the speakers. “Strap yourselves in! We’re under fire!” Toren grabbed at the cord, sliding around as the copter went careening left and right. He finally secured the cord around his waist as the door to the copter swung open, flailing on its hinges. One other was buckled in, and the others slid out the gaping door. Within a split second, the two soldiers across from them were gone. And they were still swaying. The copter went into a spin, and the world exploded in a curtain of red.

Toren was awoken by the muffled cries of soldiers and gunfire. He rolled over, clutching his head which was pounding with the explosion of impact. He forced open his eyes just in time to see the pilot recoil backward onto the sand, still clutching his gun. Another soldier trudged into view, the gasmask started blaring with red dots and alarms, registering this one as an enemy. Toren’s heart stopped. He kept deathly silent as the predator bent down to the body and kicked it, checking for life. Then it swung its masked face towards him. Toren’s display was screeching at him to shoot, but his weapon was gone. The soldier continued forward and raised his sights. He was taking aim. Toren had to act. He grasped a large rock and tossed it at the man, and it hit him slightly off-center. It caught him off guard and he yelped in pain, clutching his face. The soldier fell backward and landed with a crunch, going limp.

A sudden relief washed through Toren, but the visor warned that he was not yet dead, just unconscious. He got up and limped toward the man, now sprawled out over the ground. He took his weapon and took aim. Somehow, it just didn’t seem right to him, killing a defenseless person, even if they were the enemy. He started noticing that the suit that he was wearing was very similar to his own, that the mask was identical. His curiosity got the better of him, something just didn’t feel settled. He’d never seen a Luxite soldier. Something burned inside of him. He couldn’t just leave this body, this opportunity to see the enemy for what they really were. He took off the mask.

It was Erik.

A feeling of dread and heaviness befell him. His vision blurred. The scent of burning oil and dust came to his nose, stinging his eyes. The landscape seemed stark and unreal, flat desert stretching for miles. The sun beat down, creating an unbearable heat. He couldn’t bring himself to bear the vision before him. This couldn’t be Erik; it could just be a look-alike that is very similar to him. Yet, he knew this was pointless reasoning. The signs were there; the sweaty complexion, the creased, worried forehead and the sunken eyes. The man standing before him was without a doubt, his friend. The initial shock lessened. He could start to see a motorized cart in the distance kicking up dust. They were coming to inspect the damage. They were registered as friendly.

His mind started to come back to him. His orders rang in his ears, pounded in by weeks of harsh scheduled training. “Aim, Shoot, Kill.” He whispered to himself. They would kill him, without hesitation, without prejudice. The reason why, was starting to trickle into his mind. He had been friends with Erik since they were children. There was no way he was a traitor. He was more loyal than even he was. Yet, he was marked as a Luxite. Thoughts started creeping into his head; dangerous thoughts. His whole life he had believed, even placed his trust in the hands of the Chairmen, and they had lied.

The car arrived, and he released his clenched fists, his hands prickling with blood flow. He turned around, he couldn’t bear this. He buried his head in his hands.

“Hey, comrade!”
He buried his head even further, a shiver going down his spine.

“You’re lucky you survived! I see you managed to bag yourself an enemy!”

BANG.

“You’re really going to get a medal for this comrade, I can tell!”

[Namboto]

"But there’s a catch."

Never start a sentence with "but". If you do, you are sentencing wrong.

I'd like to contest the "never". Most of the time, no, it's not a good way to start a sentence. However, dialogue follows a different set of rules than narration or formal writing, and there are places where it is appropriate to start a sentence with "but".

One of the biggest rules of writing is that is that the rules of writing are not to be taken as absolutes. In fact, many great authors are great because they broke those rules of writing in creative and enjoyable ways.

As for the sentence, it works best as an interruption or sudden declaration, and needs to be phrased as such.

"But," said Vriska with a toothy grin "there's a catch."

---

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Two figures, punctuated by moonlight enter a doomed construction area, condemned even before completion. The once rumbling, smoke-spitting machines that worked on this site now sit silent, unmanned, in the dark recesses of the building. The pair of men tread carefully through the thick darkness, wading as if the very ground would swallow them whole. An audible ‘thunk’ was heard as the heavy door behind them closed. A metallic clatter echoed throughout the building. One of them bolted upright in surprise.

“Keep it quiet! You know how tight patrols are this time of night!”

The taller of the two rested uneasily on a pile of wood, sighing. “I don’t understand why we keep doing this, comrade.”

“Because this is the only way we can talk.”

The shorter one went silent and there was a rustling noise. After a few clicks, a light crept across the floor from an electric lamp, illuminating their faces.

“And don’t call me ‘comrade’. You know how much I hate that word!”

“But Toren, it is the law.”

He sighed. “We’ve been over this Erik, besides, breaking into this warehouse is just as illegal, and you didn’t seem too eager to stop me.”

There was a silence.

Erik broke the quiet. “The monthly drafting is taking place tomorrow, Tor.”

More silence.

Toren shifted uneasily. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. We might not see each other if one of us is selected.”

“I know,” he said. “But if either one of us gets drafted, at least we can do our country good.”

“I hate this war. It’s stupid, and we’ve been going at it with Lux’s forces for decades. When d’you think it’ll all end, anyway?”

“That’s dangerous thinking, the Chairmen would have your head, Tor.”

“That may be true, but that doesn’t answer my question, Erik.”

“Well I don’t know. The War General keeps reporting it goes one way, and then another. We’re at a complete stalemate.”

“Why can’t we just end it right now? Just stop fighting?”

“The people of Lux wouldn’t allow it. They’re bloodthirsty savages! Honestly, the Chairmen remind us so many times it’s hard to believe you forget that.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m too simple to understand these things…” Toren took a swig of a bottle.

“Drink?” He offered.

“No, I want to stay clean for tomorrow, ‘case I’m selected.”

Toren tucked it in his pocket.
“You know, I just wish this would end.”

“It will. Soon.”

Before Toren could ask when, there was a rustling outside.
Moments before the door opened, the light was out and they were both gone.

They say the knock is a symbol of pride, the day you turn into a hero. For some, who would never admit it in public, where lent ears could hear; it was the day a grave was reserved. The War was cruel, and nearly no one ever returned, and when they did, they were terribly injured and mentally insane. The afflicted screamed about nonsense, and some were even accused as spies, and then executed. This month, the knock came to Toren.

When it came, Toren nearly choked on his food, letting out a gargled cry. He staggered from the chair and opened the door with some difficulty. “Please, Sir.” He coughed. “Just let me get dressed.” The Drafting Officer was massive, gaunt. The officer sniffed. Even to the other dormitories, his dorm was exceptionally untidy. There were four walls, a bed, and a fridge with a closet doubling as a restroom. This, as the Chairmen say, is the height of luxury.

Outside, Toren could see that they were all being paraded down the street, as was the situation every month for the past 30 years. The Spire was perched atop the clouds as always on a glistening chrome needle. The streets were usually crowded and loud, but on this day everyone was solemn, excluding the whoops and cheers of the fanatics. It would be no different if the town were completely empty, except for the eyes. The eyes of the people watching were pitying and sorrowful. They wore fake facades of smiles of pride, and fanatics of the Chairmen were waving flags and throwing streamers. This continued all the way until they reached a stone building, which looked pristine compared to the dirty brick housing projects for civilians. The inside was polished marble. Toren had never seen such a clean place, it seemed so surreal. Inside the compound, he was sent to a remote location blindfolded, as were the others, by helicopter to begin his orientation.

The first few weeks were hard times. The dorms were even less accommodating than the ones back home, the air was thick with dust and the earth was ugly, hard-packed dirt.
The sergeants were harsh and shrill, screaming orders and rules. It was a terrifying experience. Toren had noticed however, that others that entered the building weren’t here. When he asked, the commanding officer yelled at him to not speak out of line.
The Rules of Combat were simple enough; Kill enemies on sight, Wear your gasmask always, and above all, win the war. Everyone but the officers wore gasmasks. Heads-up Displays within the visors indicated friendly targets, and enemies. If you saw an enemy, you were to shoot. It was just that simple. Aim, shoot, kill. Toren was surprised to find he was very proficient at various tasks, but could never quite master the standardized rifles that were common. Just when he had finally conquered the subtleties of the gun, they were sent to war.

Hours were spent in the darkness on the way to the front lines; three other soldiers were crowded together with him on the small craft. The smell of sweat filling the air, filtered through the masks, giving the smell of wet paint. He examined their faces through the lenses to find that each one of them was terrified, or a blank slate, trying to shut out the reality of the situation. Toren felt that so much had happened recently, yet so little had changed. We were at war, and that was going to stay that way for a long, long time. Erik was wrong, wherever he was. Suddenly, the copter swerved, causing the two men across from Toren to be flung to the floor. A voice crackled over the speakers. “Strap yourselves in! We’re under fire!” Toren grabbed at the cord, sliding around as the copter went careening left and right. He finally secured the cord around his waist as the door to the copter swung open, flailing on its hinges. One other was buckled in, and the others slid out the gaping door. Within a split second, the two soldiers across from them were gone. And they were still swaying. The copter went into a spin, and the world exploded in a curtain of red.

Toren was awoken by the muffled cries of soldiers and gunfire. He rolled over, clutching his head which was pounding with the explosion of impact. He forced open his eyes just in time to see the pilot recoil backward onto the sand, still clutching his gun. Another soldier trudged into view, the gasmask started blaring with red dots and alarms, registering this one as an enemy. Toren’s heart stopped. He kept deathly silent as the predator bent down to the body and kicked it, checking for life. Then it swung its masked face towards him. Toren’s display was screeching at him to shoot, but his weapon was gone. The soldier continued forward and raised his sights. He was taking aim. Toren had to act. He grasped a large rock and tossed it at the man, and it hit him slightly off-center. It caught him off guard and he yelped in pain, clutching his face. The soldier fell backward and landed with a crunch, going limp.

A sudden relief washed through Toren, but the visor warned that he was not yet dead, just unconscious. He got up and limped toward the man, now sprawled out over the ground. He took his weapon and took aim. Somehow, it just didn’t seem right to him, killing a defenseless person, even if they were the enemy. He started noticing that the suit that he was wearing was very similar to his own, that the mask was identical. His curiosity got the better of him, something just didn’t feel settled. He’d never seen a Luxite soldier. Something burned inside of him. He couldn’t just leave this body, this opportunity to see the enemy for what they really were. He took off the mask.

It was Erik.

A feeling of dread and heaviness befell him. His vision blurred. The scent of burning oil and dust came to his nose, stinging his eyes. The landscape seemed stark and unreal, flat desert stretching for miles. The sun beat down, creating an unbearable heat. He couldn’t bring himself to bear the vision before him. This couldn’t be Erik; it could just be a look-alike that is very similar to him. Yet, he knew this was pointless reasoning. The signs were there; the sweaty complexion, the creased, worried forehead and the sunken eyes. The man standing before him was without a doubt, his friend. The initial shock lessened. He could start to see a motorized cart in the distance kicking up dust. They were coming to inspect the damage. They were registered as friendly.

His mind started to come back to him. His orders rang in his ears, pounded in by weeks of harsh scheduled training. “Aim, Shoot, Kill.” He whispered to himself. They would kill him, without hesitation, without prejudice. The reason why, was starting to trickle into his mind. He had been friends with Erik since they were children. There was no way he was a traitor. He was more loyal than even he was. Yet, he was marked as a Luxite. Thoughts started creeping into his head; dangerous thoughts. His whole life he had believed, even placed his trust in the hands of the Chairmen, and they had lied.

The car arrived, and he released his clenched fists, his hands prickling with blood flow. He turned around, he couldn’t bear this. He buried his head in his hands.

“Hey, comrade!”
He buried his head even further, a shiver going down his spine.

“You’re lucky you survived! I see you managed to bag yourself an enemy!”

BANG.

“You’re really going to get a medal for this comrade, I can tell!”

I'll do a full rundown later, but right now I just want to say that this could (and perhaps should) be so much longer. If you keep the pacing from the opening scene and apply it where necessary, you'd get a whole lot more. Go into detail when it comes to "the first few weeks" of training, give us the day to day of the soldier's life. I understand that it's a short story, but it has the potential to be a novelette at least. (A really good novelette.)

Besides, a bit more length would make the twist much more dramatic.

[kholhaus]

I'll do a full rundown later, but right now I just want to say that this could (and perhaps should) be so much longer. If you keep the pacing from the opening scene and apply it where necessary, you'd get a whole lot more. Go into detail when it comes to "the first few weeks" of training, give us the day to day of the soldier's life. I understand that it's a short story, but it has the potential to be a novelette at least. (A really good novelette.)

Besides, a bit more length would make the twist much more dramatic.

The funny thing is, this was for short story writing.

So I had to work with the small space I was assigned. In the end, I wrote a beginning for a MUCH longer story than what was intended, and I DO mean to make it much longer, maybe even Novella length.

[98714123340]

Alright I might as well have a go.

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Wind it can be very comforting. The breeze gently pushing against you almost playfully if you think about it. However when you add a lot of sand to the mix, you might as well be walking into a room full of angry cats! At least I have some decent protection from the weather, it should get myself to the next outpost if water and rations hold up. Of course the same could be said in any situation. Not the angry cats, though I haven't seen many cats these days, I meant the water and rations. Why does it always feel like there is never enough? Oh right because there isn't enough, which is why I am heading to the outpost in the first place.

[Namboto]

Alright I might as well have a go.

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Wind it can be very comforting. The breeze gently pushing against you almost playfully if you think about it. However when you add a lot of sand to the mix, you might as well be walking into a room full of angry cats! At least I have some decent protection from the weather, it should get myself to the next outpost if water and rations hold up. Of course the same could be said in any situation. Not the angry cats, though I haven't seen many cats these days, I meant the water and rations. Why does it always feel like there is never enough? Oh right because there isn't enough, which is why I am heading to the outpost in the first place.

You'll probably want to change that first sentence to "Wind can be very comforting" or "Wind. It can..."

Also, SoC works only if you can keep it up. I recommend reading "Mrs. Dalloway" for a look at what constitutes a "good" stream of consciousness work.

[Luxian]

So mine is mostly formatting and comma complaints? got it. :P

[Quirk]

Welp. This is something I just spat out a few months ago for kicks and giggles.

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“Wait…wait a second. Is that a pony on your shirt?”

“Uh, yeah.” Ivan shuffled his feet.

Lucas scowled. The ellipsis hung in the frosty air.

“Really, man? Really?”

“I have a five year old niece, you know that.”

“I also know that she lives out of state. Come on, own up.”

“I really don’t see what I have to own up to.”

“Spit it out.”

Ivan sighed, holding his hands up in defeat.

“Fine. I watched one episode while visiting for Thanksgiving last year.”

“And?”

“And then I watched the rest of it. It’s not nearly as bad as you …”

Lucas held up a hand, chuckling in that sad way bereft of humor.

“Hold on. Just hold on a bit. I’m trying to process the fact that my best friend, who I have known since kindergarten, who is the manliest fucking man I know, watches a cartoon for little girls.”

Ivan shrugged.

“What can be said? Is true.” He laid the fake accent on thick, as he usually did when trying to lend some humor to the situation. “In Soviet Russia, ponies watch you. Is the way of things.”

“That justifies nothing.”

“Is there anything wrong with a bit of friendship?”

“When communicated through the medium of cartoon ponies, yes.”

‘Well then,” Ivan placed his right hand over his heart and raised his left. “I hereby swear, upon our friendship, and by the 2005 Summer of Injuries, and by the Kamenev-Cawlin Double Date Special Package and all the women wooed by it, that the aforementioned perusal of ponies, examination of equines, following of foals, and cataloging of colts is completely innocent, based upon the love of friendship and excellently written characters, and bears no connection to the dark corners of the internet that I despise above all else.”

Lucas nodded slowly.

“Okay. You made your case. I’ll buy it, for now. But you know I’m going to sneak into your computer when you’re not looking.”

“There’d be something wrong with you if you didn’t. Help yourself to anything in the music folder.”

“Thank y’kindly.” Lucas shivered. “Ah, come on,” He punched Ivan in the forearm as was custom. “Let’s get out of this fucking cold.”

The camera pulls out and there is a glimpse to two remarkable human beings.

The first: Ivan Kamenev IV, son of the son of the son of an immigrant. 19. Majoring in psychology, minor in history. Five-foot-nine, one hundred and seventy pounds. Brown hair grown out, plus goatee, brown eyes. Currently wearing a grey jacket and worn jeans.

The second: Lucas Cawlin, all-American mutt. 20. Trade school, set to take over the family mechanic shop. Six-foot-four, thin as a twig. Shaved head, grey eyes. Black sweatpants, blue parka, scarf and hat.

The entity known by most and Ivan-and-Lucas, or Lucas-and-Ivan, depending on personal preference, began nearly thirteen years ago in Ms. Browning’s kindergarten class. The two components of said amalgam were both intently interested in the impossibly cool (to a child of the nineties) red Power Ranger action figure. Lucas threw the punch, there were tears involved, a retaliatory punch thrown in there, and by the end of the week the entity of Ivan-and-Lucas/Lucas-and-Ivan was created. They were, by their own admission even, the closest to gay two guys could be while both being straight as two-by-fours. The misidentification had been made many times throughout high school, to which Lucas-and-Ivan/Ivan-and-Lucas would gently explain that the claim of homosexual disposition was complete and utter horseshit.

The camera pulls back in. The coffee shop they step into is warm and cozy, the air thick with the smell of ground beans and cinnamon. The order is made: one coffee (black, one sugar), and a hot apple cider (caramel and whipped cream) and two muffins (banana nut and blueberry.)

They took up the usual spot, the table next to the window. It was far warmer on this side of the glass.

“So then. How the fuck are you? They have snow down there yet?” Lucas said around a mouthful of muffin.

“No, not yet.”

“Yeah, never seen it stay warm this long. Shit’s gonna hit hard when it does, mark my words.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

The conversation went on, discussions of school and girls, and adventures and failures, all the things friends catch up on when the time is right for catching up. Life went on around them, and it didn’t matter.

“You wanna head over to my place? Paycheck just came in, got some new games.”

“Yeah. It’s Christmas break, it's not like I have anything to do.”

Lucas’ car was parked behind the coffee shop. It was an older sedan, bright red, with three bumper stickers on the back bumped: “I punch whales”, “Nobody cares about your honor student”, and “Cthulhu 2008”. The car beeped twice as Lucas unlocked it.

Ivan threw the gigantic book of baseball stats that had been taking up legroom in the backseat as Lucas inserted the keys. The car coughed to life. Led Zepplin resumed blasting from the speakers. The interior was, as always, that sort of chaotic mess where every single thing is exactly where it should be: food wrappers, random scraps of paper, used tissues, various CDs, and a whole other assortment of garbage.

Just like it always was. It was good to be home.

--

Thumpthumpthump

Ivan lifted himself from his pillow. Three-twenty-six glared at him in bright red.

No. Fuck no. It’s just the house. Houses do that. His eyelids slammed shut like lead curtains. The sheets were warm, and the darkness was calling. He drifted back to sleep.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump

It was from the window. Something banging on the window. Ivan’s mind went off like a double-barreled shotgun.

Thought 1: Oh shit.

Thought 2: OHSHIT.

As quiet and slow as he could, Ivan unplugged the lamp from the nightstand.

Thumpthumpthump

He crept over to the window, lamp clutched in his hand. Staying close to the wall, he peered out the window.

He was greeted by Lucas’ worried face peering through his window. He was wearing nothing but his undershirt and boxers, and was covered in blood. He was also carrying a double-wrapped plastic grocery bag, contents unknown, but the thing Ivan’s brain jumped to was the fact that he was worried. This was not a good thing.

Ivan set the lamp down and opened the window.

“What the fuck?” He hissed.

“Look, can I come in?”

Ivan blinked.

“What?”

“Can I come in?” Lucas was a bit more insistent.

Ivan hesitated. Perhaps he wasn’t completely in his right mind, but he waved for Lucas to enter.

“Be quiet about it at least. My parents are upstairs.”

Ivan plugged his lamp back in and turned it on. He jammed his eyes shut to protect against the prying light. Lucas dropped his bag in first, climbed through the window, and quietly shut it behind him.

Blinking to adjust, Ivan got an actual good look at Lucas’s state. He was on edge, making nervous sweeps of the room and peering out the window every few seconds. Most of his upper body was splattered with a crust of dried blood. Whatever was in the bag was about the size of a soccer ball, and was accompanied by a long, thin object: Lucas’ sword, the one he had bought off the internet sophomore year.

“Lucas what the fuck is going on?”

Lucas laughed in response.

“No seriously what the fuck is going on.” The words were strained: this was meant to be shouted, not whispered.

“I’m okay, man. For now at least. This ain’t my blood. Got something to show you.” Lucas crouched down and reached for the bag. He took the sword out first, set it on the floor. Then he reached into the bag and pulled out a severed head.

It wasn’t human, that much was obvious. The face was too long, almost but not quite snout-like, the teeth were more like tusks, and the eyes were too big, with pupils the wrong shape. The stringy black hair was matted and greasy. The head too was covered in dried blood.

“One hundred percent genuine troll,” Lucas said, holding up the head for inspection. “They're getting smarter. Bastard nearly got me this time.”

Ivan really had no idea what to think now. That was definitely a head right there, a real physical head, and not a real physical prank severed troll head. Was that what a troll looked like? It seemed to fit, he supposed. That was one question answered, but it still left…

Yes, he probably was going insane.

“Lucas, I am two seconds from calling every police officer in this half of the state if you do not tell me what the fuck is going on right now.”

Lucas put the head back in the bag and sat down on the floor cross-legged.

“Okay, you know internet trolls? That was one of them.”

“No, internet trolls are twelve year olds who scream a lot.”

“That’s what they want you to think.” Lucas held up a finger, his sign for a teachable moment.

Yes, the ending is abrupt.

[Nameless1]

Ok,

First off.
"Lucas scowled. The ellipsis hung in the frosty air." I absolutely love this, it gives your prose a real cartoony feel while still keeping it in traditional prose.

---

“Really, man? Really?”

“I have a five year old niece, you know that.”

“I also know that she lives out of state. Come on, own up.”

“I really don’t see what I have to own up to.”

“Spit it out.”

The dialogue is pretty good for the most part, it goes too quickly though (IMO), for instance "Spit it out." seems like it would be more appropriate after some buildup, like "Come on man, just spit it out", it just needs to go a bit slower. Right now Lucas is coming off as aggressive (again, IMO)

---

“Fine. I watched one episode while visiting for Thanksgiving last year.”

Try to add a little more detail. Who was he visiting? Was it his niece, his lover, the electrician? It may not be an important detail, but it sounds more natural.

---

"But you know I’m going to sneak into your computer when you’re not looking.”

As was said to Luxian with an amendment from Namboto, there are one or two times when it's acceptable to start a sentence with "but", this is not one of them.

---

"The camera pulls out and there is a glimpse to two remarkable human beings."

Ok, I really like what your doing with the subtle implications that the reader is a physical observer in your story, but this needs re-writing.

---

"The first: Ivan Kamenev IV, son of the son of the son of an immigrant. 19. Majoring in psychology, minor in history. Five-foot-nine, one hundred and seventy pounds. Brown hair grown out, plus goatee, brown eyes. Currently wearing a grey jacket and worn jeans.

The second: Lucas Cawlin, all-American mutt. 20. Trade school, set to take over the family mechanic shop. Six-foot-four, thin as a twig. Shaved head, grey eyes. Black sweatpants, blue parka, scarf and hat."

Technically all of those periods would be commas, but to me that's more a style choice than anything else.

---

"The entity known by most and Ivan-and-Lucas"

Pretty sure that "and" is supposed to be an "as"

---

“So then. How the fuck are you? They have snow down there yet?” Lucas said around a mouthful of muffin.

"Lucas asked"

---

", and"

There are times when this is acceptable, most of the time the way you use them is NOT. Generaly lists and shit work like this: "In the bag he packed thing, other thing and more thing."

---

Ivan threw the gigantic book of baseball stats that had been taking up legroom in the backseat as Lucas inserted the keys. The car coughed to life. Led Zepplin resumed blasting from the speakers. The interior was, as always, that sort of chaotic mess where every single thing is exactly where it should be: food wrappers, random scraps of paper, used tissues, various CDs, and a whole other assortment of garbage.

I get what your trying to do with your descriptions, but this sounds really awkward.

---

"Three-twenty-six"

I'd go with "3:26" personally, at least when dealing with time anyways.


The same thing about awkward sentence structure and wording applies throughout the rest of your story (haha yeah that's BS, I'm sorry but I honestly don't want to nitpick anymore, not because of your story, I'm just to lazy to go on)

[Namboto]

", and"

There are times when this is acceptable, most of the time the way you use them is NOT. Generaly lists and shit work like this: "In the bag he packed thing, other thing and more thing."

Eh, I like the oxford comma. At worst it adds one more character to a sentence, at best it makes things less ambiguous. Sure you could only use it in those situations where it would otherwise be ambiguous, but then that makes things inconsistant. (An example of one of those cases would be "I'd like to thank my parents, the president and my fourth grade teacher." Without the oxford comma, it almost looks like he's saying that his parents are the president and his fourth grade teacher.)

Also, I really liked that Quirk. It felt like "John Dies At The End" mixed with a bit of Pratchett.

[Milksweet]

First person.

/thread


Alright, yeah, there are lots of things that I enjoy greatly about first person. It lets me picture the world I create with a vision that is personal. I can never NOT value that. I find it easier to focus on the details I wish the reader to notice like that, by positioning myself where I want the reader to be. I've known people that don't like it, but I find it TOO useful. Not that I have not tried other methods, like monologue. I really enjoyed writing that one. But...FIRST PERSON MAN. FIRST. PERSON.

[Ace of Dark-Hearts]

Whoop, finally a thread for casual writing.

Even though I don't really have any literature to contribute.

But casual conversation is always good.

So do you guys have any ideas for a novice writer who is trying to form ideas for a story? I have a pretty good idea of the main characters and setting, but only a loose concept of the plot. It's difficult because half of the things I think of end up becoming knock-offs of Homestuck, which is why it is particularly hard. Also conflict. Conflict is probably the reason why I'm having trouble with plot. I'm just not sure how to integrate conflict. Just inserting a mad supervillain is forced, lame, and cliched.

[The Dr.]

I too find first persion very awkward to write! I can never seem to find the right thing to say. In third/second person, I can always just kind put out factual statements (as well as how it makes the characters feel, etc. etc.) but with first person everything seems to come out wrong. Especially in scenes where the hero does something cool, it always comes out sounding like the main character is bragging to me. It is a mystery I will never unfold.