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What details might I be missing?

Well, most of what's after will be straight answers, as I can't think of any hints now. It was fun. :)

Well, Google has answered my question faster than I ever could've. So, it means entry into the unknown? Interesting. That answers my initial question.

Here is one. While it is an entry to the unknown, I must emphasize on why he went. If you want me to put it blatantly, it also symbolizes escapism

I know that line isn't related to Umineko, I was talking about the line that was above it. That is, if the last words you were referring to were the last words of that chapter specifically. Because I'm fairly certain you had said that they were in reference to Umineko, of which I've only just began reading. That, and the set of words that had started out with When The Seagulls Cry (Which is all I remember at the moment, thank God) sound an awful lot like they'd be a spoiler of some kind, seeing as how they were presented.

Sorry, I was referring to Sharnoth's last lines. For clarity's sake, everyone in the story 'denied tomorrow'.

With the exception of the Cheshire Cat, the reason lies in the character's story that I reference here. The plant is Echo, and the statue is one of Pygmalion's before he made Galatea. I made the Cat's story up. In that, he is a wise man who understands everything about life and how pitiful and sad it is.

If you're curious about the lines, "For when the seagulls cry, none will be left alive," it's just states that. In Umineko, it's just a line used when all of the characters die. In here, it is uttered to show that they all no longer have a tomorrow yet still exist.

Well, I'm fairly certain that, dependant on if it were to be taken literally and in a fictional setting, you would, quite literally, cease to exist. At least in a setting in which logic like that were to be possible, like your story, for example. Other than that, I'm unsure.

I meant that you'd go back. In other words, he'll repeat that process. To deny tomorrow also means to give up. The fact that he repeats the last thing the cat said also symbolizes cursing someone, like the plant.

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Well, most of what's after will be straight answers, as I can't think of any hints now. It was fun. :)

Well, Google has answered my question faster than I ever could've. So, it means entry into the unknown? Interesting. That answers my initial question.

Here is one. While it is an entry to the unknown, I must emphasize on why he went. If you want me to put it blatantly, it also symbolizes escapism

I know that line isn't related to Umineko, I was talking about the line that was above it. That is, if the last words you were referring to were the last words of that chapter specifically. Because I'm fairly certain you had said that they were in reference to Umineko, of which I've only just began reading. That, and the set of words that had started out with When The Seagulls Cry (Which is all I remember at the moment, thank God) sound an awful lot like they'd be a spoiler of some kind, seeing as how they were presented.

Sorry, I was referring to Sharnoth's last lines. For clarity's sake, everyone in the story 'denied tomorrow'.

With the exception of the Cheshire Cat, the reason lies in the character's story that I reference here. The plant is Echo, and the statue is one of Pygmalion's before he made Galatea. I made the Cat's story up. In that, he is a wise man who understands everything about life and how pitiful and sad it is.

If you're curious about the lines, "For when the seagulls cry, none will be left alive," it's just states that. In Umineko, it's just a line used when all of the characters die. In here, it is uttered to show that they all no longer have a tomorrow yet still exist.

Well, I'm fairly certain that, dependant on if it were to be taken literally and in a fictional setting, you would, quite literally, cease to exist. At least in a setting in which logic like that were to be possible, like your story, for example. Other than that, I'm unsure.

I meant that you'd go back. In other words, he'll repeat that process. To deny tomorrow also means to give up. The fact that he repeats the last thing the cat said also symbolizes cursing someone, like the plant.

Well, it certainly was interesting. Especially the fact that I had a completely wrong, yet still incredibly intriguing, way of viewing the story. At least, it was intriguing to me.

 

Escapism.

So he was escaping from the void-ish like place from the beginning, right? I see.

 

For clarity's sake, everyone in the story 'denied tomorrow'.

At least my guess of the fact they all 'denied tomorrow' was correct.

 

If you're curious about the lines, "For when the seagulls cry, none will be left alive," it's just states that. In Umineko, it's just a line used when all of the characters die. In here, it is uttered to show that they all no longer have a tomorrow yet still exist.

Ah, okay. Thankfully I don't have to drive myself crazy trying to keep that phrase from my head anymore.

 

I meant that you'd go back. In other words, he'll repeat that process. To deny tomorrow also means to give up. The fact that he repeats the last thing the cat said also symbolizes cursing someone, like the plant.

What do you mean repeat the process? As in be stuck in some type of loop? Or go back to the Void? And how did him repeating what the cat said curse the plant?

 

Hopefully I now understand most of the story. Even if I don't, I'm greatly enjoying this discussion and certainly don't mind more of it.

 

May I ask how you came up with this story?

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Well, it certainly was interesting. Especially the fact that I had a completely wrong, yet still incredibly intriguing, way of viewing the story. At least, it was intriguing to me.

 

Hopefully I now understand most of the story. Even if I don't, I'm greatly enjoying this discussion and certainly don't mind more of it.

 

May I ask how you came up with this story?

When I'm bored, I just randomly picture scenes. One scene coming in my mind was a man dying and searching for something in complete darkness, and him simply giving in. I also had an idea of a story way back when involving a dying man trying to find a way to forget things. I just finished reading Sharnoth, and was reading AiW, so they all connected to create this. While writing, I was thinking, "I need more characters, who should it be?" So I picked well-known characters and pushed them in here.

What do you mean repeat the process? As in be stuck in some type of loop? Or go back to the Void?

The story itself loops.

And how did him repeating what the cat said curse the plant?

Forgive my wording. I meant that the Unknown Man had nothing to do but curse someone, without any purpose besides that. In the story, 'Echo and Narcissus,' Echo fell in love with Narcissus but it was unrequited, so she cursed Narcissus. Her punishment was that she could only repeat the last thing said to her. The plant in here is Echo. The Unknown Man's repetition of the Cheshire Cat's last words symbolizes how he can only curse "You", yet he understands how futile it is and everything that happened.

On another note, I was thinking of rewriting it from the different perspectives then compiling it to one story. What do you think of the idea?

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When I'm bored, I just randomly picture scenes. One scene coming in my mind was a man dying and searching for something in complete darkness, and him simply giving in. I also had an idea of a story way back when involving a dying man trying to find a way to forget things. I just finished reading Sharnoth, and was reading AiW, so they all connected to create this. While writing, I was thinking, "I need more characters, who should it be?" So I picked well-known characters and pushed them in here.

What do you mean repeat the process? As in be stuck in some type of loop? Or go back to the Void?

The story itself loops.

And how did him repeating what the cat said curse the plant?

Forgive my wording. I meant that the Unknown Man had nothing to do but curse someone, without any purpose besides that. In the story, 'Echo and Narcissus,' Echo fell in love with Narcissus but it was unrequited, so she cursed Narcissus. Her punishment was that she could only repeat the last thing said to her. The plant in here is Echo. The Unknown Man's repetition of the Cheshire Cat's last words symbolizes how he can only curse "You", yet he understands how futile it is and everything that happened.

On another note, I was thinking of rewriting it from the different perspectives then compiling it to one story. What do you think of the idea?

Ah, that's interesting. Is Sharnoth any good?

 

The story itself loops.

So then, technically speaking they are all in a situation where they end up succumbing to the same fate constantly? I don't mean to sound repetitive, but that's absolutely fascinating. And a Hell of a lot worse than what my original thought on what the phrase meant. Which makes me love it even more.

 

In the story, 'Echo and Narcissus,' Echo fell in love with Narcissus but it was unrequited, so she cursed Narcissus. Her punishment was that she could only repeat the last thing said to her. The plant in here is Echo. The Unknown Man's repetition of the Cheshire Cat's last words symbolizes how he can only curse "You", yet he understands how futile it is and everything that happened.

I'm familiar with the story, though I didn't realize the fact it influenced your story until you told me who the flower represented, at which point I promptly went back through and read the dialogue (or lack thereof) of the flower and realizing the significance of the flower's last words. Sadly, though my brain can't quite grasp that final sentence, as I am literally about to pass out from exhaustion, either that or I'm somewhere close to that point. I realize the first part of the sentence I just wrote might come off as rude, but I swear to God that's not my intention, it's just that I cannot think of any other way to put it at the moment. Hopefully when I wake up I'll be able to form a proper response to that final sentence.

 

On another note, I was thinking of rewriting it from the different perspectives then compiling it to one story. What do you think of the idea?

It seems like an interesting idea. Now I'm curious as to what happened through their perspectives as the world slowly came to an end.

 

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Ah, that's interesting. Is Sharnoth any good?

*points to VNDB

I loved it, but that's a HUGE bias on my part. The steampunk series is a rather divisive one.

I'm familiar with the story, though I didn't realize the fact it influenced your story until you told me who the flower represented, at which point I promptly went back through and read the dialogue (or lack thereof) of the flower and realizing the significance of the flower's last words. Sadly, though my brain can't quite grasp that final sentence, as I am literally about to pass out from exhaustion, either that or I'm somewhere close to that point. I realize the first part of the sentence I just wrote might come off as rude, but I swear to God that's not my intention, it's just that I cannot think of any other way to put it at the moment.

That's okay. I'm a sadist, anyway.

 

It seems like an interesting idea. Now I'm curious as to what happened through their perspectives as the world slowly came to an end.

Sounds like I'm gonna be busy, haha.

Also, would you kindly critique it? My teacher said my problem here is how it lacks coherence, so it'll just go on forever. But other than that, I'm not exactly sure how to improve on it.

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*points to VNDB

I loved it, but that's a HUGE bias on my part. The steampunk series is a rather divisive one.

I'm familiar with the story, though I didn't realize the fact it influenced your story until you told me who the flower represented, at which point I promptly went back through and read the dialogue (or lack thereof) of the flower and realizing the significance of the flower's last words. Sadly, though my brain can't quite grasp that final sentence, as I am literally about to pass out from exhaustion, either that or I'm somewhere close to that point. I realize the first part of the sentence I just wrote might come off as rude, but I swear to God that's not my intention, it's just that I cannot think of any other way to put it at the moment.

That's okay. I'm a sadist, anyway.

 

It seems like an interesting idea. Now I'm curious as to what happened through their perspectives as the world slowly came to an end.

Sounds like I'm gonna be busy, haha.

Also, would you kindly critique it? My teacher said my problem here is how it lacks coherence, so it'll just go on forever. But other than that, I'm not exactly sure how to improve on it.

Critique the story, or what you plan on adding? I guess I could try, at least when I've had proper sleep.

 

That's okay. I'm a sadist, anyway.

That made me smile.

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The story itself. Get your sleep though. XD

So, what exactly would you like critiqued specifically? Keep in mind I've never done a critique before, so I'm not entirely sure where I should begin, or that I'd be suited to the task in the first place. Though upon your answer to my question, I will try to provide you with a critique, at least to the best of my ability. That and hopefully it will be to your liking in some way.

 

And, by not bringing up my first answer in my second to last reply, does that mean they

are going through the same Hell continuously? How delightful. Well, in terms of my entertainment. That's downright terrifying for them. I can't wipe the smile off my face as I type this. Intriguing.

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So, what exactly would you like critiqued specifically? Keep in mind I've never done a critique before, so I'm not entirely sure where I should begin, or that I'd be suited to the task in the first place. Though upon your answer to my question, I will try to provide you with a critique, at least to the best of my ability. That and hopefully it will be to your liking in some way.

And, by not bringing up my first answer in my second to last reply, does that mean they

are going through the same Hell continuously? How delightful. Well, in terms of my entertainment. That's downright terrifying for them. I can't wipe the smile off my face as I type this. Intriguing.

I believe EldritchCherub had a format for it.

A simple summary that includes these three things in a short paragraph will suffice:

1. A summary of the story.

2. What you liked and didn't like about the story?

3. Some suggestions about how to improve the story, don't necessarily have to include all of these. (Plot, Setting, P.O.V, Themes, etc.)

Oh, and be really honest about it of course.
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Before I start, I'd like to bring something up. I'm horrible at writing summaries. Even if I'm attempting to summarize my own stories, I'm unable to do it efficiently, if at all. So, for now at least, I think I'll skip the summary.

 

Also, I'd have started it earlier had I not needed to do other things. Sorry about that.

 

Summaries are more or less 'cut out everything' but the essentials and tell us what you have left.  Give us the plot, the core conflict, and maybe the tone as well.  That's it.

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Summaries are more or less 'cut out everything' but the essentials and tell us what you have left.  Give us the plot, the core conflict, and maybe the tone as well.  That's it.

For some reason, I'm unable to do that properly. I had started to make an attempt on summarizing the story, but I can't make it feel right to me, if that makes any sense. And I edited the rest of my critique into my previous post. Though, would it be better if it were it's own separate post or is it fine in the previous one, considering all of what was in the post?

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For some reason, I'm unable to do that properly. I had started to make an attempt on summarizing the story, but I can't make it feel right to me, if that makes any sense. And I edited the rest of my critique into my previous post. Though, would it be better if it were it's own separate post or is it fine in the previous one, considering all of what was in the post?

I think it's fine. Thanks. I'm glad you liked it.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Okay, I'm going to vomit writing onto the page before I go to bed tonight.  Because why not?

 

~~~

 

Illuminating lamplight shines across the room.  A faint glow from the glass floor below, lighting fixtures break through to the room.  I'm damn

fucking cold and the rainwater won't stop dripping off my clothes.  Soaked to the bone, you might say.  The year is 2167, in a fancy bar on the third floor of a mall in northern Texas.  The well-dressed bartender passes drinks across the countertop.  A sparkling chrome so damn clean you could record a porno off its' reflection.  He's a quaint, medium-sized man with a mustache that looked like it had been pulled from a half-millenia ago.  Pale skin and golden eyes, a man who's never fought a day in his life and could send a man to the hospital before he knew what hit him.

 

"Busy day, Karol?"  He says to me.  "Fuck you."  Busy day my ass.  I whirl down my third beer as he readies my fourth.  Same case for a damn week and not a single lead to my name.  Fancypants diplomat from Venus gets a broken arm in the streets and all of a sudden it's like Terra Luna all over again.  The bar is too damn quiet for nearly two in the morning.  Were this the weekend you'd have an entire office scarfing down barrels of expensive wine before waltzing out like an oversized infant.

 

"I heard the rumors, you know."  He speaks.  I'm not in the mood, but I don't have the energy to shut him up.  "That Right Bastard ain't leaving anytime soon, isn't he?"

 

The scene is plain outside the window.  A few fly-by rails can be seen hovering about, maybe every few minutes you'll see a jecht train coming across - not much use for ground transportation these days, environmental bastards non-withstanding.  None of those flyin' cars like you might see in Equin York either.  Third Houston's lights are visible in the distance, a brilliant mirage of lights that has no right to exist in the first place, and a bunch of satellites float high in the sky to replace those stars we lost interest in a long time ago.  The bridge to the gods might as well be a fancy power plant for bastards fifteen centuries from here - those bastards up in corporate are already deciding how to split up the proceeds from it.

 

"I do this to find the truth," I said, gulping down the fourth beer.  "Not to be some fancy teenager's whipping boy."

 

"Nobody cares about 'truth' anymore," he says.  "You just don't like shitheads in black suits prancing around like the own the place."

 

I slap the jug back onto the counter  "Jarret.  Next swig."  He refills the container with nary a word.

 

Ruffled dark hair.  Black eyes.  A stern chin and crisp features.  A 7/10, some girl told me once.  Seven years ago if I remember correctly.  I was twenty-two at the time, and she was drunk out of her fucking mind.  She was dead by the end of the week.  My first case, actually.  It was raining earlier.  I can still feel some of the water dripping from my forehead.  My socks are soaked and my underwear won't stop sticking to my rear.  Fortunately, Jarret was kind enough to hang my coat in the back.  God knows how many favors we owe each other by now.

 

"You know, I've been thinking of adding something to the menu.  You ever heard of Forticus Donuts?  Some of the other customers say they're quite good."  "Supposedly.  Think you'll just print the ingredients in?"  I rest my head on the table for a moment.  It's about damn time the drunk started kicking in.

 

"Isn't it you who always says it's best to buy natural-made?"  "Forticus Donuts are made from camel dung and whale sperm.  I think they'll thank you this time around."  Not to mention, they're damn expensive naturally.  Not a really advisable purchase.

 

"What about those Red Spices?  I hear they go good with fresh wine."  "They do, in theory.  The problem has to do with extraction.  Screw it up and you can expect the whole kitchen to go up in flames."

 

An explosion rips through the building.  The foundation quakes and shakes - screams echo through the establishment.  Red gas bursts through from the top floor as it breaks through the barriers.

 

"Jesus christ, what the fuck is going on over there!?"

 

I rushed ahead.  And so, everything began.

 

~~~

 

Right, that should do it.  I'm going to sleep, will read feedback in the morning.

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Okay, I'm going to vomit writing onto the page before I go to bed tonight.  Because why not?

 

~~~

 

Illuminating lamplight shines across the room.  A faint glow from the glass floor below, lighting fixtures break through to the room.  I'm damn

fucking cold and the rainwater won't stop dripping off my clothes.  Soaked to the bone, you might say.  The year is 2167, in a fancy bar on the third floor of a mall in northern Texas.  The well-dressed bartender passes drinks across the countertop.  A sparkling chrome so damn clean you could record a porno off its' reflection.  He's a quaint, medium-sized man with a mustache that looked like it had been pulled from a half-millenia ago.  Pale skin and golden eyes, a man who's never fought a day in his life and could send a man to the hospital before he knew what hit him.

 

"Busy day, Karol?"  He says to me.  "Fuck you."  Busy day my ass.  I whirl down my third beer as he readies my fourth.  Same case for a damn week and not a single lead to my name.  Fancypants diplomat from Venus gets a broken arm in the streets and all of a sudden it's like Terra Luna all over again.  The bar is too damn quiet for nearly two in the morning.  Were this the weekend you'd have an entire office scarfing down barrels of expensive wine before waltzing out like an oversized infant.

 

"I heard the rumors, you know."  He speaks.  I'm not in the mood, but I don't have the energy to shut him up.  "That Right Bastard ain't leaving anytime soon, isn't he?"

 

The scene is plain outside the window.  A few fly-by rails can be seen hovering about, maybe every few minutes you'll see a jecht train coming across - not much use for ground transportation these days, environmental bastards non-withstanding.  None of those flyin' cars like you might see in Equin York either.  Third Houston's lights are visible in the distance, a brilliant mirage of lights that has no right to exist in the first place, and a bunch of satellites float high in the sky to replace those stars we lost interest in a long time ago.  The bridge to the gods might as well be a fancy power plant for bastards fifteen centuries from here - those bastards up in corporate are already deciding how to split up the proceeds from it.

 

"I do this to find the truth," I said, gulping down the fourth beer.  "Not to be some fancy teenager's whipping boy."

 

"Nobody cares about 'truth' anymore," he says.  "You just don't like shitheads in black suits prancing around like the own the place."

 

I slap the jug back onto the counter  "Jarret.  Next swig."  He refills the container with nary a word.

 

Ruffled dark hair.  Black eyes.  A stern chin and crisp features.  A 7/10, some girl told me once.  Seven years ago if I remember correctly.  I was twenty-two at the time, and she was drunk out of her fucking mind.  She was dead by the end of the week.  My first case, actually.  It was raining earlier.  I can still feel some of the water dripping from my forehead.  My socks are soaked and my underwear won't stop sticking to my rear.  Fortunately, Jarret was kind enough to hang my coat in the back.  God knows how many favors we owe each other by now.

 

"You know, I've been thinking of adding something to the menu.  You ever heard of Forticus Donuts?  Some of the other customers say they're quite good."  "Supposedly.  Think you'll just print the ingredients in?"  I rest my head on the table for a moment.  It's about damn time the drunk started kicking in.

 

"Isn't it you who always says it's best to buy natural-made?"  "Forticus Donuts are made from camel dung and whale sperm.  I think they'll thank you this time around."  Not to mention, they're damn expensive naturally.  Not a really advisable purchase.

 

"What about those Red Spices?  I hear they go good with fresh wine."  "They do, in theory.  The problem has to do with extraction.  Screw it up and you can expect the whole kitchen to go up in flames."

 

An explosion rips through the building.  The foundation quakes and shakes - screams echo through the establishment.  Red gas bursts through from the top floor as it breaks through the barriers.

 

"Jesus christ, what the fuck is going on over there!?"

 

I rushed ahead.  And so, everything began.

 

~~~

 

Right, that should do it.  I'm going to sleep, will read feedback in the morning.

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So, this story takes place in a bar in a futuristic setting of 2167. The stage opens with Karol having an argument with Jarret, the bartender. They talk with Karol narrating the things he sees while mentioning the problems with his job. (Which I'm assuming to be a detective) The segment ends with an explosion occurring and Karol running to said explosion.

 

The characterization in your stories are really nice. The banter is entertaining to read despite little occurring. I'm very interested in the stories of Karol and Jarret as we don't know much about them.

You manage to use the first person POV really well, something which I'm rather envious of.

The setting is also very interesting, with some jargon here and there. The problem there is how I felt lost, but if that's the intention I kind of understand.

 

Bottom line, this story is interesting and entertaining, but considering the length of the piece, that's all. It would be nice to see it expanded.

On the technical side, I have a few problems. There are a few moments in dialogue where I felt confused on who the speaker is. A lack of separation in paragraphs, but not in quotations is disconcerting. A few more other than that, but nothing too problematic. I'm rather lazy to mention everything, my apologies.

 

~~

As for me, I made a poem. I'm not quite used to the craft, so feedback and help would be much appreciated.

I scream voicelessly,

                                   But you cannot hear them

The echoes overflow in this narrow corridor

My screams continue voicelessly, but they are reduced to

                             Sighs and gasps

Like Sunflowers at Night

Their echoes never overflow.

I scream tirelessly,

                                   But you don’t try to hear them

The echoes clash in this narrow corridor

My screams continue tirelessly, but they are reduced to

                      Cracks and sobs

Like Sunflowers at Night

Their echoes are nonexistent.

–––You are running–––

–––Running towards me–––

–––Melodies and Dissonances–––

–––No more––

–––You heard my sighs–––

–––Like Sunflowers at Night–––

–––And to you, I give–––

–––One last Sunflower–––

A sound that split the air in twain.

 

Let me think for a moment.  In-general the off-standard format makes it a bit difficult to read.  It just serves to be confusing rather than making the story more engaging as a whole.

 

If you want to make emphasis, I would suggest referring to ITALICS and capitals,  and PERHAPS changing the font size.  It has a high chance of looking stupid, as is the example I've provided, but I think it can be used to a better distinction than the current format.  You're definitely trying to place focus on the middle segments but it just leads to the reader being unable to tell which part comes next.

 

Poetry leans much more heavily on the way of pure style and voice than most other writing-related pieces.  I'm not one to press exact syllable use, but it's certainly important, even in standard writing.  A sentence that flows well can be engaging in and of itself, and this is what poetry is based on.  I'd actually say you could do well editing this and doing a bit more - it isn't perfect by any means, but that's what practice is for.

 

Get the formatting to something stronger.  Edit this one and maybe get a few more - you can use this for practice in terms of narration style once you jump back into standard writing.  It could be a useful tool to add to your usual thematic-heavy stories.  Keep in note how much information is conveyed in an individual sentence as well.  Efficiency is something important in this case.

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Okay people, I need some assistance.

 

More or less, I've been running through a scene with my editor for that VN project - on the third rewrite of this scene and it isn't looking like there's an end in sight.

 

As opposed to dumping all three drafts here (that's what Lino is for) I need some assistance on a subject regarding to Clarity vs Style/Voice (Edit, I've decided to put drafts 1 and 2 on anyway, you can find those below if you're interested.)

 

In short, we seem to be having conflicts concerning the scene - clarity with imagery and exact grammar as opposed to a style/voice that may or may not be throwing formal grammar out the window.  They're both important but I'm having a hard time figuring out where the line is drawn in terms of this and whether or not I've jumped too far into my side of things.  Other than that, if we've mis-diagnosed the problem and there's something else we should be focusing on, that would help as well.  The scene isn't complete though, mind you.

 

Draft #3

 

    Hostile warmth invades my being, and the surging wind forces me awake.  A paralyzing cold envelops my skin, and my beating heart courses life through my veins.  My body lies on the lifeless carpet, barely alive yet outside of death.  

 

     Broken glass covers the floor.   Piercing into my skin.  I can feel a warm liquid dripping off my side.  It hurts.  A burning pain, like bullets of acid.  A tearing gash across my leg.  I can feel my skirt soaked in blood.  I’m wearing gloves, a red-covered knife rests in my hand.  There’s a large cut across my back.  My strained breath echoes across the room, absent any other sound.  A child’s cry.  As if tears flowed from my eyes.  My soft brown hair.  It hurts to breathe.

 

     Night.  The light of the moon covers my body, shining through the shattered window above.  A howling gale surges through the room.  It’s cold, like countless shards of ice.  I can feel my heart pound against my chest, like an unrelenting thunder that refuses to surrender.  The floor is damp with blood.

 

     I’m scared, I need to get up.  But it hurts to move.  Like my bones want to collapse.  As if they already have.  It’s not a useless effort.  I grab onto the table above me, and an earth-shattering pain threatens to snap my mind in half.  It hurts, the smell of blood covers the room.  The carpet is soaked in red.  An office room, in a tall building.  A meeting room of some kind.  Overturned chairs litter the floor.  A single table in the center.  Tall windows.  Almost two stories high.  Bullet-shaped holes can be seen in the glass.  At least thirty stories to the ground.  The sound of sirens can be heard in the distance.  A brilliant flash of red and blue at the building’s base.  It scares me.

 

     The broken window.  A lifeless corpse sits near it.  There’s a gun in his hand.  A black coat.  Cold skin.  Thirty, forty years old.   Head encased in a block of ice.  Dark black hair.  Face frozen in a scream.  A left arm lies in pieces on the floor.  Chunks of skin stuck together like packs of snow.  Cut apart with the edge of a blade.

 

     A rush of blood surges out my skull.  Dripping down my face as I desperately walk forward.  I feel the beating of footsteps far, far below.

 

My apologies for the formatting.  Let me know what you think is unclear, or if anything sticks out to you.  After you've sorted the raw text, here's the google doc with the editor/manager's comments.

 

https://docs.google.com/document/d/14fMWrgeIB5SRjU5Q9P0ytYm160V3WcxCroEhgoLsLV8/edit

 

Do you agree with what he says, or is it being pushed a bit far in the other direction?  Which pieces do you think he's correct in and where does the voice/style improve the story as a whole?

Thanks, and I will be awaiting your feedback.

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The voice you use here doesn't really sound it it fits imo. The style seems like something you're not used to. It's good to use short sentences to emphasize things, but using too many in a row just ruins it. 

 

How does your text display? Paragraph by paragraph? Sentence by sentence? That changes things significantly. For now, I'll assume its paragraph by paragraph.

 

Sorry in advance if this sounds rather harsh.

 

Hostile warmth invades my being, and the surging wind forces me awake.  A paralyzing cold envelops my skin, and my beating heart courses life through my veins.  My body lies on the lifeless carpet, barely alive yet outside of death.  

 

 

The first sentence just sounds strange. Wouldn't it normally be "surging winds force me awake"? 

I'm not sure about the paralyzing part, because it doesn't appear overused specifically in the chunk that you've provided us. However, the voice you use here... just sounds strange. I personally would not have used "my beating heart" the way that you did. I would have separated the two thoughts, as you just had a sentence with identical structure immediately preceding this one. If it was intentional, then it didn't sound very well done. 

Why are you describing a carpet as lifeless? That doesn't even begin to make sense, unless it was alive in a previous scene.

 

 

Broken glass covers the floor.   Piercing into my skin.  I can feel a warm liquid dripping off my side.  It hurts.  A burning pain, like bullets of acid.  A tearing gash across my leg.  I can feel my skirt soaked in blood.

 

 

This is where it starts getting excessive. The preceding paragraph proved that your character is not panicked to the extent where they are unable to think in longer sentences, which just makes this part feel... rather poorly done. I disagree with your editor with regards to the sentence "A burning pain, like bullets of acid." While it doesn't really flow well, I don't think that it doesn't make sense.

 

The tearing gash part is, again, repetitive. I advise you choose a different adjective.

 

 I’m wearing gloves, a red-covered knife rests in my hand.  There’s a large cut across my back.  My strained breath echoes across the room, absent any other sound.  A child’s cry.  As if tears flowed from my eyes.  My soft brown hair.  It hurts to breathe.

 

 

Your editor is right in both scenarios. And again, this paragraph is composed of way too many short sentences (I know its part of the previous paragraph, I just felt obligated to reiterate it as its rather annoying to read).

 

Night.  The light of the moon covers my body, shining through the shattered window above.  A howling gale surges through the room.  It’s cold, like countless shards of ice.  I can feel my heart pound against my chest, like an unrelenting thunder that refuses to surrender.  The floor is damp with blood.

 

 

The word above is not really necessary there.

You already used surge to describe the wind just 2 paragraphs ago, use something else.

Cold is fine, ice is fine, the countless shards part makes it sound like you're trying too hard. It also doesn't make logical sense, as a large block of ice should be colder.

"unrelenting thunder that refuses to surrender"

You seriously repeat yourself too often. I'm starting to suspect that this is a stylistic thing that you would be better without. At the very least, split it into two sentences.

 

 

 

I’m scared, I need to get up.  But it hurts to move.  Like my bones want to collapse.  As if they already have.  It’s not a useless effort.  I grab onto the table above me, and an earth-shattering pain threatens to snap my mind in half.  It hurts, the smell of blood covers the room.  The carpet is soaked in red.  An office room, in a tall building.  A meeting room of some kind.  Overturned chairs litter the floor.  A single table in the center.  Tall windows.  Almost two stories high.  Bullet-shaped holes can be seen in the glass.  At least thirty stories to the ground.  The sound of sirens can be heard in the distance.  A brilliant flash of red and blue at the building’s base.  It scares me.

 

 

"Like my bones want to collapse" doesn't really describe how painful it is. It makes the character sound more frail instead.

"It's not a useless effort" seems out of place.

You don't feel pain in your mind. It's not your mind that will be snapped in half. That's just silly.

Again, this paragraph just feels... clunky because of the style you used. It doesn't sound like the character's thoughts are in disarray, it sounds like the writer's thoughts are. It's almost like you're just slapping down the first thing that comes to mind.

 

The broken window.  A lifeless corpse sits near it.  There’s a gun in his hand.  A black coat.  Cold skin.  Thirty, forty years old.   Head encased in a block of ice.  Dark black hair.  Face frozen in a scream.  A left arm lies in pieces on the floor.  Chunks of skin stuck together like packs of snow.  Cut apart with the edge of a blade.

 

 

How does the character know the skin is cold without touching it? Besides the head. Add something about the atmosphere, and how its obviously at least cold enough to maintain the block of ice.

Packs? I can't even really imagine that. 

 

 

A rush of blood surges out my skull.  Dripping down my face as I desperately walk forward.  I feel the beating of footsteps far, far below.  

 

 
Does the character have a hole in their head? This was never mentioned until now.
 
 

 
In general, just way too chunky. Imo, the style doesn't add to the scene, but rather, takes away from it. Like your editor stated, vary the sentence length.
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The first sentence just sounds strange. 

 

The beginning is full of modifying words (first couple of sentences contain 5) which not only make the prose sound purplish but reduces the description available and thus paints a less detailed image for the reader (modifying words are poor at description, as you're trying to describe something with the use of a single word and a word can only contain so much information.) This is part of the problem because the word "warmth" is usually associated with a pleasant and welcome image, but is being described as "hostile" and the reader doesn't know why (no more description forthcoming and we don't know why it is hostile.) It's not very descriptive either, hostile warmth as an exterior sensation, hostile warmth as an interior sensation? Then the reader becomes even more confused because the next sentence talks about a "cold" feeling. So there's a hostile warmth, followed by a paralysing cold, with little else coming in the way of description, and little for the reader to make sense of this seeming contradiction.

 

Why are you describing a carpet as lifeless? That doesn't even begin to make sense, unless it was alive in a previous scene.

 

 

"Lifeless carpet" is an interesting description, I think the more important question to ask is what kind of image does this paints for the reader that just "carpet" wouldn't? Furthermore "outside of death" is telling the reader what exactly? I can't make sense of it.

 

Your editor is right in both scenarios. And again, this paragraph is composed of way too many short sentences (I know its part of the previous paragraph, I just felt obligated to reiterate it as its rather annoying to read).

 

 

"red-covered" knife is such a boring and inadequate piece of description, which once again boils down to a love of modifying words (adjectives) which probably is used to make sentences as short as possible. 

 

And etc etc.

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Alright, useful information.

 

Do you mind if I put up the previous drafts mentioned in the earlier post as well?  Is there anything you think they do better than the above draft did?  Anything that the earlier one did better than one and two?

 

Again, each of the drafts are unfinished and quite unpolished.  Need to figure out where the flaws are so we can sort through them.

 

Draft #1

 

     And with a start, I was awoken.

 

     My blurred vision slowly opens to the scenery before me.  I can feel the heartbeat pounding against my chest, before slowly coming down to a rest.  I feel cold.  I can barely stand.  That dizzy feeling after waking up from a long nap.  I can’t tell if it feels familiar or not.

     I force my eyes open.  Rays of the full moon beam down from holes in the ceiling.   The wooden floor creaks under my weight as I stand up.  I should be thankful it hasn’t collapsed yet.  I grab onto the table to help myself up.  Shards of glass break under my feet, and the room is covered in shadows.  The room smells like an old doll locked up in an attic.  No lights are turned on, and nothing to aid my sight.  Only the cold, frozen moon, rising high into the sky.

     I don’t know where this is.

     My head hurts.  I can barely stay upright.  Each step feels like crashing down onto the floor.  It’s cold.  My body is trembling, my legs won’t stop shaking.  I rest my body on the table.  The streets outside the window are empty, not a trace of life in sight.  I can hear the sound of police sirens in the distance.  An abandoned place in a state of disrepair.  A river can be seen in the distance.  The lights of the city sparkle on the other end.

     My vision cracks into a thousand pieces.  Each breath heavier than the last.  I can feel my chest crying out in pain with each passing beat.  Blood rushes through my veins, the red liquid cutting at my skin from every direction.  My burning heart races forward without stopping.  It hurts.

     A broken mirror lies in the corner.  I see someone’s face reflected in it.  A faint drop of blood crawls down her forehead.  A young girl.  Soft brown hair.  Eyes like a shattered emerald.  No older than a child, though only barely.  Twelve, maybe thirteen at most.  Fair, gentle skin.  A face illuminated by the moonlight.  It scares me.  She looks broken.  My soul nearly breaks in two.  I feel sick.

      A quiet ringtone echoes through the room.  An old phone lies rattling about on the floor at my feet.  Cold air circles around the room, frozen chills burn through the atmosphere.  A name is visible on the ID. 

     “Hello, Satoru?”  My voice trembles with the cold, like shattered fragments that can’t be put back together.  I don’t want to be here anymore.

     “Hanase?  Is that you?”  The boy on the other end speaks.  12, maybe 13 years old.  “Souma said you weren’t picking up.  Do you know where you are?”

     “N-no.  I’m not sure.”  It’s cold.  The freezing chill pierces at my bones.  Starlight pours in from the dim skies.  “Alright, then.  Can you see outside?  Which side of the river are you on?”

     “T-There’s a city on the other end.”  “Alright.  I’ll be waiting by the bridge.  Can you make it over here on your own?”

     My head hurts.  Fragments of my mind fall to the ground.  Broken, unusable.  Damaged beyond recovery.  Cannot be repaired.  Something is wrong.  ‘Hanase.’  My name.  It sounds nice.  Something is wrong.  A door.  I don’t want to be here anymore.  “Hello?  Hanase?”  I look across the room.

     Drops of blood puddle together at the floor.  The man’s body is covered in a black coat, and four bullet holes pierce through his chest.  His face is cold as ice with an expression frozen in fear.  Hollow eyes that threaten to pierce my heart.  I stumble back and fall to the floor.  Shards of ice can be seen by the corpse.  A broken vase off to the side.  Signs of a conflict.  He has a worn axe in his hand, absent from the taste of fresh blood.  Shards of broken glass cover the floor.  Fragments of my mind fall to the ground.  A door lies busted open to the side.  As if the lock were ripped clean off.  The cold air pierces into my skin.

     I’m scared.  It’s

 

(Note, the scene does actually end there at the moment.)

 

 

Draft #2

 

 

     Paralyzing air slashes across my lungs.  Droplets of sweat fall from my body – a hostile warmth brings pain across my soul.  I stand, only to fall back to the floor, with no end in sight.  A stinging terror pierces my eyes, like a thousand rusted needles forcing their way through.  I force them shut, and my vision goes to black.

     Night.  The faint light of the moon envelops my being.  A full moon, high up in the sky.  Shining brightly onto the world below.  My body rests on the moist carpet, lacking the strength to move forward.  A burning sensation tears at my chest – beads of sweat streak down my face like a river of blood.  Dry air crawls in and out of my lungs, scratching at my throat as it makes its way through.  A single breath.  It hurts to listen to.

     The cold air embraces my body, like a sharp knife being pushed through my chest.  Drilling through my heart until it bursts out the other end.  Waves of terror shoot across my spine, cracking at my skull until nothing is left remaining.  Calm down.  Stand up.  It hurts to move.  Just the effort nearly snaps my bones in two.  Keep going.  Move forward.  I open my eyes, and grasp onto the table above me.  The piercing moonlight breaks my sight.  Don’t look back.  Push ahead.  ‘The fall into death is not your choice to make’, my heart says to me.  ‘Push forward, until your last breath.’  Like a wailing ghost who fails to realize their death.

     An office building, recently built.  A few years old at most.  A single long table stretches down the middle.  Overturned chairs litter the floors.  My head hurts.  Drops of blood tear down my face and land below.  The red taint covers my vision, forcing me back into the lapsing darkness.

     ‘The fall into death is not your choice to make.  Push forward, until your last breath.’

     It’s cold.  Freezing, even.  The dense air forces down on my soul.  Rising heat courses through my veins.  It’s hot, like the inside of a furnace.  Burning sweat drips to the floor.  Like a gentle feather of the brightest flames, fading away into the night sky.  Tender fires strip away at my soul until nothing remains.

   

   

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Obvious Points:

- Keep the style consistent. I'd advise against using this style in this scene if it's not generally used in other scenes.

 

Somewhat Obvious:

- You have a habit of using several short sentences. This style works fine, but you need to break it from being bland. There are also times where you force it, and the transition of sentences is awkward. (e.g. Broken glass covers the floor.   Piercing into my skin.) You could back this up with good direction, like 'Broken glass covers the floor.' *cue blood drips* 'Piercing into my skin.' Otherwise, you need to connect them better. The formula, [Noun]. [sentence in relation to noun], works well. (e.g. The broken window.  A lifeless corpse sits near it.) 

 

Some personal remarks here:

    Hostile warmth invades my being, and the

surging wind forces me awake. A paralyzing (Consider: 'immobilizing') cold envelops my skin, and my beating heart courses life through my veins.  My body lies on the lifeless (Personally? Fine with this.) carpet, barely alive yet outside of death.

 

     Broken glass covers the floor.   Piercing into my skin. (Suggestion: Broken glass. Piercing into my skin.) I can feel a warm liquid dripping off my side.  It hurts.  A burning pain, like bullets of acid.  A tearing gash across my leg. (Tearing is awkward. It starts to get stale here, so lengthen it. Suggestion: My leg is marked with an offensive gash. The pain, burning, like bullets of acid.)  I can feel my skirt soaked in blood.  I’m wearing gloves, (Period here) a red-covered (Boring description) knife rests in my hand.  There’s a large cut across my back. (Stale again here.)  My strained breath echoes across the room, absent any other sound. (Fine with this.) A child’s cry.  As if tears flowed from my eyes. (Awkward transition. 'As if' may be needless.)  My soft brown hair. (Pretty out of place) It hurts to breathe.

 

     Night.  The light of the moon covers my body, shining through the shattered window above.  A howling gale surges (Suggestion: A gale howls) through the room.  It’s cold, like countless shards of ice. (Like countless shards of ice what?) I can feel my heart pound against my chest, like an unrelenting thunder that refuses to surrender. (Cliche description. Suggestion: A hammer strikes my against my chest, over and over.)  The floor is damp with blood.

 

     I’m scared, I need to get up.  But it hurts to move.  Like my bones want to collapse.  As if they already have.  It’s not a useless effort.  I grab onto the table above me, and an earth-shattering pain threatens to snap my mind in half.  It hurts, the smell of blood covers the room.  The carpet is soaked in red.  An office room, in a tall building.  A meeting room of some kind.  Overturned chairs litter the floor.  A single table in the center.  Tall windows.  Almost two stories high.  Bullet-shaped holes can be seen in the glass.  At least thirty stories to the ground.  The sound of sirens can be heard in the distance.  A brilliant flash of red and blue at the building’s base.  It scares me.

 

     The broken window.  A lifeless corpse sits near it.  There’s a gun in his hand.  A black coat.  Cold skin.  Thirty, forty years old.   Head encased in a block of ice.  Dark black hair.  Face frozen in a scream.  A left arm lies in pieces on the floor.  Chunks of skin stuck together like packs of snow.  Cut apart with the edge of a blade.

 

     A rush of blood surges out my skull.  Dripping down my face as I desperately walk forward.  I feel the beating of footsteps far, far below.

I feel like I'm manipulating your style with the suggestions here, so feel free to disregard. I'll add more remarks later.

 

A suggestion my workshop teacher once gave me was, "Write down the same scene in the most blunt, and least literary way you can. Compare the two." I'd advice you try the same. You could also do so with your normal style.

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- The orange and purple words are two completely opposite things. Orange is unique (stylish); purple is not. I feel that you might have to get rid of one of them... Which is what you're deciding on. Personally, I dislike the purple words. The orange one have a good enough image on some of them. The middle-ground is very thin, but try to look for it.

 

Orange and Purple is the editor's notes in the google doc, actually.  There's a key higher up.  Separate from the main writing itself, 'tis why there's a raw text version in the post.

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