Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Strife26]

Hello everyone. I've been trying to get to be a better writer for a while now. Honestly, I think that the setting that I've come up with is pretty good and has some cool characters and plot lines. However, my writing still leaves much to be desired. The best way to improve is practice, no? Therefore, I'm going to try to keep up a pace of writing a chapter of a story every day.

I was going to put these up on Fanfiction or FictionPress, but I really think that it'd be better if my fellow forum-goers (and honestly, this is the only forum I ever really post on) got to look at them too. It'd be appreciated if I could get criticism, irregardless of how harsh it is or what the subject (poor references, bad grammar, overuse of parenthetical (a real problem of mine), switching tenses, anything). I figure that I'll host them at another site, they tend to have some auto-formatting to make reading them a bit easier.


Okay. links to the stories that meet my minimum "see the light of day" requirements will go here. As soon as I find them again.


Heroes and Strife
     Yankee in Camelot plot type. Strife takes command of an ancient city and tries to save it from destruction. Surprisingly deep backstory, if one can recognize it.
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2799990/1/Heroes_and_Strife

Resurgence
     Basically, it's a complaint about the handling of military matters in 28 weeks later. I went from the beginning assuming that America was smarted than a head of lettuce.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5923686/1/Resurgence

[Heron TSG]

Well, I can help you with grammar and spelling and such, but I can't help you much with the story.

city's every decreasing soldiery

He'd could just damn these people's lack of tactics.

than anyone on the plane plain(?)

Strife watched the Prince's body desecrated by Pain and drug dragged through the dust.

- also, isn't Pain dead?

behind the chariot

- what chariot?

He had planned his own stealthy insertion to retrieve it

-I'm not sure about spy lingo, but I'm not sure 'insertion' is the right word to insert here.

whom they had thought dead

It turns out that Pain was alive at the end, but until then it seemed like an anachronism. Good writing, nonetheless.

[Pathos]

I've just flicked through ( I'll read it properly later ) but a few things I noticed:

• Almost every single one of your sentences is short, and in relatively large paragraphs. You should try to vary this a bit. It might be trying to help the action, but it inhibited it a bit as the paragraphs didn't flow as well. It was also pretty unnecessary. Example: "Strife eventually decided to go whole hog. He would hold the Eastern gate as the only major hero. Sigard, Alexander, and Roman would hold the West. There was cold comfort in the fact that if his plan failed, Strife almost certainly wouldn't live to see the city fall." could easily be "Strife decided to go whole hog. He would hold the Eastern gate, whilst Sigard, Alexander and Roman would hold the West. There was cold comfort in the fact that, if his plan failed, Strife almost certainly wouldn't live to see the city fall."
• You use Strife as a way to refer to the character waaaay too much. Try and give him a nickname, titles you can use or vary it more with pronouns. This might just be a problem because of the short length of the story, but carrying it on would mean it would get more annoying.
• A bit more description would be nice, and would probably alleviate the second point and help you out with the first. Example: Describing the infernal as disgusting etc etc in the second chapter, or giving some hint into a uniform they're wearing or anything like that would've been nice.

You're doing well, but I'm not sure chucking them on fan fiction sites works, since it's not fan fiction. =p You might also like to give the chap a different name, as you'll get whiny people calling the character a Marty Sue no matter how Sue-ish he is. ( As I said, I haven't read it properly, so I don't know. )

[Strife26]

Thanks for the comments. I'm going through Heroes and trying to make the suggest changes. I'll post the edited version when it's finished  (having to go to work right now, sadly)

Sorry that it took a while longer than expected, but here is the first chapter to my 28 weeks later related fiction, Resurgence.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5923686/1/Resurgence

[Supermikhail]

A fellow aspiring writer here!
From the get-go, "It was rare that a day could be so fair yet so foul." Honestly, it doesn't tell me anything. I've noticed it with my writing recently, and have been fighting it fiercely, and I hurry to share my experience. This sentence is just a filler. Because it sounds cool, I guess. But when I see it, my brain just goes "flop". Because I don't know how a fair and foul day looks. Or maybe I should get updated on my medieval descriptions.

To the previous critic: What are you talking about? This guy is going to make the next step in modern literature after S. Meyer! But seriously, it's bad. My personal opinion is, that making yourself a hero in your writing to fulfill your fantasies is just unethical.

Oh... I started from a wrong point. I'm used to reviewing here as I read. So, basics. On one hand, fiction is film for the poor. On the other hand, fiction is a feast for imagination. Whichever way, the most important thing after the plot for you is to make your story easy to visualize. The problem with your writing can be summarized as, you're writing a plot, instead of a story. A story, as a movie in a written form, usually progresses in scenes. The setting of a scene is given some description. But not too much. Just enough clues to visualize it. A scene has characters that have distinct dialogue and actions, and all those you have to describe. But again, give just enough clues for visualization. In your first chapter I saw only one character - Strife. And everything around just a battle report. Also, one of the worst enemies of a beginning writer is trying to sound cool. For example, "But they did."
Ah, a better way would be to post some links. If I could find those I used myself... Basically, when I'm in doubt, I google "improve writing" and "writing tips". A lot of useful stuff.


...I'm sorry, there are so many things which need to be worked on, that I ramble. If my critique got you interested, I can point out specific things.
My tip. It would be good to rewrite the Heroes' first chapter starting from either more or less landscape and troop disposition's description, or from the protagonist's internal monologue, his assessment of the situation, his introduction into the events, more or less lengthy.
A better tip. Why don't you start with a short story? It would be easier to handle. Well, a superb short story requires a lot of polish and skill. But it's easier to handle. And to edit.

[Strife26]

Well, thanks for the advice of everyone. I rewrote the first chapter of Heroes.

Interestingly, Heroes and Strife was originally going to be a short story. I had it set for a pretty strict four part structure (The old version would have followed with one chapter for the battle, then a chapter for the resolution). I think that I'm going to expand it.

I've found that my writing either tends towards really long winded essays or to using overly short sentences which don't give enough information. I've been trying to work on it. In defense of the fair and foul line though, it establishes that their are both very good and very bad things going on and is a reference to Shakespeare that (hopefully) hints at Strife being different from everyone else.


Interestingly, Strife as a character has increasingly departed away from myself. Years ago, Strife was just a convenient internet moniker, the last name of the lead of my favorite game. Now though, I think that he's got a fair bit of depth, as well as holding opinions that really heavily conflict with my own. I really should find a new penname, but I've used Strife26 for such a long time. Once I got a bit better, I planed to sign stuff with my Christian name, which'd hopefully decrease some of the suspicion that Strife is a Sue (and in my defense, he'd definitely an Epic style hero, who normally skirt the line anyway).

[Supermikhail]

You're a funny guy, Strife. Well, as an author. You know, what Heroes is now?


A perfect popular history book about... some fantasy place.
Well, I can understand the semblance if the main character is a historian. But the readers are going to be put off by this style if it's not explained right off.
And, I don't know, the beginning makes Strife so chill... that it's simply incredible. I mean he is able to describe the fashion of the era in the middle of a battle.
Anyway, if I'm right, you need to insert more involvement into Strife's observations. A battlefield is not a place to consider architecture.

The rhythm has improved greatly. And overall style.

However, I must make a couple of points. First, don't underestimate the reader, second, do not play tricks with the reader. Ah, mostly the latter. Basically, you imply too much. Strife's outworldishness is in hints, and the reader is already supposed to meet the natives. You either drop the "other plane" for now (make Strife a mysterious warrior, maybe even omit the name), or explain it. Otherwise it's just unnecessarily confusing. Is Strife's origin so important to play with it? I'd think it's just a convenient setup for a fantasy story. No?

Last point. "Strife, doomed as he was, had appeared at the city a scant few weeks earlier." What? How does being doomed prevent him from having appeared here before? Is this some time paradox the reader isn't let into, again? Please make sense in your writing.

Again, the best cure here would be to explain Strife's origin right away.

[piecewise]

I'll just tell you what people have told me for years and what I've learned after a while.

1.Never use the word "suddenly" if you can avoid it. There's nothing wrong with the word or anything but it tends to lead to bad writing unintentionally.

2.Don't add descriptive words where they're not needed. "Bill said" is usually better then "Bill said angrily". It should be obvious from the dialogue that he's angry.

3. Naming characters after emotions or simply naming them words is generally a bad idea. I say this because its neigh omnipresent in terrible fan fiction.

4.No one cares about what your character looks like in detail. Don't describe your character's looks and clothing in detail since the reader is going to envision them more based on their actions and personality then what you say. Drop a detail or two, guide the reader's imagination but don't sit there and spell it all out for them. Same thing goes for the environment.

5.Show, don't tell. Unless it's a first person narrative and the person is talking about their own feelings then it's always better to show what a character is feeling rather then just say they're feeling it. It works sometimes (look at lovecraft's style) but is hard to pull off effectively (you have to make the reader feel the way the characters are feeling in order for it to work).

6. Small words, big ideas. Never use a large word where a small one is equally effective. 

For your work specifically lets see...

"Morale is pretty good. We've settled pretty well into the rotational system. We've got the general security forces alternating clean-up, disposal, and security.
Doesn't really seem professional for military personal to be using such colloquial speech with a higher ranking officer does it? It's also broken up into three sentences when it could easily be one or two. Consider something like this instead:
Morale is high, the rotational system has been successfully implemented and the general security forces are alternating between clean-up, disposal and security. 

Careful on tone, since it can completely undermine a story if done wrong.

[Strife26]

Yeah, a new short story I wrote. Diverting attention away from RPing, I guess.

God's Word

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Trailblazer – An angelic or human soldier whose primary duties include exploring uncontrolled planes, especially those with some Godly knowledge, taking direct action on those planes, and opening gates for other units.

Ralph-lan-Michael enjoyed this part of his work. Real, pure trailblazing. He walked through the uncharted plane, almost certainly the first angel to do so after He had seeded it with religion some time in the far-flung past. In any case, it was a pleasant enough place.

It was dark, close to midnight; Ralph strode confidently through the old growth forest, listening to the world: the gentle whumfing of an owl flying somewhere, a mouse scurrying in the underbrush, and the howls of a few wolves.

The trailblazer listened on another level as well, to intentions, to hopes, to good, and to evil. There were people here, a town a mile or so in front of him. He figured he'd walk there and see if he couldn't find an inn to stay at. He listened to a lot of things from that town, to all the flurry of emotions in humanity's heart, emotions he had once felt so strongly. There was darkness in the town, true, just as there was darkness in everything, but as a whole, there was light and hope. Just the way it should be.

A shudder echoed through the peaceful forest. Something dark, evil, and . . . wrong. For an instant, the stroke of a wing hesitated, the mice stopped and sniffed, the wolves howled harder. Ralph felt it, the same as the forest did. He sighed sadly. The plane showed its darkness. He started running towards the shudder's source.

It was a small house, on the very outskirts of town. Ralph found the front door and halted.

His gauntleted hand smashed the door, knocking it from flimsy hinges. Ralph-lan-Michael, Trailblazer of God, entered the room, his armor gleaming, an anarchism that would stun and confuse any human about. He needn't have worried. Two people, snuggled together on a couch, a young man and woman. Of course, the girl was dead. The man started babbling.

Ralph didn't much care to hear what he said. He caught a name, Porphyria, and how she had been strangled. The murderer ended with "And yet God has not said a word!"

That soldier of God saw red then. In a heartbeat, a gauntlet was around the bastard's throat. What a feeling power provided, that power to purge evil. He lifted the scum by his throat, knocking the corpse over. "I am God's word."

He swung around, slamming the murderer into a wall, next to a fireplace of dying embers. "Why? Why did you do it?"

The lyrical babbling stopped at least, only a choking gasp. "So she could always be with me."

Ralph's left hand moved to his dagger, drawing the blade, spinning it in his hand, and plunging into the murderer's heart. "May God have mercy on your damned soul."

Ralph held the throat tight against the wall while it died. He dropped the corpse on the ground and wiped his knife. The angel turned his attention to the girl, Porphyria. With all the gentleness due to the dead, he carried her outside. He found a shovel and dug her grave. "God rest."

He covered her with dirt and turned back to the house. Ralph concentrated for a moment, calling the power of passion. The ball of fire formed in his hand; he touched it to the side of the small house on the outskirts of town. It burst into flames.

Ralph-lan-Michael, Trailblazer of the Army of God walked back into the dark forest, flickering flames needlessly lighting his path, while the wolves continued to howl.

Reference to Robert Browning's poem, Porphyria's lover. Just in case anyone wondered whom the madman was talking to in it. Interesting poem, worth a read. Reviews greatly appreciated, especially constructively negative ones.

[Supermikhail]

So...
Well, it's pretty good. I should think much better than the previous entries.
On the other hand, although I won't deny that I skim most of what I read online, the story had a tint of bad fanfiction to it. After a quick analysis of my feelings, I decided it's because almost all of your sentences have the same structure. He did something. Or at least they begin this way. The protagonist does things. Try varying the sentence structure, and the surroundings should probably do something to complement the protagonists actions. Unfortunately I can't come up with examples right now.

Or maybe not... Well, for the second half my observation is correct.

Edit:
Well, and then I for some reason decided that it would be a good idea to edit the story myself.
That's what I got:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Ralph barRogziel enjoyed this part of his work. Real, pure trailblazing. Exploring new, uncharted planes, relishing the feeling of unknown, the thrill of a danger that might lie ahead, and the power he wielded, the power that the Lord bestowed upon him. And the same kind of power He put into this plane, once a blood-thirsty, frightened, heathen world. It was Ralph's job to find out how well the people managed this power since then. In one hand he brought God's blessing, in the other - Wrath. But until now, he was finding the place quite pleasant.

In the darkness of night Ralph strode through an old forest, alert to the signs of the world around him. Everywhere entities of small life carried out their small business. Here and there grass would rustle at the scurrying of numerous rodents, the air would ring with an excited hoot of an owl seeing its prey, and a trill of a cicada or a nightingale would start and cease to reappear in another place.

But most of Ralph's attention was on another level, where matters of entities of a higher order were. The worries, the hopes, the intentions and the despair of the people of the plane. He already knew that there was a town a mile or so away, and walked in its direction, eager to meet its inhabitants. He listened intently to the things that came from there, to all the flurry of emotions in people's hearts, emotions he had once felt so strongly. There was darkness in the town, true, just as there was darkness in everything, but as a whole, there was light and hope. Just the way it should be.

A shudder echoed through the peaceful forest. Something dark, evil, and . . . wrong. For an instant, a stroke of a wing hesitated, a mice stopped and sniffed, a note faltered. Ralph felt it, the same as the forest did. He sighed sadly. The plane showed its darkness. He started running towards the shudder's source.

It was a small shabby house, in a clearing on the outskirts of the town. The straw-thatched roof bore signs of rotting and a tilted door barely held on its hinges.

Ralph ran towards the door and smashed it with his fist, knocking it down. He stood in the doorway, his ancient armour gleaming into the darkness of the only room of the house, - a Trailblazer of God, a Bringer of Divine Justice, radiating holiness and rightfulness, ready to face the evil. But he needn't have worried. Only two people were snuggled together on a couch, a young man and a girl. Of course, the girl was dead. The man started babbling.

Ralph didn't much care to hear what he said. He caught a name, Porphyria, and how she had been strangled. The murderer ended with "And yet God has not said a word!"

A red veil then covered the eyes of the soldier of God. In a heartbeat, his gauntlet was around the bastard's throat. What a feeling power provided, that power to purge evil. He lifted the scum by his throat, knocking the corpse over. "I am God's word."

He swung around, slamming the murderer into a wall. "Why? Why did you do it?"

The lyrical babbling stopped, only a choking gasp. "So she could always be with me."

Ralph's left hand moved to his dagger, drawing the blade, spinning it in his hand, he plunged it into the murderer's heart. "May God have mercy on your black soul."

Ralph held the throat tight against the wall while it died. He dropped the corpse on the ground and wiped his knife. The angel turned his attention to the girl. With all the gentleness due to the dead, he carried her outside. He found a shovel and dug her grave. "God rest."

He covered her with dirt and turned back to the house. Ralph concentrated for a moment, calling the power of passion. The ball of fire formed in his hand; he touched it to the side of the small house on the outskirts of town. It burst into flames.

Ralph-lan-Michael, Trailblazer of the Army of God walked back into the dark forest, flickering flames needlessly lighting his path, while the wolves continued to howl.

I guess the idea here is that you should look and try to guess why I thought a place should be changed. A hint: mostly it was because of a lack of consistency, or mixed  abstract and concrete ideas. Or redundancy.

[Strife26]

I tried to vary sentence structure more with this story, written for a contest on SCP.

Loyalty to the Foundation

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

   Randy Gordon was just a name; a facet of an individual, shoved in some deep, dark corner of a dark soul. He'd been known by his call sign for most of his life. Strife felt that it suited him well enough. Strife: bitter war; conflict; humanity's struggle against itself. Strife littered the past and strife was the future, as long as humanity lived. Randy Gordon had fought strife, for only through conflict was progress made. It had once been so much simpler: shoot the enemies of his flag, find allies to help, and most important: keep your men alive. Now, everything was darker, muddled. Flags weren't nearly as easy to see.

   The new Level One Agent was in a world where the rules didn't always make sense. Where repeated application of firepower and maneuver might not be enough. He was still naive though; he had his faith, and he had his firepower. Mostly though, he had his faith in said firepower. It was an exciting, new world with new challenges.

   He took another sip of his drink, smiling grimly. Drinking alone made the call sign's thoughts run on dark paths, didn't it? Strife supposed that it was appropriate. His first mission, the importance of the task should weigh heavily on him. The operation should be easy enough, drive his own personal vehicle to go collect an object of interest. The details had been given to him late in the day, so he had decided that the best course of action was to stop at 2300 and find somewhere to sleep. He'd make the last bit of the journey in the morning, collect the object, and power back to the site. A pocket full of plastic paid for the gas and anything else needed. In this case, one of them would pay for his drink. Pretty good gig.

   Strife polished the double off, enjoying the burn in his throat. A hotel seemed tied down and vulnerable. He figured that sleeping in the car would be safer for him and the car. The bartender looked over, eyes asking if he wanted another when someone decided to sit down, immediately saying, “Another one for my friend here.”

   It was a cheerful, somewhat annoying voice. There were plenty of stools around the bar that weren't right next to anyone. What was he playing at? The Agent looked to his side. As the bartender set down the drink, Strife noted details. Shined shoes, expensive. Nice pants, collared shirt and tie. Relatively loose suit coat, hiding a shoulder holster? “Why the drink?”

   The interloper ordered himself a martini, leaning conspiratorially towards Strife. “You look like an interesting person. What exactly do you do for a living?”

   Strife didn't like people leaning into his comfort zone and he certainly didn't like questions about his job. “I'd rather not say, if you wouldn't mind.”

   The well-dressed, annoying man's voice took on an eager tone. “Well son, I represent a group known as Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd. It's a powerful organization, and they might be willing to pay well for a man of your talents . . . and connections.”

   Strife hoped that his flinch at the name wasn't too obvious. Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd. was a shadow organization that often clashed with his Foundation. Rich bastards wanting money and entertainment, not caring about anyone getting hurt. Standard Operating Procedure was for agents to maintain their cover. Happily, his cover was just fine with getting angry here.

   The combative trained Agent grabbed the man's far shoulder and spun him around. In short order, Strife had him laying halfway on the bar, with a forearm across his throat to keep him there. What came out of Strife's throat was closer to a growl than anything else, “Listen up. You want to know my job? Ever heard of the Delta Force? The people who are authorized to poke you full of holes if you snoop around our business. And I'll tell you what, Comrade, there isn't enough money in the whole world to get me away from my very important job, especially to work for some fucking no name Ltd.”

   Strife fished out one of his credit cards with his off hand, “Bartender, settle my tab, if you wouldn't mind.”

   The arm maintained steady pressure while the card was processed. Strife turned and walked out,  hands in his coat pocket. The dull roar of his car cheered him slightly, he drove a few miles away and stopped in a deserted parking lot. Getting out of his car, he looked around. The vehicle got a pat on the hood as the agent slouched against it.

   The greatcoat is a good article of clothing for many reasons. Amongst them are large pockets. The hungry soldier removed a sandwich from one and started eating. As he was finishing, another car decided to join him.

   Mercedes, muted red color. Very new, very expensive. Strife was fairly sure that he could outrace it if need be, depending upon the weights involved. The suited man from the bar got out and approached. “Maybe we got off on a bad start.”

   Strife didn't have much patience for this, “I don't believe that I'm interested.”

   He a step closer. “Es, Cee, Pee.”

   The out-of-his-depth agent swore to himself, wondering what to do and wishing that he had someone to advise him. “I don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about. Don't make me hurt you.”

   There was a sneer, and another step. The man from Marshall, Carter, and Dark was awfully close to Level One Agent Randy Gordon. “Sierra, Charlie, Papa ring a bell?”

   There was no response from Strife. Another step and Strife's opponent had a handgun in his hand, pointing right at the agent, six inches from his stomach. The man enunciated every c and t, “Secure, contain, protect. That's what you do, isn't it, Agent? Now, you're going to do exactly as I say, or I'll shoot you dead.”

   Running out of options, Call sign Strife looked down, noting the details of the gun. “A Walther P22? Mightn't a bigger bullet be a better idea? Twenty-twos don't really cut it.”

   “It'll work just fine when I put three of those cute little bullets right through your heart.”

   The man took the last step, resting the barrel of the gun right over Agent Strife's heart. It made a dull clink on impact. Strife smiled. “Here's the thing, old man. I'm wearing standard ceramic body armor. It's really quite good. A wimpy Papa Two Two won't penetrate, even at contact distance. Now then, you wanted information about my employer? I'll be happy to get your feet in the door.”

   The massive cross sent the man sprawling, and Strife wasted no time restraining him and depositing him in the trunk. The agent got in his car, wishing that he had something to destroy the Mercedes with. Could he get a couple of Thermite grenades? A satellite phone call connected him with his site. He just wished that he knew who exactly he was supposed to report the development to.

[Supermikhail]

Uh... what is it about exactly?
You know, I as a reader could hardly be involved less seeing as this "story" really seems to be a fragment of something bigger promising an intrigue, action, conspiracy theories... And instead it just stops at that. It could work on a larger canvas, but I unfortunately haven't seen it. As it is I can offer a couple of criticisms (however, you following them won't make the story a Pulitzer winner).
First, it seems to be a recurring thing in your stories where you start with some abstract observation from the main character, without really introducing him. I think it starts the reader off in some confusion to the identity of the person into whose head s/he is looking. You know, people do it, but usually when they write in first person. It probably works because the reader is involved in a dialogue and expects everything explained to him in due time because, well, s/he expects her/himself to be talking to a sane person... And even in that case, the amount of information you shove on the reader in the first paragraph is just unfair, and I can't think of any reason for you to do so. The least you could do would be to try and ground the reader first in the physical surroundings of the character musing.
Second, you seem to rush the dialogue too much. So that Strife appears to be an individual with serious psychological problems. Even if Marshall et al. guy is quite intrusive it doesn't seem to be a reason to jump up and start beating the crap out of him. The same for the dialogue. He's too angry too quickly. It could really bear some prelude, Strife to be more professional and subtle, the guy, too.
In short, if you could space and rhythm you dialogue and character to character interactions a bit, it would be much more enjoyable.
Anyway, what's SCP?
Also, you haven't proofread it in one place, and I won't stand for that.
Ah, also

Relatively loose suit coat, hiding a shoulder holster? “Why the drink?”

Decide whether you are going to have the full access to the main character's mind, or not at all. There is no reason to put the last sentence in quotation marks... But there is a good reason to put a period after "coat".