Delusion of Persecution

Again, I awoke to the diced sunshine plastered on to my ceiling. But now, it wasn't to the sound of the birds, or the rare bee that comes buzzing at my window that I awoke to. It was the sound of industrial machines. Heavy machinery, yes. Cars, cranes, cement trucks, power washers, and jackhammers. I hate them all.
I can scarcely remember my old condo, and it's welcoming environments. Trees, indeed, I can truly feel the loss of flora in my life. Never have I even thought about the wildlife back then. But now, it has surely taken a toll on my life.
What an unusual setting. My existence, at the center of an urban sprawl. A bustling city no doubt, but no where near the status of an industrial power. The only thing keeping this place alive is oil, the black gold. Even with an abundant amount of it still in our possession, no one can turn a blind eye towards the definite economic downturn.
My school lies only a couple blocks away, it sits at quite an important position on the "Red Mile" of this city. Funny, the Red Mile sounds like some historical massacre that once took place.
Honestly though, recently I've become quite bored with people. I guess disgusted would be a more fitting term. The intelligence of people, well, students in particular, have taken a downfall in the past few years. Students no longer can comprehend simple logic, which is quite bothersome in arguments and just general talking. I don't know if it's because of the corrupt educational system? Or perhaps that I'm always a few steps ahead of people. Either way, it's become rather annoying.
Oh yes, I've forgot to tell you my name.
My name...
My name... is sincerely of no importance, a name is just like a number. We are but sheep.
However, my thoughts are what keeps my sane at this point in life. Call me a schizophrenic if you will, but I refuse to lower my status to the likes of others in this society.
I've also been labeled as paranoid. Yes, paranoia, the delusion of persecution, irrational fear, whatever you want to call it. But I personally do not believe that I am paranoid, but then again, how would I know?
But fear...
Fear of... what?
If I'm paranoid, then... shouldn't I be scared shitless even walking down the streets?
But I'm not... I'm on my to school right now. There's not one hint of fear in my mind.
I'm almost at the stairs to the side entrance now... passing the usual Starbucks that is always filled with caffeine-addicted teenagers every morning.
But as I push the oak doors of the school, I had a sudden thought to skip... I've never skipped once in my life.
A furious battle raged on in my mind, my fear of failure and my morals fought vigorously.
Eventually, my feet took me away from the school.
I began to walk down the Red Mile. Looking at the various shops that shone with temptations to waste your money on.
I came to a crosswalk light, the walking man, turned to the flashing red hand. So I stopped.
Heavy traffic wasn't an odd thing, even this early in the morning. Usually it would be hard to pick up speed along the Red Mile, but not this road, this road had more lanes.
Cars sped past me going 80 or perhaps 90 per hour. I didn't know what or how to feel.
The light was a solid red hand now, it would be foolish to cross.
I turned to my left to stare in to a store, but nothing the in the display glass caught my attention. The glass itself did.
I was staring in to my own reflection, a high school guy, shouldering a backpack. Nothing special it seemed, to the unknowing bystander that is.
Some say that once you've given up on life, there's no more pain for you to feel, physical, mental, or emotional.
So I walked towards that solid red hand.
And I finally understood my delusion of persecution.

Hello TSun. Blinkster here. Cynic alert.

Again, I awoke to the diced sunshine plastered on to my ceiling. But now, it wasn't to the sound of the birds, or the rare bee that comes buzzing at my window that I awoke to.

Eh, this is all very confusing--too much so for an opening statement, anyway. You see, you've got a patronising voice coming across that, although I know the second sentence is resolved in the third, I feel as if you're telling me stuff for no reason. You tell me that you woke to the sun, and then go in great detail to examine how it wasn't the bees. But then I still know that it was the sun you woke to and I'm wondering why you're telling me this. Firstly, shorten down the second sentence and then find a way of differentiating between;

1) what you saw when you woke and
2) what woke you.

If that makes the slightest sense. Please PM me at any point if I get too vague.

Heavy machinery, yes. Cars, cranes, cement trucks, power washers, and jackhammers. I hate them all.

I like this. Blunt and harsh. =]

and it's welcoming

"it's" = "its"

Remember, possessives have no apostrophe for "it".

What an unusual setting. My existence, at the center of an urban sprawl. A bustling city no doubt, but no where near the status of an industrial power. The only thing keeping this place alive is oil, the black gold. Even with an abundant amount of it still in our possession, no one can turn a blind eye towards the definite economic downturn.

My school lies only a couple blocks away, it sits at quite an important position on the "Red Mile" of this city. Funny, the Red Mile sounds like some historical massacre that once took place.

Stop here. What's going on? Is any of this necessary?

The first paragraph is just confusing me, where you're mixing together long and confusing sentences towards something I feel as if should be philosophical, but is just a little messy. I like the idea up until the bit where you start talking about oil and black gold--I feel as if the metaphor is lost and you're bordering on alienating. I'd clean that bit up and relate the idea to something we can understand some more.

The second part feels a little random and unconnected with the rest; the point, I feel, was to draw on the Red Mile bit, but the way you did it makes me think that the school is irrelevant and you just wanted to talk about the reference to a massacre. Find another away to introduce it, because I feel as if it does add to the atmosphere of the piece.

I guess disgusted would be a more fitting term. (...) Either way, it's become rather annoying.

Too dumbed-down. The power is lost when you compare annoyance to disgust so bleakly, if you understand.

Oh yes, I've forgot to tell you my name.

"forgot" = "forgotten"

My name... is sincerely of no importance, a name is just like a number. We are but sheep.

Meh. I've heard it all before, and thus, this is nothing noteworthy as it should be. A name is identity. It defines our purpose. Give us an interesting connection between a lack of name and sheep.

But I'm not... I'm on my to school right now.

= "my way to"

And I finally understood my delusion of persecution.

But I still don't.

You see, the idea is there, in this piece, but nothing happens in it. It doesn't shine out for me. It's almost to brief and a lot of the thoughts aren't explored--where you talk about the pain giving reason for death, it's as if you assume we're all going to suddenly agree and care. It's more powerful if you make us interested in your character so that we understand who and why this person is. The name is not necessary, but reason, and motive, and background is. It's almost so generic that I'm confused.

My main advice for you would be to make a character here, and not just a robot who wakes up and kills himself because without reason there is no conflict and no story. Sorry for being brief, but I hope I've helped somewhat.

To conclude: flesh out the story and throw a different twist on the viewpoint that has already been done before.

Best,
Blinky

Blink wrote:Hello TSun. Blinkster here. Cynic alert.

Again, I awoke to the diced sunshine plastered on to my ceiling. But now, it wasn't to the sound of the birds, or the rare bee that comes buzzing at my window that I awoke to.

Eh, this is all very confusing--too much so for an opening statement, anyway. You see, you've got a patronising voice coming across that, although I know the second sentence is resolved in the third, I feel as if you're telling me stuff for no reason. You tell me that you woke to the sun, and then go in great detail to examine how it wasn't the bees. But then I still know that it was the sun you woke to and I'm wondering why you're telling me this. Firstly, shorten down the second sentence and then find a way of differentiating between;

1) what you saw when you woke and
2) what woke you.

If that makes the slightest sense. Please PM me at any point if I get too vague.

Heavy machinery, yes. Cars, cranes, cement trucks, power washers, and jackhammers. I hate them all.

I like this. Blunt and harsh. =]

and it's welcoming

"it's" = "its"

Remember, possessives have no apostrophe for "it".

What an unusual setting. My existence, at the center of an urban sprawl. A bustling city no doubt, but no where near the status of an industrial power. The only thing keeping this place alive is oil, the black gold. Even with an abundant amount of it still in our possession, no one can turn a blind eye towards the definite economic downturn.

My school lies only a couple blocks away, it sits at quite an important position on the "Red Mile" of this city. Funny, the Red Mile sounds like some historical massacre that once took place.

Stop here. What's going on? Is any of this necessary?

The first paragraph is just confusing me, where you're mixing together long and confusing sentences towards something I feel as if should be philosophical, but is just a little messy. I like the idea up until the bit where you start talking about oil and black gold--I feel as if the metaphor is lost and you're bordering on alienating. I'd clean that bit up and relate the idea to something we can understand some more.

The second part feels a little random and unconnected with the rest; the point, I feel, was to draw on the Red Mile bit, but the way you did it makes me think that the school is irrelevant and you just wanted to talk about the reference to a massacre. Find another away to introduce it, because I feel as if it does add to the atmosphere of the piece.

I guess disgusted would be a more fitting term. (...) Either way, it's become rather annoying.

Too dumbed-down. The power is lost when you compare annoyance to disgust so bleakly, if you understand.

Oh yes, I've forgot to tell you my name.

"forgot" = "forgotten"

My name... is sincerely of no importance, a name is just like a number. We are but sheep.

Meh. I've heard it all before, and thus, this is nothing noteworthy as it should be. A name is identity. It defines our purpose. Give us an interesting connection between a lack of name and sheep.

But I'm not... I'm on my to school right now.

= "my way to"

And I finally understood my delusion of persecution.

But I still don't.

You see, the idea is there, in this piece, but nothing happens in it. It doesn't shine out for me. It's almost to brief and a lot of the thoughts aren't explored--where you talk about the pain giving reason for death, it's as if you assume we're all going to suddenly agree and care. It's more powerful if you make us interested in your character so that we understand who and why this person is. The name is not necessary, but reason, and motive, and background is. It's almost so generic that I'm confused.

My main advice for you would be to make a character here, and not just a robot who wakes up and kills himself because without reason there is no conflict and no story. Sorry for being brief, but I hope I've helped somewhat.

To conclude: flesh out the story and throw a different twist on the viewpoint that has already been done before.

Best,
Blinky

You can't blame your lack of understanding on my ability to write.
Haha, which is quite sad when you think about it.
Go read more, go watch more movies, go think more.
Why should my character have to explain to you what he or she is feeling?
All throughout your review, numerous flaws have been exposed.
Like many other people, YOU need to be spoon fed, you obviously lack ability to comprehend a piece of writing presented to you.
It's almost like that someone presents you something and has to tell you what it is in order for you to be able to use it or understand it.
Pathetic, just pathetic.

Right, TSun, your response is immature and childish. I'm not a great writer, but this is the opinion of a reader who happens to critique, and if I'm not interested, why would everyone else be? Be grateful I spared you half an hour of my time. I didn't have to do that.

Why should my character have to explain to you what he or she is feeling?

Because we therefore won't care. That's like saying, 'Why should I have to describe something? Surely the reader will know everything because I say so!' Explain to us not through telling, but showing; that's my recommendation. Otherwise you've got a guy who kills himself for no reason whatsoever, and so we can't relate, and it doesn't change our perception of anything. The story, thus, has no point.

All throughout your review, numerous flaws have been exposed.

Wonderful. I'm not a perfect person, you know, but I have opinions. YWS is where we come to offer advice and our thoughts. If you want us to say you're an incredible writer when you, well, aren't, then leave or grow up.

Like many other people, YOU need to be spoon fed, you obviously lack ability to comprehend a piece of writing presented to you.

So, tell me, what should I comprehend from it? Perhaps your poor writing or extremities that describe your ego are the common denominators? Go read 1984, a brilliant political ride, and see what works and why.

I hope I'm not wasting/did not waste my time with you. Learn to take criticism, because I've got news for you. You show potential, but you've got a long way to go. You're free to disagree with things, but please, at least learn to listen.

Best
Blinky

You can't blame your lack of understanding on my ability to write.
Haha, which is quite sad when you think about it.
Go read more, go watch more movies, go think more.
Why should my character have to explain to you what he or she is feeling?
All throughout your review, numerous flaws have been exposed.
Like many other people, YOU need to be spoon fed, you obviously lack ability to comprehend a piece of writing presented to you.
It's almost like that someone presents you something and has to tell you what it is in order for you to be able to use it or understand it.
Pathetic, just pathetic.

Tsun,

Don't be a jerk to someone that took time out of their schedual to try to help you, after reading your piece I agree with Blink 100%. If an writer points out something, and you don't agree and don't want to change it... simple answer, don't. However we are all trying to help you improve your writing, and I hate to inform you, this story needs massive improvement.

Perhaps you need to work on both your writing style and your attitude before posting again



~ OverEasy

Right, TSun, your response is immature and childish. I'm not a great writer, but this is the opinion of a reader who happens to critique, and if I'm not interested, why would everyone else be? Be grateful I spared you half an hour of my time. I didn't have to do that.

You're right, you didn't have to.
But you did, why should I be grateful for something you did out of your own free will?

Because we therefore won't care. That's like saying, 'Why should I have to describe something? Surely the reader will know everything because I say so!' Explain to us not through telling, but showing; that's my recommendation. Otherwise you've got a guy who kills himself for no reason whatsoever, and so we can't relate, and it doesn't change our perception of anything. The story, thus, has no point.

So simply put, if you're not spoon fed, you cannot make up your own point of view?

I hope I'm not wasting/did not waste my time with you. Learn to take criticism, because I've got news for you. You show potential, but you've got a long way to go. You're free to disagree with things, but please, at least learn to listen.

Learn to take insults.


Edit:

Tsun,

Don't be a jerk to someone that took time out of their schedual to try to help you, after reading your piece I agree with Blink 100%. If an writer points out something, and you don't agree and don't want to change it... simple answer, don't. However we are all trying to help you improve your writing, and I hate to inform you, this story needs massive improvement.

Perhaps you need to work on both your writing style and your attitude before posting again Wink

Again, I didn't ask to to review my work, no one did.
Good for you that you agree with him, do you also need to be spoon fed?
My story needs improvement regardless, where did I say that it did not need improvement?

Alright people, no more arguing, or I'll lock this thread.

Keep everything civil. This thread is for posting reviews, and that's it.

Seems to be a debate going on. Haven't read it yet though, since I try not to read other reviews until I've made my own, so forgive me if I rehash old points.

Anyway, I really like the general idea behind this story. The internal conflict felt under the surface has untold possibilities. The problem is that you never really fill any of these out. The motives behind the narrator’s actions are almost never or explained, or are merely given the briefest explanation possible. This may have been your intention, but if so, you should describe the spontaneity of your character beforehand.

Overall, I do think this story needs some polishing up, but with some more work it could be a very impressive piece.

Well, this piece certainly screams out car crash.

The first part starts intriguing... yes, the narrator is a pompous, self-centered asshole, but he's at least interesting about it and he offers some good insights. Plus, it's written in a stream-of-conscience style, which I kind of adore. It sort of reminds me of "Catcher in the Rye" too, in a good way. It's written very much the same way.

And then you get to this part:

Oh yes, I've forgot to tell you my name.

My name...

My name... is sincerely of no importance, a name is just like a number. We are but sheep.

...and then I laughed.

Seriously?

You're writing in this stream of conscience style and then you stop it and break the fourth wall, which is bad. Very bad. You might as well have the character twirl his evil-looking mustache (that of course looks like this) and have him say, "BWHAHAHAHA! LOOK AT ME DENY YOU THE PRIVILEGE OF KNOWING MY NAME! WE ARE BUT SHEEP!"

...yeah. Except for the fact that I never actually cared for his name. I cared for his character since he had interesting thoughts. By him breaking the fourth wall like this on such a ridiculous idea, it showed me that this character had really nothing interesting to say. How could he? He's playing a ridiculous elementary school game with the reader ("What's your name?" "Guess!" "Um..." "WE ARE ALL BUT SHEEP.").

So this pretty much killed your piece and, if I were reading this book, I would put it down and hide it away so nobody else could find it. However, fortunately for you(?) I read more.

Here are my notes:

However, my thoughts are what keeps my sane at this point in life. Call me a schizophrenic if you will, but I refuse to lower my status to the likes of others in this society. <-- Okay. Less bragging about his thoughts and more thoughts, please. That's what grabbed me in, that's what I want.

I've also been labeled as paranoid. Yes, paranoia, the delusion of persecution, irrational fear, whatever you want to call it. But I personally do not believe that I am paranoid, but then again, how would I know? <-- Why was he labeled paranoid?

But fear...

Fear of... what? <-- More detail. Why is he not sure of what to fear? Give us examples--that will help with the stream of conscience effect too so that we get a clearer picture of who he is. And no, that's not spoon-feeding. It really isn't. Instead, it's called story-telling. And since this is a story, your reader kind of expects you to put in some effort. Especially when your reader is me. No offense, but when I put more effort in reading a story than the author put in writing the story, I'm miffed. And trust me, I've read quite a lot of works, especially of stuff like teenagers just like you. You didn't try. I'm miffed. Especially since it could have been good. So try next time, 'kay?

If I'm paranoid, then... shouldn't I be scared shitless even walking down the streets? <-- For someone so smart, he's sounding sooooo stupid. That's not what paranoid is. And wouldn't it be easier for him to just flat-out deny it? It doesn't make sense with his character. UNLESS your character is a complete idiot, which he obviously isn't. So again, it looks like you're being a lazy writer.

But I'm not... I'm on my to school right now. There's not one hint of fear in my mind. <-- This line also made me laugh. Come on. Causation does not equal correlation. And just in case you have no idea what that means, the logic of these sentences say, "I'm not fearful because I am going to school." Um. Yeah right. Because going to school causes sooooo much fear in the hearts of children everywhere. Instead, you actually have to come up with a legitimate reason why he might be afraid so that the logic makes sense. And normally this might not be an issue, but in your introduction, you claim that this character uses logic. Well, this is your chance to prove it! But he fails utterly.
Maybe you're going for the dramatic irony, but I kind of doubt it.

I'm almost at the stairs to the side entrance now... passing the usual Starbucks that is always filled with caffeine-addicted teenagers every morning. <-- Why is this sentence separated from everything else? The whole one sentence paragraphs make it seem jerky.

But as I push the oak doors of the school, I had a sudden thought to skip... I've never skipped once in my life. <-- OMG. He thought to skip??? How unusual! I mean, he only thinks everyone around him is moronic and disgusting. My question is why wouldn't he want to skip? And, with that said, why is this such a big deal?

A furious battle raged on in my mind, my fear of failure and my morals fought vigorously. <-- This might be more impressive if A) he hadn't said he had no fear (so why are you introducing here that he is afraid of failing?) and B) you have not introduced any morals. B is especially fatal because you introduced him as such a slimy, dislikable character that seemed to lack morals entirely. Which, like I said, I kind of loved, just because the character was so unlikable and yet so human it was awesome. But really, because of both reasons A and B, this fails to stir up any conflict whatsoever. As far as we're concerned, he has no fear and he has no morals. What is there to fight?

Eventually, my feet took me away from the school.<-- Because, y'know, he was just soooo intent on going to school in the first place...

I began to walk down the Red Mile. Looking at the various shops that shone with temptations to waste your money on. <-- What is this Red Mile?

I came to a crosswalk light, the walking man, turned to the flashing red hand. So I stopped.

Heavy traffic wasn't an odd thing, even this early in the morning. Usually it would be hard to pick up speed along the Red Mile, but not this road, this road had more lanes.<-- Um. School is not early in the morning. Really. Unless he's going to school at two o'clock in the morning, which is kind of doubtful.

Cars sped past me going 80 or perhaps 90 per hour. I didn't know what or how to feel. <-- Um. You may not know this but since it's probably about seven o'clock at the earliest (that's about when Starbucks opens) there are these black and white cars with sirens on top (they're called "cop cars") that patrol the city streets and hand out traffic violations. Generally, the highest city road speed I've seen is forty-five miles per hour. Which is half of the ninety miles per hour speed mentioned here. However, since the school is close to the street, that means that the speed limit is TWENTY-FIVE MILES PER HOUR. And, since this is set at school time, there are cop cars patrolling this area to make sure the kids are safe. Plus, at around school time, everything is so congested that it's unlikely that these cars can go so fast. So, unless there is a freeway right next to this school, this ain't happening. Especially since there aren't any crosswalks on freeways. Now, of course, you may be just using an over-exaggeration here to make a point that the cars are fast. But really, there is no need to tell a fishing story or tall-tale here. If you said forty-five miles per hour, I would give you some slack. But 80-90? Yeah right.

The light was a solid red hand now, it would be foolish to cross.

I turned to my left to stare in to a store, but nothing the in the display glass caught my attention. The glass itself did.

I was staring in to my own reflection, a high school guy, shouldering a backpack. Nothing special it seemed, to the unknowing bystander that is. <-- One would think, given how self-centered, yet educated this character is, that he would describe himself more thoroughly.

Some say that once you've given up on life, there's no more pain for you to feel, physical, mental, or emotional.

So I walked towards that solid red hand.

And I finally understood my delusion of persecution.<-- These three lines separated like this give the appearance of stop and go traffic. Not good if you want to have a solid ending. And the lack of realism makes this ending laughable. As if.

***

And so those are the notes. They're not too nice, I suppose, but hopefully they'll turn on your brain and make you think of ways to make this story better. So far, it seems like you're using your mental prowess to insult people, but really, it's more productive to actually try to fix it. You seem to be a smart, determined young man (otherwise there is no way I would have given you such a harsh critique) so I think you can handle this. And yes, I know you'll probably hate me and this critique, but trust me... you're not alone. I've done more than two thousand critiques on teenager's works, and I think pretty much everybody hates me at a certain point.

And I think you can be soooo much better, if only you put your mind to it. Which brings me to the subject I wanted to end with: the beginning. I liked the beginning. In fact, I kind of adored it. Too many writers like to write perfect, cut-out characters, but you made a slimeball for your main character, and what's more, you didn't try to present him as anything else or try to make him sympathetic or anything. He was just there, thinking, and by reading the beginning, it was almost like we were given no-holds access on his brain, which I just loved. You presented him as smart and logical, as someone who didn't mind analyzing the grittier parts of his brain unflinchingly, which made him simultaneously alien and yet human. It was weird, but I loved it.

You made him interact with the world. Too many writers on this site have the narrator agonize over something or another and they make them disconnected with the environment so that they seem disconnected from the reader, but you didn't do this. Instead, you had the narrator muse about his place in his environment and so it gave us the chance to see him and how he interacted with the world without having to have him do much of anything at all. He didn't have to. He largely lives in his own head. It's kind of fantastic.

So yes, you show promise as a writer. A lot, in fact. I like how you introduce this character and get your hands dirty in the very beginning. It's awesome. But you have to keep it up and not get lazy, otherwise it will kill all of your story-telling talent. And that would be such a waste.

Good luck and happy editing!