Keeping Time

This thread looks lonely and I need to procrastinate, so some very nitty picks first:

blood stained

'bloodstained', one word :wink:

He couldn’t think and he couldn’t see and his head was a balloon with too much air.

This would be better as: "He couldn't think, couldn't see; his head was a balloon with too much air."

because there was puke all over

"all over him..."

heart beat

One word, 'heartbeat'.

****

I have to admit that the last part confused me a little, the fact that you had so many different transitions and voices all at once. Yet, I think it worked. It gave a chaotic sense of war. I'm afraid I have little else to offer in terms of review, since I generally just enjoyed this. I couldn't find any criticism to do with the letter, because it seemed real and I soon realised it was. Well done there, I loved the way you mixed the fiction in with this history. To be honest, it would have been more effective if you had built on the descriptions in my opinion, adding to the realism. We have the photo but without it, consider it a normal fiction piece. What does he look like? The emotions and feelings I loved, however.

Great work,
- :smt102

Tillychan!

Okay, so. I can't ramble enough about this piece--it makes me choke up if I actually click the links to read the letters as the story goes along. The last jumbled part is probably one of my favorite pieces of writing from you, ever. It's raw emotion, and it's absolutely stunning. I'm pretty certain you just designed this piece to make me cry. Srsly.

Since this piece is based more on emotion than plot, I'm going to do something I seldom do and ramble on about language and emotion and the like. But it's a paragraph-by-paragraph, not line-by-line. So you haven't defeated me quite yet XD

Robert hid in the trench with the other men. The mud seeped into his boots and rubbed into his hair and smeared all over his face. The mud was even in his mouth – tastes like nothing, Bruce had told him. Bruce was a few feet away, shooting back at “those damn Nazis”.

Your first line is a story in itself. While this is a great way of dumping us into the scene, it doesn't quite behoove the rest of the piece--it's a little plain. And considering this piece is centered on the relationship between Dolores and Robert, you want to make Robert and/or Dolores the focus of whatever scene they happen to be starring in. It's what makes Cold Mountain an incredibly sad book. We follow Inman around through various battles and confrontations, and get to know him as a character, rather than the characteristics of the Confederate Army as a whole. Zeroing in on your main characters, especially at first, is a good way to make the heartless people who haven't already bawled at this story shed some tears.

Speaking of Robert, why is he relying on Bruce for tastes he's encountered on his own? Unless Bruce happened to taste the mud in Robert's mouth--in which case, this is a very different story from what I expected, and I am shocked and appalled that you have received less than twenty-six reviews. Cooties are an important thing in war scenes, though--you know that as well as anybody. Battle's gross. The main thing that this paragraph is missing is sensation. How cold is the mud? Is it slick and watery, or does it suck at their boots? Is it silt? Or filled with gravel? All of these things have a huge impact on how interesting it becomes to follow Robert about.

Also, I want to know where the Nazis are. I'm pretty blind, but in this case, you're the optometrist. Put on some wicked prescription shades for me so I can see what Robert's seeing, too.

He could see the sky. It was big and blue, like always. Even in France, the sky was blue. Every few seconds, bullets rushed through the sky to meet with dirt or flesh. They were like black bees, the way they whizzed. Robert wondered how many bullets actually hit their target. How many of his friends were lying next to him, dead?

Robert was supposed to reload his gun. He was supposed to get back up. He was supposed to…

I really like the idea of this paragraph--it's got a home away from home feel that's neat. However, I'm not certain what Robert's frame of reference is. I want a location, some geography of his old 'hood. Otherwise, it's like, "Well, yes, skies are usually blue--where have you been? England?" and so forth.

The black bees are really cool, as is the wondering at the end of this paragraph. It'd be neat if you put in more "supposed to's"--it's a spot where I expect things to feel urgent and rushed, but the ellipse makes things slow down, as does the fact that it's a list of two items. It's reverse psychology, I know, but people tend to read faster through a longer list, so they can get to the end. It's a great tool to use when you want things to feel frantic.

Before Robert could take a breath, could blink, could wonder am I going to die, Bruce was on top of it – then Bruce was everywhere. His foot perched on top of the medical tent and his hand still held a gun. His blood stained Roberts face and dripped onto his tongue.

This is a cool paragraph, but I have no idea what Bruce is on top of. And if you're writing weird Allied slash fiction, I really don't want to know. The location of things feels a bit stilted--Bruce blowing apart is an awesome way to gross us out, and I love it, but the logistics of it are kind of funky. First, we need to know where the grenade is and what it looks like as it lands and detonates, and then we need to know where Bruce is. Was he trying to get away? Was he trying to shield himself? Before we can pronounce a character dead, we have to know what they were doing. Otherwise it's just really random. You know how big a fan of death I am--make it meaningful.

Also, what happened to Robert during this, besides the blood? Either Bruce bits were sprayed around really far, or Robert's one lucky goose. If he ends up in a med tent, we need to know for what.

Dolores’ picture was taped to the tent wall above him. Every time he went to bed, and every time he woke up, Robert could see her and touch her and kiss her. It was like she had moved to France for him. Only she was thinner now, as thin as paper.

I love this. It's so incredibly sad and incredibly sweet at the same time--and what makes it even more sentimental is the picture link, which kills me. It's not a comic strip or a pin-up girl. It's just his wife, and she's just as tangible as ever.

The man lifted him up by the arms. “Damn it, Robert, you want to die sleeping or fighting?”

This doesn't make a lot of sense. The descriptions kind of feel like he was knifed, but if he's shot, didn't they notice? And if so, wouldn't they just take him for a goner anyhow, especially if he's sustained previous injuries?

This war is hell, and if I live, I’ll want heaven, which is you.

OMG. I love you, Tillychan. ^_^

Henry Griggs was the man who pulled him out. He made Robert go to the medical tent because there was puke all over and he smelled like a dead animal.

Didn't Robert...just get shot? Dead animal smell is pretty terrible, I'll admit, but there are lethal wounds to attend to.

And then the end. OhmyCarl. The connection with the title is absolutely wonderful, and the end is amazing. It's really beautiful, and it perfectly portrays the frantic-ness and despair of all involved--of Dolores, and of Robert, an ocean away.

Plus, you just had to go and post the real things. -_- You owe me a box of Kleenex, missy.

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