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Sun Apr 05, 2009 10:43 pm
Lauren says...



Good hook. Those one-sentence-paragraphs can seem a cop-out but it didn't. I like the imagery, too, but maybe it's a bit too much in an opening paragraph? :S

And mine:

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that first impressions are imperative. They are the foundation on which all opinion is built--a person, or a place, can change; can alter completely in a moment, but that first impression is always there. It cannot be flattened out; nor can it be thrown aside or thrown away. First impressions stay in one's mind as keenly as the memory of a first kiss or a first blunder. They are permanent. When I think about it, I suppose my first impression of the hotel began long before I saw it in person. Like many people's, mine began with the imagination, with expectation. I saw it in my head as I read the advertisement in the shop window of the newsagents below my flat. Staring at that salmon pink rectangle of card, and at the details scrawled ineptly in blue biro, I knew it was for me. Like a hollogram on the shop window--except that the whole street seemed to vaporise in my consciousness--it unfurled before me. It was everything, it was all; it was all I'd ever hoped for. I saw the building as only a romantic could, although I believe it must have been like muddled pieces of a jigsaw. I cannot have seen the hotel in its entirity, because the real thing did not disappoint. Really, in truth, I imagined stone walls, a long drive, latticed windows. I saw what I wanted and I never supposed it unobtainable. I knew in my soul it would be all I had hoped for. My first impression was sealed.
  





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Sun Apr 05, 2009 10:57 pm
KailaMarie says...



I really like that. It tied in the beginning to the end of the paragraph, and it made me wonder what was so important about the hotel to begin with. Good job.


Mine:
Sex talks are always awkward. There’s no way around it. And for me, it was a yearly ritual with my mom. That’s right, I didn’t have to go through that kind of torture just once, I get it every year before I go off with my dad for the summer. I guess being away from her means I’d suddenly have the opportunity to have sex. So when my mom came into my room and sat on my bare bed, I knew what was coming.
... :D ...
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Mon Apr 06, 2009 3:51 am
Krupp says...



That was a decent start. It sounded a little too personal, a little too casual, if you know what I mean...but that doesn't make it bad; I just think it sounds a little too much like a kid running her mouth instead of teillng a story. But you really shouldn't listen to me, because I'm strange when it comes to reading things like this.

This is the beginning paragraph from a new novel I'm working on a little bit on the side:

It was another night, one among many, stranded on the pier, thinking too heavily, drinking. Oh yes, drinking. Another night on the town, isolated from any loved ones, drowning in alcohol as a way of escaping the grim fate that was reserved for anyone who crossed the line and descended into the lower ridges of thinking in life.
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Mon Apr 06, 2009 4:05 pm
Helpful McHelpfulpants says...



It's interesting, but the detached voice left me a little blank. I'd probably read on; not hugely gripping, as a start, but mildly intriguing and well-written enough. Might try to anchor it in someone's head more for better effect? Or begin with a vivid physical description of this night, one among many? Not that I'm one to talk, haha. I do like it, though.

Here's mine:

It was glorious summer in the palace, though spring chill and dampness lingered on the city walls: the only thing dying behind its gates was a king. But his was a patently unremarkable death, feverish, undignified, and mildly depressing. It marked the end of a feverish, undignified, and mildly depressing reign. The courtiers were resigned to waiting it out in mostly respectful silence; they amused themselves with noonday catnaps, mediocre poetry, and cool sherbets imported from the northlands.
Nunc lac est bibendum.
  





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Thu May 28, 2009 11:39 pm
Twit says...



9/10

The description threw me off a little at first, but once it got going, it was good. The humour really drew me in -- that, I think, more than the dying king made me want to read more.


‘This is the tale of the mysterious and immortal freedom fighter ninja known only by the name whispered on bated breath during games of Chinese Whispers with Auld Lang Syne played by a blind ocarina player underneath the table. The tale that curves, long and sinuous, in and out of time and history, wrapped around the ankles of the universe and tickling its toes so that the universe shakes and trembles in amusement.

This is the tail of the Raven. However, being a bird, she doesn’t have a very long tail. In fact…’ The Raven looked over her shoulder, squinting down her nose. ‘Being a hybrid, she doesn’t actually have any tail. So the analogy kind of falls down flat, doesn’t it?’

The cat licked a paw and rubbed behind its ears, then stuck out a hind leg as though it were giving the whole world the finger and began to wash the base of its tail.
"TV makes sense. It has logic, structure, rules, and likeable leading men. In life, we have this."


#TNT
  





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Fri May 29, 2009 3:37 am
Bickazer says...



6/10

I really liked the bit with the "tale" and "tail"; that got me to laugh out loud. And I can definitely see the quirky tone you're going for--but it seems a tad too quirky at times. A bit unbelievable, I guess? It's hard to say what bothers me about it, just that the first paragraph especially seems to be rather...random ("blind ocarina players"...?) and I had to read it twice before I could understand what it meant.

I'd say tone down the quirkiness a tad, because it's a bit off-putting especially for a first paragraph. It seems a bit over-the-top, not subtle enough. That could be a matter of taste, though. The rest is fine (especially the contrast between "tale" and "tail", and I can see how you were shifting from the dramatic, pompous tone of the first paragraph to the more matter-of-fact tone of the other paragraphs). A more subtle first paragraph and it'll be great.

Nendo stood in the midst of the bustling crowd, his eyes trained on the blue sky spread above him. It was a deep, clear shade of blue that reminded Nendo of the water in the Protector’s Fountain in the city square—or perhaps Nendo was only thinking of water because of the heat.

Ha ha, guess I shouldn't be talking about quirkiness since mine is so boring...
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Fri May 29, 2009 3:31 pm
Blink says...



6/10

I think there are too many ideas that don't really connect, and it feels more like an info dump at some points, really. It felt like this: crowd, sky, water, fountain, city square, hot. We don't really need to know about the Protector's Fountain at the moment, and it'll just confuse the readers. But it's okay; focus the paragraph on something and then gradually move on. =]


He raises his hand and the rock crumbles between his blistered fingers. Sand rains down upon the beach and then it is lost. Luther is lost. He cannot save a single grain. The water rides into the sand, a sultry bolt of light electrocuting the waves as they lap against the shore, retreating, in again, over the boots of the dead man sprawled beneath the midday sun.
"A man's face is his autobiography. A woman's face is her work of fiction." ~ Oscar Wilde
  





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Fri May 29, 2009 3:50 pm
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Snoink says...



3/10

I didn't want to finish reading the first sentence. It didn't make sense. You start the sentence off by saying that he raises his hand? Um... elementary school much? So it paints this really stupid picture right away. And then you have the rock crumbles. Why would he do that that if he had blistered fingers, unless he were a masochist? So already, that doesn't make sense and because the images are so unrelated and stupid together, I figured that the rest of the story was stupid.

The stupidity continued with the next sentence. Sand rained on the beach? OH MY GOSH. Purple prose alert! How is it raining? Who knows. But what makes it sound purple is the next line, "and then is lost." Um. Metaphorical dumping much? Especially since right away you slap up with, "Luther is lost." How many more pseudo-symbolic metaphors do you want to hit us with? Oh, and he can't save the sand. WOE. Who cares? You're using so many metaphors that it's boring.

Then you have the horrible description of the light hitting the water being a "sultry bold of light electrocuting the waves as they lap against the short." Exactly how is this supposed to be a good sentence? I mean, if the bolt of light were a lightning bolt, maybe this would make sense, but if it were lightning, it would have more of a sense of violence and conflict in the sentence. Which would be good. Instead, this is trying to make a stray photon sound interesting using overwrought purple prose. (And trust me--it isn't interesting.)

The only part where it is slightly interesting is this part:

...retreating, in again, over the boots of the dead man sprawled beneath the midday sun.

That's the first real, not overwrought image that you've come up with. And it's an interesting image... one that holds a cliffhanger to it. But the rest of the story hints at a misuse of metaphors and symbolic imagery, so I don't know if I would be willing to read more. Maybe I would read the next paragraph, which ought to explain the last image. But if there was anymore overwrought images, I would put it down. Still, that part of the sentence boosted the rating to 30%. It was 10% before.



Anyway:

His wife spat in her hand and slicked his hair, trying desperately to hide his bald spot. “You have to be presentable,” she said. “If you’re not presentable--“
Ubi caritas est vera, Deus ibi est.

"The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly." ~ Richard Bach

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Fri May 29, 2009 5:27 pm
Lauren says...



Hmm, it was a bit lacklustre. I mean, it would be fine somewhere within the story, good even, because it says a lot about the wife. But it probably wouldn't draw me in much, as it sort of jumps straight in there. Jumping straight into the action only really works if it's something important or riveting.


~

Desiree stood before the window, a mug of tea held up to her face with two hands, and watched the wet grass, the blades getting slicker with rain. Although it was warm in her mother’s house, and the steam that rose steadily from her tea made the air around her face fuggy, she shivered. It looked so cold and so ruined. English gardens weren’t made for rain, but rain always fell.
  





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Sat May 30, 2009 2:13 pm
writerchick416 says...



I give you a 6/10. Not bad and paints a good picture i especially love the line "English gardens weren't meant for rain, but rain always fell." It has a nice song/poetic feel to it that paints a wonderful picture.

Here is mine it's a little more than a paragraph but needed to get a feel for the beginning...

My mind didn’t think, my body couldn’t react. I stood stupidly, eyes wide. I’m happy I couldn’t see the accusations, the pain, the realization of truth in my eyes. My mouth was frozen agape but for once I was silent. There was nothing to say. My hand floated to my cheek tracing the imprint of his hand. Who was this monster? It wasn’t…it couldn’t be. Not my dream boy. He had said “I love you.” Wasn’t that supposed to mean something?
“Noel” he pleaded. I could see the love burning in his eyes, the consuming hatred was gone and pain was etched in his features. “Please. No. I didn’t mean it. Please. Noel” he was almost crying. “I love you…” There it was. Those three words again bur I was to smart now for his games.
I turned and ran. I didn’t know where I was going but anywhere was better than here. I wanted to hit my wall. For this to stop hurting. No amount of distance could erase this. I had thought he really cared. How could I have been so stupid? My cheek no longer held the rosy red imprint of his palm but my heart still would eternally carry the sting. I crumpled in a heap on the nearest park bench covering my face with my hands. I massaged my face with incredible pressure. Up and down, left and right as if I could rub away the pain that so carefully lined my features. I flattened my hair to my head, pulling down on my golden locks. “Oh my God,” I sobbed. “I’m exactly like the leash kids.” I sat and cried for me, and for Sammy, and for the life that couldn’t be.
  





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Mon Jun 22, 2009 2:00 pm
Phantomofthebasket says...



8/10

Its very interesting... I think I'd read at least the first chapter if it was as interesting as this first bit.

I know mine is a bit longer than a paragraph, but if I had just put in the first paragraph and nothing else, then I would have gotten a crappy rating. :wink:

XxXxXxXxX

My life completely sucks.

No, this isn't your average teenager complaining--well... okay. I am seventeen, which means, yes, I'm a teenager. But! I have a legit reason to complain. I mean, here I am stuck in the middle of the ocean on some unknown island with Mason, Ryder, Cloe and Jack.

Okay, so, yeah, it is a fairly big island, I'll admit, so its nice if you want to get away from someone for awhile, because lately we've all been sticking together, since none of us have any idea what we've gotten into.

However, I know for a fact, one hundred percent, that, if my parents wouln't have ruined my life ten years ago, I would not be in this predicament.
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Tue Jun 23, 2009 12:33 pm
WaterVyper says...



7/10

It sounds pretty good, but the voice of a teenager sounds kind of whiny. That and the fact that you assault the reader with a bunch of names, while giving them no idea of the personality. The run on sentence kind of distracts me, but otherwise, it's interesting.

Sebastian didn't like to fall asleep. He always had the strangest dreams and they always made him feel weird and fuzzy when he woke up. He supposed that was why he did so badly in school. Many times, he tried telling that to his mom, but she would always shoo him away saying that he needed his rest; he was a growing nine year old boy, after all. And so, every night, he went up to bed and he didn't like it at all.
There once was a cat.
He wasn’t particularly fat.
Fuzzy was his favorite mat.
And really, that was that.

Oh, but did you really think so?
Keep reading, it’s just the start of the show!
And as for how far this tale will go…
Well, even the cat doesn’t know.
  





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Tue Jun 23, 2009 1:41 pm
nixonblitzen says...



I liked it. Maybe 6/10? Maybe 7? I don't think you should use "always" twice in the second sentence, and I don't think you use the semicolon correctly. Maybe it's just me, but I wouldn't put a semicolon there. I was surprised to find that he was only nine, because he sounds very quiet and cerebral and mature. I like the last sentence. It seems kind of absurd, and I definitely want to keep reading.

Maybe I’d be a communist if it weren’t so embarrassing. I’d take my sickle out the fields every morning before the sun rose. And all day long the men and I would sing as we worked, the sun browning the back of our necks. My woman would clean and sew and visit the sick, while my children skipped off to school to get good and smart. At night we’d eat together at long wooden tables and then dance and sing in the moonlight.
"He found his voice tended either to disappear or to come out too loud." -William Golding
  





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Tue Jun 23, 2009 8:09 pm
foxfire says...



I'll give you a 7/10. Its poetic and the imagery is there as well it gives a sene of happiness though the communist in the first part seems confusing. I don't know if it relates to the text or not.


Call me Iniyuki or Yuki for short. Some years ago- I do not how long it was- I was adapted to an okiya headed by a woman whom I refer to as okaa-san. I do not know how I had reacted back then or even if I had resisted okaa-san’s invitation. I would have cried, fought back and okaa-san would have slapped me on the cheek. But as I looked back to what I have been, I cannot believe to be such a girl.
John McClane: Drop it. It's the police.
Tony: You won't hurt me.
John McClane: Oh, yeah? Why not?
Tony: Because you're a policeman. There are rules for policemen.
John McClane: Yeah. That's what my captain keeps telling me
  





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Sun Jul 05, 2009 10:59 pm
PhoenixBishop says...



6/10

It's a bit vague which makes me want to read on.

When the phone rang at three o’clock in the morning, Eli Miller knew something was wrong. He had told his staff explicitly never to call him at home unless it was an emergency, and Eli considered nothing less then a loss of a body part and emergency. Eli slid out of the bed taking the phone and left the room not bothering to mask his footsteps. His wife slept like a bear in hibernation. He could set of firecrackers by her ear and she would just drool on her pillow. Once he was out of the room he pressed the pickup button and answered.
This is one little planet in one tiny solar system in a galaxy that’s barely out of its diapers. I’m old, Dean. Very old. So I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you.

Death~
  








The only fool bigger than the person who knows it all is the person who argues with him.
— Stanislaw Jerszy Lec