Young Writers Society

This happens to be the first part of the prologue of a long and epic project I began working on some time ago. I intend for this to span six books and encompass both science fiction and fantasy genres. However, I KNOW that I am not mature enough as a writer to truly pull it off. For now, The Zenith Cycle will have to remain as an entire notebook and several WordPad files full of plots, characters, and worldbuilding.

Even though I've effectively put a moratorium on my working of The Zenith Cycle, I still felt like posting the prologue for the first book (Zenith) just to see if the ideas are sound, and get some critique and feedback. In particular...I'm aware that my prose isn't that great. I tend to be a little too verbose and awkward and I must wean myself from adverb abuse. Still, I'm trying to improve every day.

Without further adieu...the first 3.5 pages of the Prologue of Zenith (the whole thing is six pages Times New Roman point twelve in Microsoft Word, a bit long):

In the past few days, a strange, disquieting feeling had fallen upon Zenith. It crept up upon him during the night, when he would sit alone performing self-maintenance; it snuck into his mind during those times of the day when he would idly allow his thoughts to roam. He could find no words to describe this feeling, which unsettled him even more—he, with his massive databank of hundreds of thousands of words, unable to describe his own emotions?

But even if Zenith couldn’t name the feeling, he felt that he understood where it came from—it came from that man, from Master.

Master who would smile so languidly and recline in his couch as his every need and desire was waited on by his fleet-footed, obedient, sleek new models. These were models based, superficially, off of Zenith, but Zenith was intelligent enough to know that they weren’t him. No, they were better than him, faster, stronger, more efficient, more obedient. Compared to them, Zenith might as well have been scrap.

Which begged the question of why Master even still wanted him around. He should be going to the scrap yard. The new models were superior to him, and Zenith knew this well. How many times had he entered Master’s private room to see the familiar auburn-haired man surrounded by all of his elegant new models, happily accepting their service? Then Zenith would simply stand there, silent and useless and secretly stewing inside with jealousy.

A jealousy that the new models couldn’t feel. They couldn’t feel anger or misery or happiness or hate or hope or fear or anything. Master had removed the emotions capability from the new models. “It was cumbersome,” he explained when Zenith had inquired, looking up from his latest programming work to smile at Zenith, eyes inscrutable, as always, behind his green-tinted shades. Zenith had nodded and accepted this, for he, like the new models, was at least programmed to obey.

Not that that had even answered Zenith’s question…the question that had become that unpleasant feeling deep within Zenith. He wished to know why Master hadn’t scrapped him already, rather than keep around an imperfect model, a “cumbersome” failure.

And because despite all of his fruitless searching through his massive mental encyclopedia, despite all the times that he had run his superprocessors throughout the entire night in a vain attempt to find the answer, Zenith decided to seek the answer not from himself, but from his friends.

“Isn’t it obvious, Zenith?” his friend Brit had told him when he had asked. “It’s because he spent years making you. Trying to make the perfect android. The perfect form. Emotions, beauty, balance, strength, everything. He spent seven years. Seven long, loving years. You're not a line or a model or anything, Zenith. You are—Zenith. You're the culmination of years and years of his hard work. He can't scrap you...not after all you stand for."

“Then why…” Zenith had sighed in dull reply, “why does he ignore me all the time? He never even looks at me anymore.”

Brit had been at a complete loss to explain this. Hale, even more so.

“Tch, he’s just a jerk!” Hale had said in his impatient way, hands on his hips. “Look, you can move in with me, if you want to.”

But Zenith had declined. He knew, after all, that his rightful place was by the side of Master, the man who had created him, no matter how much pain it caused Zenith to see Master as he was now, always surrounded by his new models. Never mind that uncomfortable sensation gnawing within Zenith’s circuits, eating at him inside, the feeling that he still couldn’t name and didn’t quite understand.

And if he was really the culmination of years and years of hard work...of his Master's desperate tinkerings...of his Master's longing to create a perfect android...then why had Master taken away the one thing that had set Zenith apart? Why did the new models feel no emotion? Why had Master finally decided that emotions were "cumbersome"?

Zenith couldn’t answer this question, and thinking about it simply made him feel worse.

“What a jerk!” screamed Hale one hot summer day, pumping his fist into the air. “I really can’t believe him. How did he i]get[/i] this way? Seriously, slamming the door in the face of one of his best friends—”

“He didn’t slam the door, exactly,” explained Magnus in his slow, calm way, shrugging his massive shoulders. “Really, he was very polite. He’s just busy, is all.”

“Too busy to play with his friends?” snarled Hale, who would not be taken off this track so easily. “What’s the matter with that guy, huh? Damn red-headed jerk--"

“Look, Hale…there’s no need to get so offended,” said Brit with a sigh. “He is a programmer. He can’t just play with us all day. Remember, North Corporation contracted him out to write that security program for them? I'm sure he's busy doing that."

Hale, Brit, Magnus, and Zenith were together in the old playground located at the periphery of their neighborhood. Due to the heat, no one else was out—all were barricaded inside their enormous noisy Castles, enjoying the air conditioning and watching funfeeds and playing with systems. Any passers-by—not that there were any in the dead summer heat—would have considered the four insane to be hanging out in the ancient playground rather than enjoying themselves inside as normal youths did. After all, only the old fools from the nearby retirement community ever visited the playground, where they sat and reminisced about their memories of a time when children had played with swings and slides instead of systems and androids.

Brit pushed her swing back and forth, at times shaking her head to clear her brown bangs from her eyes, the chains creaking and squeaking ominously. Zenith sat in the swing beside her, scuffing the sand. Magnus sat at the top of the slide, though he didn't go down--the weight of his huge form would most likely cause it to collapse. Hale was occupied with pushing the merry-go-round back and forth, over and over again, ignoring its clanks and groans of protest.

"Sure, sure, I remember, but still,” said Hale, scowling. “It wouldn't kill him to get off his programming high horse and at least talk to us for a little. Remember the days when he used to play with us all the time? He sure as ‘granfalloon’--"

“Hale!” protested both Brit and Zenith at the same time. Hale folded his arms and shot them a dirty look, but quieted down.

“All right, all right, heck, then. He sure as ‘heck’ had all the time in the world to play with us, even if he was working on androids or codes or whatever. All the time, if we asked, he'd drop what he was doing and come play with us. Wht happened to that?"

“Right…” said Brit, an almost wistful note to her voice, gazing off in the distant pottery-blue sky as if trying to wish a long-gone memory back into existence. “We used to come here all the time…almost every day.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Hale, excitement lighting up in his blue eyes. “No one else ‘cept the old geezers would ever come, and gee they didn’t even play, they just sat there and went on and on about the ‘good old days’, fat lot they knew.”

“But we’d play ourselves silly,” said Brit, raising a hand to her chin and letting out a small giggle. “I mean, it wasn’t all that safe. I remember he broke the monkey bars once, trying to use them. Remember that? Great thing he wasn’t hurt too bad…”

"Zenith saved him," said Hale, a sudden anger entering his voice. "Remember? Zenith patched him up until the doctors could come and take 'im to the hospital. Now he's forgotten about all that, hasn't he? Conveniently erased his memory, has he?" An ugly scowl crossed his face.

“Come now, Hale,” said Magnus, shaking his great head. “I don’t think he’s forgotten. He’s just too busy right now, you know? North Corp--"

"Master remembers," cut in Zenith more starkly.

"Well, you'd think he'd show a bit of...I don't know...say...gratitude?" Hale's scowl deepened and he gave the merry-go-round a vicious spin. It clanked and groaned as it spun, and flakes of rust fell in a shower from it. Watching them, somehow, caused that strange disquieting sensation to snake up within Zenith once more, and he shook his head to clear it.

"I am glad I have my self-maintenance program," he said after some length, staring entranced at the reddish flakes of rust littering the sand, pathetically, like so many dead leaves. "Master has stopped performing even basic maintenance on me."

Hale issued a noise that sounded a lot like, "jerk."

"He used to care so much, didn't he?" said Brit, her dark eyebrows knitting together in worry. "What happened to him? He said...he told me once...he said that you were his pride and joy. That he wouldn't be able to stand it if something happened to you...but now...can people really change that much in such a short space of time?" She let out a pensive sigh, staring up into the clear, cloudless blue sky.

"People change," said Magnus, in the manner of sage dispensing wisdom.

"But not so much so quickly!" said Brit in protest.

"It was his visit to Dr. Engelfield," said Zenith, seizing on a memory that had, without explanation, risen from his data banks. "That was it. He visited Engelfield one day—do you remember?—we were—”

"Right! We were exploring the swamp!" said Hale, leaping off the merry-go-round in a sudden motion, causing even more flakes of rust to fly from it. "Yeah. I remember. What fun! I caught Newton there—”

"Shut up, Hale," snarled Brit. "Zenith's speaking."

"Sorry," said Hale, a sheepish smile crossing his face. Zenith gave the blonde boy a slight smile.

"I am not bothered, Hale...but yes. It was that day at the swamp. Master visited Engelfield. When he came back, he told me...of all the marvels Dr. Engelfield had. All the different kinds of androids Engelfield had developed. And I think Master was a little worried. He had created only one android, and Engelfield had dozens. Shortly after, Master began to develop his first new model." Zenith couldn't keep the bitter note out of his voice, nor could he quash the feeling that had risen up with a sudden violence at his recollections of Master and Engelfield.

"Engelfield?" said Hale, his loud voice echoing across the empty playground. "Who needs Engelfield? He's just a big jerk. Just another granfallooning jerk."

"Hale!" snapped Brit.

"Engelfield is widely respected," said Magnus, still in the manner of an observant sage.

"Doesn't change that he's a jerk," said Hale, a dark scowl marring his face. "And so is—that guy. He's a great big jerk too. Just tossing his dearest creation aside 'cause he's jealous of Engelfield...and then spending all his time with his stupid new models while his friends get lonelier and lonelier—”

"We can survive without him," said Magnus. “And I said, he’s just—”

"It isn't the same, though," said Brit, and she let out a sad sigh.

"Let Master be Master," said Zenith, unable to keep the faint note of bitterness out of his voice. He stood up, ignoring his swing's creak of protest. He had gone to his friends in the hopes of finding a reprieve from the one subject he had wanted to avoid above all else, but he had been naïve in assuming his friends wouldn’t be pursuing it. "It is getting late, and your metabolisms cannot take much more of this heat, correct? Shall we go?"

"Yeah, my place!" shouted Hale.

"We went to your place yesterday, and the day before, too," snapped Brit in protest, placing her hands on her hips. "Why don't we go to my place?"

"Or mine," said Magnus, but no one listened to him. They were all already heading down the wide asphalt street to Brit’s house. Magnus sighed, scratched his head, and followed.

-------
It's not finished yet~

A note about the word "granfalloon"--it's a reference to the book Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut, an excellent book by a brilliant author that you should all read. "Granfalloon" in that context means "false karass", a karass being a group of people brought together by fate. Examples of granfalloons included the United States of America and Exxon-Mobil. And so on. In this story I just use it as a general curse word equivalent to...the f word maybe.

Honest critique is appreciated.

EDIT: I've added the italics that need to be there. EDITEDIT: Made further, more sweeping, edits to this. I'm amazed at my adverb abuse.

Bickazer wrote:This happens to be the first part of the prologue of a long and epic project I began working on some time ago. I intend for this to span six books and encompass both science fiction and fantasy genres. However, I KNOW that I am not mature enough as a writer to truly pull it off. For now, The Zenith Cycle will have to remain as an entire notebook and several WordPad files full of plots, characters, and worldbuilding.

Even though I've effectively put a moratorium on my working of The Zenith Cycle, I still felt like posting the prologue for the first book (Zenith) just to see if the ideas are sound, and get some critique and feedback. In particular...I'm aware that my prose isn't that great. I tend to be a little too verbose and awkward and I must wean myself from adverb abuse. Still, I'm trying to improve every day.

Without further adieu...the first 3.5 pages of the Prologue of Zenith (the whole thing is six pages Times New Roman point twelve in Microsoft Word, a bit long):

Lately a strange, almost disquieting sort of feeling had begun to fall upon Zenith. It crept up upon him during the night, when he would sit alone performing self-maintenance; it snuck into his mind during those times of the day when he would idly (maybe change to day when, idly, he would) allow his thoughts to roam. He could find no words to describe this feeling, which unsettled him even more—he, with his massive databank of hundreds of thousands of words, unable to describe his own emotions? is this one paragraph you used he 4 times, him 2 times, and his 4 times, even though there different pronouns it tends to sound repetitive, throw in Zenith's or Zenith, it will sound better when you vary between pronouns and names)

But even if Zenith couldn’t name the feeling, he felt that he understood where it came from—it came from that man, from Master.

Master, who would smile so languidly and recline in his couch as his every need and desire was waited on by his fleet-footed, obedient, sleek new models. (may want to shorten this to: Master, who would smile so languidly, reclining, while his every need and desire was wainted on by his fleet-footed, obefient, sleek new models. -ok i didnt shorten it that much but it sounds a bit better) These were models based, superficially, off of Zenith, but Zenith was intelligent enough to know that they weren’t him. No, they were better than him, faster, stronger, more efficient, more obedient. Compared to them, Zenith might as well have been scrap. good description and comparison)

Which begged the question of why Master even still wanted him around. He should be going to the scrap yard. since the The new models were superior to him, and Zenith knew this well. How many times had he entered Master’s private room to see the familiar auburn-haired man surrounded by all of his elegant new models, happily accepting their service? Then Zenith would simply stand there, silent and useless and secretly stewing inside with jealousy.

A jealousy that the new models couldn’t feel. They couldn’t feel anger or misery or happiness or hate or hope or fear or anything. Master had removed the emotions capability from the new models. “It was cumbersome,” he explained when Zenith had inquired, looking up from his latest programming work to smile at Zenith, eyes inscrutable, as always, behind his green-tinted shades. Zenith had nodded and accepted this, for he, like the new models, was at least programmed to obey.

Not that that had even answered Zenith’s question…the question that was now (had become) that unpleasant feeling deep within Zenith. He wished to know why Master hadn’t simply scrapped him already, rather than keep around an imperfect model, a “cumbersome” failure.

And because despite all of his searching through his massive mental encyclopedia, despite all the times that he had run his superprocessors throughout the entire night in a vain attempt to find the answer, Zenith decided to seek the answer not from himself, but from his friends.

“Isn’t it obvious, Zenith?” Brit had told him when he had asked.-readers dont know who or whst brit is- “It’s because he spent years making you. Trying to make the perfect android. The perfect form. Emotions, beauty, balance, strength, everything. He spent seven years. Seven long, loving years. You're not a line or a model or anything, Zenith. You are—Zenith. You're the culmination of years and years of his hard work. He can't scrap you...not after all you stand for."

“Then why…” Zenith had sighed in dull reply, “why does he ignore me all the time? He never even looks at me anymore.”

Brit had been at a complete loss to explain this. Hale, even more so. who? whats? halr)

“Tch, he’s just a jerk!” Hale had said in his impatient way, hands on his hips. “Look, you can move in with me, if you want to.”

But Zenith had declined. He knew, after all, that his rightful place was by the side of Master, the man who had created him, no matter how much pain it caused Zenith to see Master as he was now, always surrounded by his new models. Never mind that uncomfortable sensation gnawing within Zenith’s circuits, eating at him inside, the feeling that he still couldn’t name and didn’t quite understand.

And if he was really the culmination of years and years of hard work...of his Master's desperate tinkerings...of his Master's longing to create a perfect android...then why had his Master taken away the one thing that had set Zenith apart? Why did the new models feel no emotion? Why had Master finally decided that emotions were "cumbersome"?

Zenith couldn’t answer this question, and thinking about it simply made him feel worse.

“What a jerk!” screamed Hale one hot summer day, pumping his fist into the air. “I really can’t believe him. How did he get this way? Seriously, slamming the door in the face of one of his best friends—” you switched settings, or time, or characters, -i think- make a break mark or something along those lines for readers

“He didn’t slam the door, exactly,” explained Magnus in his slow, calm way, shrugging his massive shoulders. “Really, he was very polite. He’s just busy, is all.”

“Too busy to play with his friends?” snarled Hale, who would not be taken off this track so easily. “What’s the matter with him, huh?”

“Look, Hale…there’s no need to get so offended,” sighed Brit. “He is a programmer. He can’t just play with us all day.”

Hale, Brit, Magnus, and Zenith were together in the old playground located at the periphery of their neighborhood. Due to the heat, no one else was out—all were barricaded inside their enormous noisy Castles, enjoying the air conditioning and watching funfeeds and playing with systems. Any passers-by—not that there were any in the dead summer heat—would have considered the four insane to be hanging out in the ancient playground rather than enjoying themselves inside as normal youths did. After all, only the old fools from the nearby retirement community ever visited the playground, where they sat and reminisced about their long-ago memories of a time when children had played with swings and slides instead of systems and androids.

Brit pushed her swing back and forth, the chains creaking and squeaking ominously. Zenith scuffed the sand beneath his swing. Magnus sat near the top of the slide, although he didn’t go down it. Hale was occupied with pushing the merry-go-round back and forth, over and over again, as it clanked and groaned in protest. make it sound more fluid, instead of brit was doin this, zenith was doing that, and so on

“Sure, sure,” scowled Hale. “Still, you remember the days when he used to play with us all the time? He sure as ‘granfalloon’--"

“Hale!” protested both Brit and Zenith at the same time. Hale folded his arms and shot them a dirty look, but quieted down.

“All right, all right, heck, then. He sure as ‘heck’ had all the time in the world to play with us, sure didn’t seem ‘busy’ back then, you know.”

“Right…” said Brit almost wistfully, gazing off in the distant pottery-blue sky as if trying to wish a long-gone memory back into existence. “We used to come here all the time…almost every day.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” agreed Hale, excitement lighting up in his blue eyes. “No one else ‘cept the old geezers would ever come, and gee they didn’t even play, they just sat there and went on and on about the ‘good old days’, fat lot they knew.”

“But we’d play ourselves silly,” giggled Brit. “I mean, it wasn’t all that safe. I remember he broke the monkey bars once, trying to use them. Remember that? Great thing he wasn’t hurt too bad…”

"Zenith saved him," said Hale, sounding suddenly angry. "Remember? Zenith patched him up until the doctors could come and take 'im to the hospital. Now he's forgotten about all that, hasn't he? Conveniently erased his memory, has he?" An ugly scowl crossed his face.

“Come now, Hale,” said Magnus, shaking his great head. “I don’t think he’s forgotten. He’s just too busy right now, you know?”

"Master remembers," cut in Zenith more starkly. i think u took too long to say who he was because i began to get lost

"Well, you'd think he'd show a bit of...I don't know...say...gratitude?" Hale's scowl deepened and he spun the merry-go-round especially hard. It clanked and groaned as it spun, and flakes of rust fell in a shower from it. Watching them his friends (use this instead of them because you talk about hale and then it gets a little confusing you know who them is but readers dont), somehow, caused that strange disquieting sensation to snake up within Zenith once more, and he shook his head to clear it.

"I am glad I have my self-maintenance program," he said after some length, staring entranced at the reddish flakes of rust littering the sand, pathetically, like so many dead leaves. "Master has stopped performing even basic maintenance on me."

Hale issued a noise that sounded a lot like, "jerk."

"He used to care so much, didn't he?" said Brit, her dark eyebrows knitting together worriedly. "What happened to him? He said...he told me...when we were...you know...he said that you were his pride and joy. That he wouldn't be able to stand it if something happened to you...but now...can people really change that much in such a short space of time?" She let out a pensive sigh, staring up into the clear, cloudless blue sky.

"People change," observed Magnus sagely.

"But not so much so quickly!" protested Brit.

"It was his visit to Engelfield," said Zenith, seizing on a memory that had inexplicably risen out of his data banks. (may want to explain the memory) "That was it. He visited Engelfield one day—do you remember?—we were—”

"Right! We were exploring the swamp!" said Hale, leaping off the merry-go-round in a sudden motion, causing even more flakes of rust to fly from it. "Yeah. I remember. What fun! I caught Newton there—”

"Shut up, Hale," snarled Brit. "Zenith's speaking."

"Sorry," said Hale sheepishly. Zenith gave his blonde friend a slight smile.
(which ones blonde hale or brit)

"I am not bothered, Hale...but yes. It was that day at the swamp. Master visited Engelfield. When he came back, he told me...of all the marvels Engelfield had. All the different kinds of androids Engelfield had developed. And I think Master was a little worried. He had created only one android, and Engelfield had dozens. Shortly after, Master began to develop his first new model." Zenith couldn't keep the bitter note out of his voice, nor could he quash the feeling that had risen up, violently, at his recollections of Master and Engelfield.(ok nvr mind then u do explain it)

"Engelfield?" complained Hale, his loud voice echoing across the empty playground. "Who needs Engelfield? He's just a big jerk. Just another granfallooning jerk." (wait Engelfield is a person or a town/place?)

"Hale!" snapped Brit.

"Engelfield is widely respected," pointed out Magnus.

"Doesn't change that he's a jerk," scowled Hale. "And so is—that guy. He's a great big jerk too. Just tossing his dearest creation aside 'cause he's jealous of Engelfield...and then spending all his time with his stupid new models while his friends get lonelier and lonelier—”

"We can survive without him," said Magnus. “And I said, he’s just—”

"It isn't the same, though," noted Brit.

"Let Master be Master," said Zenith bitterly, standing up. His swing creaked in protest. He had gone to his friends in the hopes of finding a reprieve from the one subject he had hoped (dont use hope again in the sentence even though u used hopes and hoped sounds repetitive) to avoid, but he had been naïve in assuming his friends wouldn’t be pursuing it. "It is getting late, and your (your or our?) metabolisms cannot take much more of this heat, correct? Shall we go?"

"Yeah, my place!" shouted Hale.

"We went to your place yesterday, and the day before, too," snapped Brit in protest, placing her hands on her hips. "Why don't we go to my place?"

"Or mine," said Magnus, but no one listened to him. They were all already heading down the wide asphalt street to Brit’s house. Magnus sighed, scratched his head, and followed.

-------
It's not finished yet~

A note about the word "granfalloon"--it's a reference to the book Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut, an excellent book by a brilliant author that you should all read. "Granfalloon" in that context means "false karass", a karass being a group of people brought together by fate. Examples of granfalloons included the United States of America and Exxon-Mobil. And so on. In this story I just use it as a general curse word equivalent to...the f word maybe.

Honest critique is appreciated.

EDIT: I've added the italics that need to be there.

______________________________________
overall good idea, even though it is only half the prologue i feel like im missing something (well alot of things) like more things need to be explained first but that can come farther into the story, u do use alot of italics and some time u dont need them but i didnt really pay attention to that.

PM me when more comes out

Yeah, well...I did mean for the prologue to be kind of vague and have a mysterious air to it--as it actually takes place around eleven years before the actual events of the story.

I'm aware that I was a bit sudden in introducing Brit, Hale, and Magnus, though you'll note that in the paragraph before I introduced Brit I ended by mentioning Zenith's "friends". I just figured it would naturally flow into the reader assuming that Brit, Hale, and Magnus were Zenith's friends when I mentioned them. I'm sorry if it's not clear enough, though; I'll go back and fix it.

Sorry about the confusion about "Master", but I can't reveal his name because that IS the big mystery of the first book. So he has to be referred to as "Master" or "he"...I do admit that makes things a bit awkward.

And, er...do you think you could write your comments fully out? That is, not in text-speak? O_o Sorry, but it's hard for me to understand...

Sorry I sometimes 'textspeak' out of habit. I'll try not to although I did have a few typos but I can't help that. I do get that you don't want too much to be revealed in the prologue and now that you tell me this happens in the past it changes the whole story. Thanks again for the review on my story. Now I can't wait to read what happens in the first Chapter. The first chapter will be in the present though right?

Yeah, the first chap will be in the present. But the entire epic--six books' worth--will cover...approximately twenty-six years, I think. Ergh, it's been so long since I've worked on the Zenith Cycle that I've begun to forget my dates...

Hey, there! Took me a little bit, but here I am, critiquing.

I loved this story, I honestly did. Your characters were loveable, your style was engaging and clear, easy to read without being childish. Very nicely done.

Lately a strange, almost disquieting sort of feeling had begun to fall upon Zenith.

VERY poor opening sentence. I mean, a first sentence of an ENTIRE BOOK that is the start of an ENTIRE SERIES needs to be a real dazzler, something that catches you and knocks you out. At least, that's how I see it. Something like "Lately" just doesn't do it for me. Work on that first sentence - you've got creativity and imagination.

However, first sentence aside, I really did like the first paragraph. It establishes the fact that Zenith is a robot without actually saying so in cheesy sci-fi terms.

The one major thing I would say is this: During the whole playground conversation about the Master, I didn't get until the second read-through that they were talking about Master, not about Zenith. You described these people as Zenith's friends, and then had them angry that a mysterious 'he' had shut the door in 'his' friend's faces. So I assumed they were mad at Zenith. Then we see dialogue BY Zenith, which makes it even more confusing. I would try using the term Master a little more often to really establish who they're talking about.

So yeah. That was a convoluted paragraph in itself, so who am I to talk? But hopefully you got something out of it anyway. Pm me with confusion and I'll see if I can explain any more clearly.

Otherwise, AWESOME job. As I said, I love this, and I can't wait to read the rest of the prologue.

Yours ever,
Kool

Thanks so much for the critique!

And you're right about the opening sentence--quite simply, I hate it too. The fact that I start off the whole epic with an adverb just...bothers the hell out of me, but adverb abuse is something that I...I must wean myself from. But blehh, I'm a bit too tired right now to think of a better one.

(more accurately, this doesn't actually start off the entire epic, as this prologue is preceded by a briefer one-to-two-page long dialogue between the Master and...someone else. I plan to open every book this way, but I haven't gotten around to writing the dialogue yet because I want to do it AFTER I finish the book. Which means, check back in about twenty years to see if I've written it).

This is what I like about getting other people to look at my writing--because you guys catch things I'd never notice. Like the whole pronoun confusion. Previously when I read that playground scene it always made PERFECT sense, but now I realize that...yeah, readers would probablybe confused. Therein lies my dilemma! I cannot reveal the guy's name. It is the main mystery of the entire first novel. However, his friends most assuredly do not call him "Master". I suppose they could get away with a few "that guy"s or "that jerk"s but...I honestly do not know. O_o

I'm very surprised you like this prologue, because honestly, I hate it. When you compare it to the first chapter, you'll very quickly see which one is superior. The prologue has always felt a bit stilted and overly verbose to me; the first chap's better because it has more character interactions, better description (in my opinion) and even a zingy one-liner or two. But before you can see it, I suppose I should post the rest of the prologue, hmm...?

EDIT: Upped the rating after reading through the whole prologue again and realizing that in the next part, Hale makes a rather...inappropriate comment. O_o But it's too cute (and emblematic of his character) for me to delete.

La la la~! Double post is double post is bad!

Well, too bad, I'm doing it anyway, as I've got the final 2.5 pages of the prologue. And if you're asking why I divided it that way, it's more the way the scene breaks worked than the pages. So yes, consider this taking place after a scene break 'tween the two.

*grumble grumble* So apparently I have to submit a new work to get the formatting to work out right? Fine, just pretend there are indentations, I will no longer try to battle this site's formatting. *grumble grumble*

The Zenith Cycle I. Zenith Prologue part two, in which the Master's age gets revealed (in a potential brainbreaker), a shocking thing happens to Zenith, and Hale makes a dirty comment. Read at your own risk:

Brit's residence immediately placed itself apart from all the other houses on the street—for one thing, it wasn’t even a Castle. The Castle-dwellers passed by the house, a little box on a street filled with large, loud, fully wired Castles, feeling nothing more than piteous contempt for that poor fool who couldn't even buy a basic Castle.
--I honestly cannot think of a way to cut down on all the "Castle"s in this sentence. That's bad, isn't it? >_>

But not a single one of Zenith’s friends had a Castle. Brit, Hale, and Magnus—they felt no need for Castles. Sure, they were scorned and ridiculed, but they had other ways of having fun beyond playing with systems and viewing funfeeds. For them, fun was hanging out in the playground and exploring the swamp.

Master did not have a Castle either. He invested all of his time and money on creating androids, not on frivolous things like funfeeds and systems and a fully wired Castle. In his case, though, it was expected. It fit in with the neighbors' idea of the "eccentric programmer"—no self-respecting programmer owned a Castle.

"Ahhh, air-conditioning," sighed Hale, flopping down into a chair in Brit's airy, blue-tiled kitchen. "Such glory I never thought I knew. Say, where's Chel?"

"She's at her job," said Brit with a frown, reaching into the fridge for chilled drinks.

"Come to think of it," said Magnus, a pensive note to his voice,resting his elbows on the table, "we're almost old enough, aren't we?"

"Yeah, soon we'll have jobs and be boring and we won't play anymore," sighed Hale. "Happens to everyone, though. Guess that's what it means to 'grow up'."

"Perhaps that is what happened to Master," said Zenith with a small level of wistfulness. "He simply grew up. It was bound to happen…he is already some years older than you, is he not?”

“You’re right,” said Magnus. “What, he’s twenty-one this year, isn’t he? Maybe he’s grown up and thinks he’s above playing with us…” There was no hiding the note of bitterness in even Magnus’ voice, almost always so calm and quietly assured.

"No, he just got penis envy from Engelfield," said Hale with a heavy scowl.

"You're sick!" squeaked Brit, ramming Hale on the head with a bottle of orange soda. "You're a prime example of someone who needs to grow up a bit!"

"Hey, ease up, Brit! Sorry, sorry, sorry!" yelled Hale, his hands flying to his head in a vain effort to protect himself. Zenith watched the proceedings with a small smile. Brit...Hale...Magnus...they were all his friends, and he had them to thank for still being sane today. If he had not had them, he would be completely alone now, what with Master's new attitude. But his friends helped him survive.

"Love and friendship, those are what I want for you," Master had stated, very early in Zenith's creation. "If you can experience those things, you can truly be human."

Zenith wasn't certain about "love", but he had found friendship and camaraderie. So was he "human", now, by Master's standards?

Apparently not. Otherwise Master wouldn't have replaced him, would he? Again, that sensation, churning like gears deep within him, the quiet feeling of intangible discomfort firing between his processors, sifting through his programming…he tried to control it, to quash this nameless emotion, but like always, his efforts were useless. He didn’t even understand what was afflicting him…

"Zenith?" It was Brit speaking.

"Yes?" Zenith looked up—he seemed to have been too deep in thought to register Brit, Hale, and Magnus’s conversation. Quickly he straightened, doing his best to ignore that feeling coursing through his entire body, through his systems, and with a sense of vague foreboding he realized that he had never felt it this intensely before.

"We were just wondering about the house down the street," said Brit. "You know, the Pulaskis moved out a few months ago..."

"It is not a Castle, correct?" said Zenith. Hale nodded.

"Yeah, that's why I've been wondering about who will move in it. I hope it's a kid like us, but fifty bucks if it's just another old fogey."

"You're on," said Brit, a smirk spreading across her face.

"Hey, betting is bad," said Magnus quickly, raising his hands for peace. "I'm hoping it's a kid too."

"Knowing our luck..." Hale grimaced.

Zenith caught on in a flash. "You desire...a replacement...for Master."

Brit, Hale, and Magnus turned to stare at him. Hale shook his head with an undue quickness.

"No, no, no! You make it sound like a really terrible thing…okay, I suppose it is, for you, I guess...but yeah. He sure as granfalloon—”

"Hale!" shouted Brit.

"Okay, whatever, heck. He sure as heck isn't going to be coming back, I mean, not when he has all his new models to play around with him and whatever..." said Hale, scowling. "And we've been missing something, without him, don'cha think?"

"I do not think we need to replace him," said Zenith, unable to keep the scathing note out of his voice. A part of him—his higher programming—told him this was wrong, to be feeling so angry with no reason, and that part of him even conceded that Hale had a point, that Master was probably beyond being interested in them anymore. It was too late, however, to stop that silent discontent from finally exploding from its place deep inside his basest systems and taking over, taking over his mind and body until all he could see and feel was that, the sensation he still had no name for, but he knew he disliked it, and feared it, and he knew this part of him simply would not stand for Master being replaced.

"We're not replacing him, okay, Zenith? Okay?" said Brit, her voice low and reassuring. "We just want another playmate, that's all..."

"You are almost of legal age to be working, am I right?" snapped Zenith, no longer bothering to suppress the boiling—the boiling something that had taken over him. "I do not think you ought to be searching for someone to 'play' with this late."

It was a cruel thing to say and Zenith knew it—knew with the ethics Master had programmed into him. Still, he couldn’t take back the words that had already risen from his vocal chambers and out of his mouth.

"Zenith...Zenith, man..." stammered Hale. "You...you've changed too..."

"No, I have not changed one bit," snarled Zenith, frustration rising. "You are the ones who have changed. To suggest replacing Master..."

"We're not replacing him. Calm down, Zenith," said Magnus, taking a warning step forward, worry flashing in his dark eyes.

"Not like there's anything wrong with that," Hale cut in, a sudden coldness to his voice as he stood from his seat to glare, a challenge flashing in his eyes, at Zenith. "I mean, he's such a big jerk now, I don't mind replacing him at all. Why the hell are you of all people still so faithful to him?"

And then it just snapped—everything inside Zenith. With a vague feeling of foreboding he realized that something, something had happened deep within his processors that he didn’t quite understand, but he knew enough to realize that all of his systems had in that moment gone completely out of balance, that the signals were firing everywhere, with a random, desperate insanity.

With a mad urgency, the part of him still in control began attempting self-maintenance, but a small, very dim part of Zenith’s consciousness realized it was too late, all too late, to stop what had begun right then and there, with Hale’s words, no, earlier, when Master had unveiled his very first new model shortly after visiting Engelfield…

The next instant Zenith found that he had crossed the kitchen in three strides, and without any idea of what he was doing he had snatched Hale by the collar and hauled the blonde boy straight in the air. He did not shout, but spoke coldly, infusing his words with all the venom he could muster, and marveling at himself even for managing to sound so calm even while his systems went haywire inside him.

"I do not want a new Master, do you understand? I...I do not want him as he is now, either. I want Master back. The way he was. That is all. All I want. I would throw away everything else...everything...if only...if Master...if he could only be...Master again. I would give anything, just for that."

Hale stared back, silent, blue eyes wide and goggling, mouth opening and closing but no words escaping. Brit and Magnus converged on the two of them with a terrified speed.

"Zenith! Drop Hale! Please!" cried Brit. Zenith had no choice but to comply—after all, like all androids, he was programmed to obey humans…and that part of his programming had yet to succumb. With a bitter slowness, he released his grip on Hale's shirt. Hale crumpled onto the blue-tiled floor, massaging his neck, gasping and gulping.

"Let's leave, c'mon, Brit, Magnus—you’re crazy, Zenith—all this talk about us changing when who's the one who's changed? You!" shouted Hale, picking himself up off the floor and grabbing Brit and Magnus' arms. "Don't deny it, Zenith! The Zenith I knew would have never—never done—what you just did!"

And with those bitter words, Hale dashed off, Brit and Magnus at his heels. Only Brit paused at the doorway to shoot Zenith one final, misery-filled glance, before running off after her two friends.

There was no doubt about it--Zenith was alone. He sagged into a chair, alone in Brit's kitchen, accompanied only by the whirring of the air conditioning, the steady humming of the fridge. In the end, in the very end, he was left only in the company of other, inferior machines.

Just before he closed his eyes, he lifted his head to look out the window one final time, at the sky that was an incongruous shade of cheery blue, even now. In that final, brief moment, a sudden flash of insight struck him, an insight so terrible that it caused him to bolt straight up in his chair and freeze in place.

Is this what you wanted all along? But why? Why would you do this—because—no, it can’t be—

Zenith never got to think any more on the subject, because the next moment his eyelids slid shut, and with a sigh he sank back into the chair like a fatigued man, eyes closed, content. The expression on his face was so satisfied that it was not hard to believe he was only sleeping.

As the sunlight streaked in through the open window, it caught a bright flash of silver dangling on a string around Zenith’s neck. A shining silver ring turned back and forth, back and forth, like a pendulum, the only sign of life on the android’s slumping body.

Awww, downer ending.

Anyway, again, critique is appreciated beyond anything. I don't know what I'd do without you guys. So feel free to rip into this and tear it to pieces, if necessary. A particular concern I have is that Zenith's shutdown might seem a bit...sudden, or even overblown (that is, he might seem to be overreacting), and his friends' abandonment may also come across as a bit sudden. We'll see. But that is the main issue I have with this prologue (beyond the previously stated...you know, verbosity, awkwardness, stilted prose). However, I do NOT wish to make it much longer than it already is; I've always intended for the prologue to be somewhat shorter than the book's actual chapters.

EDIT: Also went back and edited it more thoroughly.

*is rather late* >_> <_<

Anyway, this prologue here… there are only two words to describe it, and they are as follows:

Epic. Win.

Though sci-fi has never really been my genre, I found this story really easy to slip into, especially because you never info-dumped about your world(s). You just let us piece together the details for ourselves, at our own pace, which was… simply, awesome. One of the major reasons I never really got into science fiction was the way some series like to force all their info on you at once. (My friend once begged me to read this one series, which he has read about ten times and constantly assures me is beyond excellent, but when I tried to read it, the first paragraph was a blur of planet names and technological mumbo-jumbo. I made it to about page 2.) So yeah. You’ve got a lot of world-building talent, I think, and I like the way you let us step into the world without being armed with all the knowledge we could ever need about it. Far from confusing the reader, it gives the story … an air of mystery (at the risk of sounding clichéd on my part. XD).

I like Zenith’s personality. Though we know little about him, his fears and worries are easy to identify with. (Well, in any case, they’re easy for me to identify with. XD Seriously, though, I think anyone can sympathize with fears of being left behind, comparing oneself to others and feeling inadequate, all that.) I think that really helped bring me into the story, too—I immediately felt for your main character. His friends, too, were likeable, and I loved their distinct personalities and voices.

Aw, don’t feel bad about your prose. I, for one, really like it. ^_^ I like your description—there’s exactly enough of it, I felt like I could see what was going on without being infodumped on. And I didn’t really notice the adverb abuse you seem so worried about. (Though, being an adverb abuser myself, I can’t say for sure). The only thing I’d suggest changing is to try to lessen the times you use another word in substitute for “said.” Most of the substitutes you use aren’t too grating, but still, “said” gets the job done without distracting the reader, while some replacements can be a little jarring.

Oh, and by the way,

flakes of rust littering the sand, pathetically, like so many dead leaves.

I love that simile.

Just a few specific critiques, from Part 1:

“What a jerk!” screamed Hale one hot summer day, pumping his fist into the air. “I really can’t believe him. How did he get this way? Seriously, slamming the door in the face of one of his best friends—”

Sorry to say that, until the big paragraph after this, I was absolutely certain they were talking about Zenith here. Maybe have Hale say “The Master is such a jerk” or something, so we know who he’s talking about? (edit: upon glancing at your replies to other reviews, I noticed that you said they most certainly do not call him “Master”… well, that makes this tougher. XD I appreciate your predicament. Hm… I suppose you have to work out a way to reword those paragraphs, or figure out what they do call this guy. Maybe “the programmer” (or “Zenith’s programmer”) or something? Sorry I couldn’t be much help with this. XD)

But we’d play ourselves silly,” giggled Brit. “I mean, it wasn’t all that safe. I remember he broke the monkey bars once, trying to use them. Remember that? Great thing he wasn’t hurt too bad…”

Once again, I wasn’t sure who you meant by “he” until a few paragraphs down. (Though that may have just been a case of my being a little distracted. Eh.)

"Engelfield?" complained Hale, his loud voice echoing across the empty playground. "Who needs Engelfield? He's just a big jerk. Just another granfallooning jerk."

I, too, had trouble figuring out if Engelfield was a person or a place.


Aaand form Part 2:

A part of him—his higher programming—told him this was wrong, to be feeling so irrationally angry, and that part of him even conceded that Hale had a point, that Master was probably beyond interested in them anymore.

The phrase “beyond interested” doesn’t really work here, because it suggests “more than interested.” Maybe instead say “beyond being interested”?

Oh, and noting your remarks at the end… no, I don’t really think anyone was overreacting. It seemed pretty plausible to me… Zenith just attacked one of them, it’s not too surprising that they ran off, and in doing so, Zenith lost (at least temporarily) the only people who still seem to care about him. So no, I didn’t think it was an overreaction. Actually, I never even considered the possibility until you mentioned it. XD

In any case, this is an excellent start, I really want to read more. ^_^

Thanks so much for the review! I really appreciate objective looks at my work. And this is making me feel odd, because I HATE this prologue. Really. With a burning passion. It is most definitely NOT the best example of my writing. For the curious, one of the few things I consider the high point of my writing, displaying my narrative powers--however few they may be--at their finest is the story "Sunrunner", which you can see on my fictionpress account (www.fictionpress.com/~janderpanell), which I may someday post on this site for critique's sake. I'm also a bit vain about this one since it actually won an award. First place in a school district writing contest, sure, but still. I'm proud! It's my baby! Compare this prologue to "Sunrunner" and you'll quickly see why I've set such impossibly high standards for myself. In the future, I desperately want to be able to equal "Sunrunner" in everything I write.

Anyway, on to Zenith itself--

Though sci-fi has never really been my genre, I found this story really easy to slip into, especially because you never info-dumped about your world(s). You just let us piece together the details for ourselves, at our own pace, which was… simply, awesome. One of the major reasons I never really got into science fiction was the way some series like to force all their info on you at once. (My friend once begged me to read this one series, which he has read about ten times and constantly assures me is beyond excellent, but when I tried to read it, the first paragraph was a blur of planet names and technological mumbo-jumbo. I made it to about page 2.) So yeah. You’ve got a lot of world-building talent, I think, and I like the way you let us step into the world without being armed with all the knowledge we could ever need about it. Far from confusing the reader, it gives the story … an air of mystery (at the risk of sounding clichéd on my part. XD).

I, too, dislike speculative fiction that is nothing but worldbuilding, probably why I shun high fantasy and hard science fiction like the devil. I prefer to have a general idea before laying down facts more concretely when I actually write about it.

Actually, much of the supposed "air of mystery" here is...due to my not having built this world up much AT ALL. In fact, that's probably one of the main reasons I puttered out on this, because I just COULDN'T make the world make sense. I tried and tried to hammer out concrete details about the world and valiantly tried to make it work in a halfway logical way, and finally I gave up and decided I needed more experience as a writer.

I like Zenith’s personality. Though we know little about him, his fears and worries are easy to identify with. (Well, in any case, they’re easy for me to identify with. XD Seriously, though, I think anyone can sympathize with fears of being left behind, comparing oneself to others and feeling inadequate, all that.) I think that really helped bring me into the story, too—I immediately felt for your main character. His friends, too, were likeable, and I loved their distinct personalities and voices.

I liked writing Zenith too, and the friends, but honestly, I had much more fun writing the characters in the first chapter. Just the way they interact is much more fun than the way Zenith and BHM interact...I don't know why, but the character interactions here have always felt kind of stilted to me. Just like the prose. And I'm shocked you didn't notice my adverb abuse; one time in a story (that I will never post) I used FOUR adverbs in quick sucession. That is just...terrible . *weeps*

And I didn't notice much adverb abuse in your story; it flowed very naturally to me.

The only thing I’d suggest changing is to try to lessen the times you use another word in substitute for “said.” Most of the substitutes you use aren’t too grating, but still, “said” gets the job done without distracting the reader, while some replacements can be a little jarring.

I know...I wrote this some time ago (the latest would be in May...I can't remember exactly when I wrote this though), so when I went back to reread it I too was surprised at how many times I avoided saying "said". Funny since I'm one of those people who really insists on using "said" or no dialogue tag at all. >_> Practice what you preach...

I'm very glad that you all said that you were all confused about the Master--because I never was. This is what I love about outside critique; you guys catch things I never would, because I wrote the damn thing and it makes sense to ME. But I don't matter--my readers do. And if you don't think it makes sense, then I'll go back and make it make sense. ^^

Oh, and noting your remarks at the end… no, I don’t really think anyone was overreacting. It seemed pretty plausible to me… Zenith just attacked one of them, it’s not too surprising that they ran off, and in doing so, Zenith lost (at least temporarily) the only people who still seem to care about him. So no, I didn’t think it was an overreaction. Actually, I never even considered the possibility until you mentioned it. XD

What, really? The main reason I hated this prologue (beyond the awkward prose and adverb abuse) is because I honest-to-goodness thought for the longest time that Zenith was overreacting. Okay, so his friends left him, so he shut down? WTF? What a big baby! Zenith actually does have specific plot reasons for the shutdown, but I've never actually pinned them down. That is, I have a general idea what I want, but...I don't know EXACTLY what. >_> Probably another reason why this project ultimately folded it--I'm TERRIBLE at planning, particularly when it come to the details.

Well, glad (and surprised) you liked it. I love your guys' critique, it's on a whole different level from what I'm used to and it's marvelous! I only wish you could tear apart my prose a bit more because I hate hate HATE my prose. HATE IT. With a blazing, burning passion. Haaaaaaaaate. You get the picture.

Lately a strange, almost disquieting sort of feeling had begun to fall upon Zenith.

Like Sokool said, since this is the intro to an entire series, you need to make it a real attention grabber. You want your reader to read the first sentance and want...no, need to read more.

It crept up upon him during the night, when he would sit alone performing self-maintenance; it snuck into his mind during those times of the day when he would idly allow his thoughts to roam. He could find no words to describe this feeling, which unsettled him even more—he, with his massive databank of hundreds of thousands of words, unable to describe his own emotions?

I liked this paragraph. You wrote it well, and made it intriguing for the reader. A very good paragraph.

Which begged the question of why Master even still wanted him around. He should be going to the scrap yard. The new models were superior to him, and Zenith knew this well. How many times had he entered Master’s private room to see the familiar auburn-haired man surrounded by all of his elegant new models, happily accepting their service? Then Zenith would simply stand there, silent and useless and secretly stewing inside with jealousy.

You may want to clarify the events surrounding this more. The reader is propelled to ask the question, who and what are these new models. One can already make the assumption that Zenith is an android, but he seems almost too human. Jealousy wouldn't be an emotion that you would think androids or robots would be able to understand.

A jealousy that the new models couldn’t feel. They couldn’t feel anger or misery or happiness or hate or hope or fear or anything. Master had removed the emotions capability from the new models. “It was cumbersome,” he explained when Zenith had inquired, looking up from his latest programming work to smile at Zenith, eyes inscrutable, as always, behind his green-tinted shades. Zenith had nodded and accepted this, for he, like the new models, was at least programmed to obey.

these androids seem very... human. Too human I think, for the purposes of this story. I would make them more obviously robot, and less obviously human.

“Tch, he’s just a jerk!” Hale had said in his impatient way, hands on his hips. “Look, you can move in with me, if you want to.”

uhm, I assume that his was a typo... if not, then what is it?

“What a jerk!” screamed Hale one hot summer day, pumping his fist into the air. “I really can’t believe him. How did he get this way? Seriously, slamming the door in the face of one of his best friends—”

“He didn’t slam the door, exactly,” explained Magnus in his slow, calm way, shrugging his massive shoulders. “Really, he was very polite. He’s just busy, is all.”

“Too busy to play with his friends?” snarled Hale, who would not be taken off this track so easily. “What’s the matter with him, huh?”

“Look, Hale…there’s no need to get so offended,” sighed Brit. “He is a programmer. He can’t just play with us all day.”

Hale, Brit, Magnus, and Zenith were together in the old playground located at the periphery of their neighborhood. Due to the heat, no one else was out—all were barricaded inside their enormous noisy Castles, enjoying the air conditioning and watching funfeeds and playing with systems. Any passers-by—not that there were any in the dead summer heat—would have considered the four insane to be hanging out in the ancient playground rather than enjoying themselves inside as normal youths did. After all, only the old fools from the nearby retirement community ever visited the playground, where they sat and reminisced about their long-ago memories of a time when children had played with swings and slides instead of systems and androids.

Brit pushed her swing back and forth, the chains creaking and squeaking ominously. Zenith scuffed the sand beneath his swing. Magnus sat near the top of the slide, although he didn’t go down it. Hale was occupied with pushing the merry-go-round back and forth, over and over again, as it clanked and groaned in protest.

“Sure, sure,” scowled Hale. “Still, you remember the days when he used to play with us all the time? He sure as ‘granfalloon’--"

“Hale!” protested both Brit and Zenith at the same time. Hale folded his arms and shot them a dirty look, but quieted down.

“All right, all right, heck, then. He sure as ‘heck’ had all the time in the world to play with us, sure didn’t seem ‘busy’ back then, you know.”

“Right…” said Brit almost wistfully, gazing off in the distant pottery-blue sky as if trying to wish a long-gone memory back into existence. “We used to come here all the time…almost every day.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” agreed Hale, excitement lighting up in his blue eyes. “No one else ‘cept the old geezers would ever come, and gee they didn’t even play, they just sat there and went on and on about the ‘good old days’, fat lot they knew.”

“But we’d play ourselves silly,” giggled Brit. “I mean, it wasn’t all that safe. I remember he broke the monkey bars once, trying to use them. Remember that? Great thing he wasn’t hurt too bad…”

"Zenith saved him," said Hale, sounding suddenly angry. "Remember? Zenith patched him up until the doctors could come and take 'im to the hospital. Now he's forgotten about all that, hasn't he? Conveniently erased his memory, has he?" An ugly scowl crossed his face.

“Come now, Hale,” said Magnus, shaking his great head. “I don’t think he’s forgotten. He’s just too busy right now, you know?”

"Master remembers," cut in Zenith more starkly.

"Well, you'd think he'd show a bit of...I don't know...say...gratitude?" Hale's scowl deepened and he spun the merry-go-round especially hard. It clanked and groaned as it spun, and flakes of rust fell in a shower from it. Watching them, somehow, caused that strange disquieting sensation to snake up within Zenith once more, and he shook his head to clear it.

"I am glad I have my self-maintenance program," he said after some length, staring entranced at the reddish flakes of rust littering the sand, pathetically, like so many dead leaves. "Master has stopped performing even basic maintenance on me."

Hale issued a noise that sounded a lot like, "jerk."

"He used to care so much, didn't he?" said Brit, her dark eyebrows knitting together worriedly. "What happened to him? He said...he told me...when we were...you know...he said that you were his pride and joy. That he wouldn't be able to stand it if something happened to you...but now...can people really change that much in such a short space of time?" She let out a pensive sigh, staring up into the clear, cloudless blue sky.

"People change," observed Magnus sagely.

"But not so much so quickly!" protested Brit.

"It was his visit to Engelfield," said Zenith, seizing on a memory that had inexplicably risen out of his data banks. "That was it. He visited Engelfield one day—do you remember?—we were—”

"Right! We were exploring the swamp!" said Hale, leaping off the merry-go-round in a sudden motion, causing even more flakes of rust to fly from it. "Yeah. I remember. What fun! I caught Newton there—”

"Shut up, Hale," snarled Brit. "Zenith's speaking."

"Sorry," said Hale sheepishly. Zenith gave his blonde friend a slight smile.

"I am not bothered, Hale...but yes. It was that day at the swamp. Master visited Engelfield. When he came back, he told me...of all the marvels Engelfield had. All the different kinds of androids Engelfield had developed. And I think Master was a little worried. He had created only one android, and Engelfield had dozens. Shortly after, Master began to develop his first new model." Zenith couldn't keep the bitter note out of his voice, nor could he quash the feeling that had risen up, violently, at his recollections of Master and Engelfield.

"Engelfield?" complained Hale, his loud voice echoing across the empty playground. "Who needs Engelfield? He's just a big jerk. Just another granfallooning jerk."

"Hale!" snapped Brit.

"Engelfield is widely respected," pointed out Magnus.

"Doesn't change that he's a jerk," scowled Hale. "And so is—that guy. He's a great big jerk too. Just tossing his dearest creation aside 'cause he's jealous of Engelfield...and then spending all his time with his stupid new models while his friends get lonelier and lonelier—”

"We can survive without him," said Magnus. “And I said, he’s just—”

"It isn't the same, though," noted Brit.

"Let Master be Master," said Zenith bitterly, standing up. His swing creaked in protest. He had gone to his friends in the hopes of finding a reprieve from the one subject he had hoped to avoid, but he had been naïve in assuming his friends wouldn’t be pursuing it. "It is getting late, and your metabolisms cannot take much more of this heat, correct? Shall we go?"

"Yeah, my place!" shouted Hale.

"We went to your place yesterday, and the day before, too," snapped Brit in protest, placing her hands on her hips. "Why don't we go to my place?"

This is excellent dialogue. You made it realistic and it was very good.

I don't quite understand. Are Brit, Magnus, and Hale fellow androids or are they humans? Also, are they children? Why else would they be in a park? You may want to clarify, because it gets rather confusing.

Also, what relationship do those three have with 'master'? They seem to know him very well, or is that just because they know Zenith who knows him?

My final impressions are that you are an excellent knack for writing. I can tell that you are a very talented writer, and I'd be very interested in reading the rest of this. I will critique the rest of this at some point in the near future, I promise. If I forget, feel free to PM me.


Keep up the good work,
Pros

*Sigh sigh sob sob*

That was so sad! Excellently written, of course, but saaaad.

Only one thing I didn't like (other than what everybody else pointed out already):

Brit's residence immediately placed itself apart from all the other houses on the street—for one thing, it wasn’t even a Castle. The Castle-dwellers passed by the house, a little box on a street filled with large, loud, fully wired Castles, feeling nothing more than piteous contempt for that poor fool who couldn't even buy a basic Castle.

But not a single one of Zenith’s friends had a castle. Brit, Magnus, and Hale—they felt no need for Castles. Sure, they were scorned and ridiculed, but they had other ways of making fun beyond playing with systems and viewing funfeeds. For them, fun was hanging out in the playground and exploring the swamp.

Master did not have a Castle either. He invested all of his time and money on creating androids, not on frivolous things like funfeeds and systems and a fully wired Castle. In his case, though, it was expected. It fit in the neighbors' idea of the "eccentric programmer"—no self-respecting programmer owned a Castle.

I've put in bold all of the time you used the world "Castle" in these paragraphs. I think *hem* we may all be able to agree that it is too many times? When I was reading it, it just felt like Castle castle castle... constantly. You might look into that?

Anyway, otherwise a very good job. I do like the idea of the Castles, by the the way - in fact I like the idea of your whole world thingy!

Now make Zenith wake up and give the loser android a happy ending!

Yours ever,
Kool

Oh! Argh! You're right! >_> How come I never notice stuff like that? Crud...I've got to fix that (but what would be a suitable substitute for "Castle"?) Darn.

If you're astute, you're probably noticing I'm not...really...editing...it...yet...>_> I have excuses, though--! Homework, for one thing, and browsing this site is too much fun, but bleeh whatever excuses are excuses are inexcusable. If that made sense (honestly, I am actually a bit befuzzled at how to go about fixing it in the first place, what with all the critiques and suggestions that have been made...I needs must figure out an efficient system for being able to look at EVERYONE'S critiques at the same time while fixing the original file...urgh.)

Anyway, the (long) weekend's come so soon I won't have an excuse.

Hello,




You already said you are trying to cut down on your wordiness. I have the same problem. Here's an example for you of how I would edit a sentience to make it stronger. Lately a strange, almost disquieting sort of feeling had begun to fall upon Zenith.- A strange, disquieting feeling had fallen upon Zenith. If you want to label a time frame, instead of lately (which could mean anything from for a few hours, days or years), add "In the past few days" or something more specific. Since this is still a rough draft I won't go through line by line and do this because likely you'll alter much of it later.


Now to a general critique which are more of my specialty .

Plot- I can't, for the life of me, figure out why you hate this. I loved it. Not that its perfect, but it is original and full of great emotion and characters. It has close to the correct amount of information given and left out to dangle me along and make me really want to read another chapter and probably the entire book. You set up the conflict right at the very beginning and gave it lots of leg room to expand if need be. Your setting is a great mix of familiar and new. If you don't continue writing this, I'll be very irate with you . Don't worry fi you are a mature enough writer to pull something off. You never will be if you don't try.

Characters- Zenith is the favorite. Of course he is, he's the MC. He's fascinating because he's not alive and yet he is. What separates a machine with emotions from a human? That's an old question originally packaged in this piece. You've probably never heard of this (said the ancient 20 year-old), but it reminded me a bit of Astro boy, though not in a copy cat way. I didn't think Zenith was whiny, in fact, I'd be making a bigger deal out of it. I guess he can't really, because he has to obey. I'd like to know a bit more of how he looks, as well as the other characters. I'm not really sure how old they all are.

imagery- The imagery could always be a little better in everything I read (and write). It's hard to remember it, because characters are so much more overtly interesting. However, part of what i loved about this chapter was the bit about the old playground. i would suggest playing that up a bit more. It's harder to be descriptive on the rest fo it, since its more introspective, but give it a go.

Overall- I liked it. A lot. All my comments are already listed above so I think I may as well gush here. Please keep writing because i want to keep reading. Well done.

You already said you are trying to cut down on your wordiness. I have the same problem. Here's an example for you of how I would edit a sentience to make it stronger. Lately a strange, almost disquieting sort of feeling had begun to fall upon Zenith.- A strange, disquieting feeling had fallen upon Zenith. If you want to label a time frame, instead of lately (which could mean anything from for a few hours, days or years), add "In the past few days" or something more specific. Since this is still a rough draft I won't go through line by line and do this because likely you'll alter much of it later.

Thanks for the suggestions--that first sentence has been bothering me for the longest time.

If you don't continue writing this, I'll be very irate with you . Don't worry fi you are a mature enough writer to pull something off. You never will be if you don't try.

No, really--I KNOW I am not mature enough. Pride is the worst sin possible and I don't want to have the hubris to think I could work out this magnum opus as I am now. I like the basic idea, and I've actually plotted out the entire series (if you'd like to know what direction it might take, I'll tell you), but I know I'm not good enough a writer to carry it out. I know my limits, and this is beyond them. I'll graduate high school and go to college and get a few more things published before daring to tackle The Zenith Cycle for real, because as I am now I lack both the writing and life experience to carry it out the way I want to.

I'd like to know a bit more of how he looks, as well as the other characters. I'm not really sure how old they all are.

Argh....*smacks forehead* I know, I'm sorry...it was because in my original draft I actually wasn't certain how old they were either. >_> I do think I tried stating it in an oblique way, by having them note that the Master was twenty-one and thus a "few years older" than them. My intention was for them to be fifteen-to-sixteen. Which si probably a bit of a brainbreaker.

As for appearances...argh, sorry about that too! I honestly suck at inserting descprition about people--I get too into writing their interactions, or I'm afraid of infodumping. Zenith's apperance will actually be touched on later in the same book, as will the Master's, but...I honetly don't think I describe BHM's appearance anywhere else. O_o (duh they're not in the rest of the book)

Glad (and utterly bamboozled) you liked it though, and thanks for the suggestions. I'm glad you liked the characters, in particular, but...none of these characters will actually be in the main novel. Hope that isn't too big of a disappointment...you see my opinion on a prologue is that it isn't supposed to be the first chapter of the novel with a different name, but rather a completely different vignette (?) that has ties to the main story but doesn't feature...the main story. If you get my drift. The prologues for a few of the other novels will also not involve the characters actually in the novel (the prologue for the third novel...centers on the villains, the prologue for the fourth is like this one in that it takes place many years before the events of the actual book). But heeey, the prologue for the sixth novel will reprise BHM! But I wonder when I'll ever get around to writing that.