Young Writers Society

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm here to leave a quick review!!

Anyway let's get right to it,

I sat high up in the skies. It was the best place to think anything over. The peaceful floating bubbles of moisture did miracles to the mind. There were no extra complications up here. No distractions, emotions, feelings, or even reality. The light blue color would wrap around you like a beautiful blanket. Nothing more gorgeous or simple could ever be found. You should really come up here some time. The spirit of the world could do amazing things.

In my hand is a simple stone. There isn’t anything terribly unique about it. It has a dull blue, gray color to it. It is only about the size of the fingernail on your thumb. The sides are mostly smooth, with the occasional dent or bump here or there. The dents are from the occasional kick that would come from a passerby. The passerby always claimed to enjoy the stone and appreciate it. Kicking it must have just been apart of the fun.

I always wondered what the purpose of such a stone was. If it served no purpose then why was it even here? There was no way it would ever be apart of something higher than where I am now, and yet why do I keep this stone around? It seems like I should let go of it, since I had long given up any desire to keep it. Such a useless thing it is! It will just sit on the ground for the rest of time. Maybe, it will become apart of something, someday, but what is the point of having that something? It will only become useless some time later. We were always taught to throw away anything that served no purpose, so I suppose I should just throw it away now, rather than just lose it later. That way it can’t cause any sort of mess.

No, I shouldn’t throw it away just because it has no purpose now. It may never serve a purpose but that is okay, isn’t it? I can give it my own personal meaning, even if that meaning is meaningless for the rest of space and time. I might be able to learn something from its many cracks and other follies it carries with it everywhere it goes. Maybe, this is the course for all other stones. Maybe, we are meant to hold onto them for the rest of our lives, or else why would we feel such things as greed and desire? Why would we feel pleasure or sorrow? The clouds are a great place to think about the world.

I do have to wonder what will happen if I drop this stone though. There is no tangible precedent that I have to follow, but precedents are the only way humans can learn and survive. All of our knowledge comes from people and things that had happened before us. I wonder who started this cycle and what they did? Nevertheless, the thought of dropping this stone intrigues me. I have already settled that it has no intrinsic value, so I will lose nothing in dropping it. There isn’t anyway I can hope for the stone to find a different resting place than the earth where it falls. Despite this reasoning, I can’t help but hope for some other more interesting and mystical ending for it. My hand begins to open itself. The knuckles on my hand had turned hard from clutching so hard on it. I suppose that was habit to hold it so hard. What will happen? What would you do? I guess the only way you could figure it out is if you came up here in the clouds. I hope you have no real reason to come up here. My mind moves in a thousand different directions at once, unable to settle on any one thing. And when it does settle on something, people call it bonkers and insane. I will let go of this stone now, just to see what happens. I watch as the stone slips from my hand and lazily drifts towards Earth. Life is a mysterious thing.

Hello,

This is terrific! (Also: Your username is amazing.)

You seem quite adept at philosophical writing—not to generalize, but so many young writers, when trying to write something "deep" or existential, come off as cheesy and faux-intellectual. You, however, have dodged that curse: This story actually does feel philosophical, and makes some excellent points via genius metaphors. Philosophical writing is some of the greatest writing, so it's always a treat to read something in that style.

Speaking of which, your writing style is quite good. Very introspective (at least for this piece), and very nuanced. I really enjoyed it. Your imagery's cleverly-worded and a strength of yours, as well. The flow felt natural for most of the piece, though maybe a bit rushed toward the end (which I'll elaborate on in a moment).

At first, when I read the description of this piece and the very beginning, I was definitely thinking, "A rock, huh? Why base a story around that—what can anyone say about a rock?" And then I realized that was pretty much the exact point you were making. And that made me think the rock, and whether or not to drop the rock, was such a perfect stand-in for a person who doesn't feel there's any meaning to life, and is wrestling with the decision to commit suicide. I didn't, however, suspect that's where you were going with this, because, admittedly, I don't associate that kind of sly symbolism with young writers. I should've given you more credit, though. Clearly you know what you're doing.

Basically, the decision to use rock-dropping as a metaphor for suicide was astute and brilliant. I applaud you.

Now onto some boring ol' nitpicks:

I sat high up in the skies. It was the best place to think anything over.
...
In my hand is a simple stone. There isn’t anything terribly unique about it.

The sides are mostly smooth, with the occasional dent or bump here or there. The dents are from the occasional kick

The passerby always claimed to enjoy the stone

Kicking it must have just been apart of the fun.

I might be able to learn something from its many cracks and other follies it carries with it everywhere it goes.

Maybe, it will become

I can’t help but hope for some other more interesting and mystical ending for it. My hand begins to open itself.

I guess the only way you could figure it out is if you came up here in the clouds. I hope you have no real reason to come up here. My mind moves in a thousand different directions at once, unable to settle on any one thing. And when it does settle on something, people call it bonkers and insane. I will let go of this stone now, just to see what happens. I watch as the stone slips from my hand and lazily drifts towards Earth. Life is a mysterious thing.

News Report. A person found dead in their home. Suicide is the assumed method. There is no current reasoning known for why it happened.

I really liked the depth of emotions in this. Your thought process much more like me; spontaneous and philosophical.
The way you put together your thoughts was nice and simple.
But actually, I understood this more when I read it two times so try to keep it compact and striking the next time

Hello,
You really are a wonderful writer. But, more than a writer you're a good thinker. Also, your way of writing is amazing and I can honestly tell you this is the best thing I read in a week or two.

Please continue to give us the pleasure of reading.

Well wishes,
Annie

Hey there! Kitten here for a review!
So i loved this. I really did. It was an amazing piece. There wasn't really anything wrong with it, besides where you used passive voice in a few spots. (but in my opinion you shouldn't change a thing!) You did an excellent job with your story. I hope to read more from you. It would be amazing. You are an amazing writer!!!

Best of luck,
XxPheonixKittenxX

P.s. If you need anything, my inbox is open to you at anytime!

Have a wonderful day!