Young Writers Society

I'm back;

Atmosphere
You built up a most wonderful atmosphere here. It truly is beautiful.

I warn you just to be careful not to ruin it though, some of the phrases you use

sometimes seem to upset it slightly and break the flow of the beautiful words you use.

Just be careful, for I care not to see such beauty broken, or even fragmented.

imagery


I really enjoyed the imagery in this piece. I found it most refreshing. Told from a fresh, poignant narrative that reeked years of reading and writing.

Your similes and metaphors were beautiful, they set about the piece an air of such joy and happiness. Your similes depict exactly that which you wish to get across, most beautifully too.

They are devoid of cliched expressions, they do not over use language or repeat themselves, they sing to our very souls words of wisdom and great beauty.

Behold not something for what you've got, but for what you wish to have

Your imagery, tone and atmosphere make this seem a place that holds a lot to be

desired. Your tone sets about an air of splendor. Your descriptions and imagery set

about us a wish to inhabit this town. A wish to be where you are. In every sense your descriptions make us feel, not only feel, but see
hear;
touch;
dance;
they make us feel the wind upon our cheek, and the howling of a winter's wind

They sing to our hearts words of such joyous existence as the one you lead.

You say your goal is to depict the beauty of your town, and that you most certainly do.

Your fresh, poignant voice, spirited narrative and exquisite descriptions make us long

for nothing less than living within this town.

I loved this piece. It truly was great

~Kirsten

Hey there, I like to pick on random pieces, cease them for several five minute segments and then throw them back at the author. Please excuse me if I miss out a letter or an apostrophe as I have recently discovered that lemonade isn't particularly good for laptops. xD Shall we begin?

I sat down and wrote this after staying up till one o'clock last night. This is a description of the little town down the slopes of my mountain. It has great sentimental value to me, so enjoy.

Heaven on Earth

I wonder sometimes what life would be like if we had been designed for the night.

What if our race could see right through shadow and live in the hours of darkness, go to school and work? What if we all abandoned the day and lived the night the way it should be lived? Our heaven on earth? What if, what if, what if.

The hours after sunset have always fascinated me, even though I usually sleep through them.

There’s always something about the peacefulness outside in the dark—the quiet that is missing in the daytime—that draws me to it. In the winter, the moonlight hits the smooth banks of snow and makes the sleeping world around me glow like an ethereal dream. In the summer, the wind rushes through my window, carrying the news of the day: a rainstorm on the end of the valley, new leaves on the giant maple in the yard, the crickets chirping in the grass as the sun sank. The return of night.

Now, as I gaze down on the wintry valley beneath me, I feel myself begin to ache to go outside and feel the sting of the cold in my lungs. But instead I clutch a blanket closer around me and admire my view of the valley. It’s cloudy tonight, so the moon is just a grayish-white blur behind the mantle of clouds. Behind the mountain, the city lights create a rosy glow in the sky, but where I am the sky is black as pitch.

There is no beginning of the sky and end of the earth. They melt together in one great black void; they are one. No stars. Just plain, smooth nothing.

I live on the slopes of a mountain above a small town, called Inkom. Even in the black nothing, you can see it. The little place is spread across a wide valley, lights clustering around the edges, leaving darkness in the middle. When we were little, my sisters and I would find shapes of animals and flowers in the tangles of lights beneath us. To me, the town looks like a tulip, barely blooming. My sisters would say a mirror, or a guitar, or even a butterfly’s cocoon.

As I look down on my home town, I still see a flower, a mirror, a guitar. I feel a rush of memories from my childhood fill me.

On the west side of the town there is the large form of a building, smoke stacks and blinding lights. It’s the cement plant, and it was what kept this place alive half a century ago. Now it is charcoal black, noisy, and it reeks of sulfur.

Even now, in the dead of night, a great plume of gray smoke rises ominously from one of the towering smoke stacks. There’s a spurt of flame, and as I open my window just a crack, I can hear a faint grinding as the cement rolls around in its rotating metal tubes to keep it from setting. It’s the only ugly thing about the town, that cement plant. It gives everything a dirty, dusty look, and I’ve hated it for a long time. I turn my attention from it.

Behind my town is another mountain. Tonight you can hardly see it. It too blends into the sky, the valley floor. It’s as black as the rest, but in the center of it there is a sputtering, sickly blue pinprick of light. And that’s how I know the mountain opposite me hasn’t disappeared.

That light, like the cement plant and the tulip-shaped town, has always been there, as far back as I can remember. But I see it in a new light now. I close of my vision from the town, ignoring the other lights, orange, yellow, white, blue. I focus on the little point of light and imagine it hanging in the sky. A star; small, weak, but a star nonetheless. I turn back to my town and do the same.

Before I know it, both the earth and the sky are filled with stars, a patchwork of light the regular night sky will never see again.

And then it hits me.

What if this is it? What if this place is it? Earth-bound stars, right under my nose, a beauty I’d never imagined. Even the flames spurting from the ugly plant are wonderful discoveries to me. What if this is my heaven on earth, and I didn’t even know it? What if, what if, what if.

Hiya!

Description: You've done an amazing job with the description, but when it came to the mountain and the light on it I got confused. Is the mountain back-lit or is the light on top of the mountain? Spend a little more time on that light so we can really picture it.

Theme: I liked the theme here, but I wish it wasn't so split. The first half is all about how it would be interesting for humans to live at night, but the second half is about the lights becoming stars. I would have a smoother translation between the two themes so things are tied off better.

Overall: Nice work! Just a handful of polishing and this will be something powerful to remember.

Questions? PM me

~Rosey

I thought that was absolutely fantastic! The job of a writer is to paint a picture in the reader's mind, and sir, you did it! You took me away to where you live, and it sounds fascinating!!!!! Like Borntoshop said, I really liked how you linked the beginning to the end! It's like poetry but in story form!

Good work!

Keep writing!

God Bless!

this is sheer class.

absolutely gorgeous.

but I 'spose you want something constructive...


First paragraph: delete the 3 'what ifs' at the end: they cheapen and sort of fluff out a really excellent opening paragraph... (although it'd be a lovely time to add some more description of the night that you did so well)

The hours after sunset have always fascinated me, even though I usually sleep through them. There’s always something about the peacefulness outside in the dark—the quiet that is missing in the daytime—that draws me to it. In the winter, the moonlight hits the smooth banks of snow and makes the sleeping world around me glow like an ethereal dream. In the summer, the wind rushes through my window, carrying the news of the day: a rainstorm on the end of the valley, new leaves on the giant maple in the yard, the crickets chirping in the grass as the sun sank. The return of night.

I can't find a word original enough to describe this... so beautiful will have to do.. don't change a thing

Now, as I gaze down on the wintry valley beneath me, I feel myself begin to ache get rid of begins... it overcomplicates the line[b/] to go outside and feel the sting of the cold in my lungs. But instead I clutch a blanket closer around me and admire my view of the valley. It’s cloudy tonight, so the moon is just a grayish-white blur behind the mantle of clouds. Behind the mountain, the city lights create a rosy glow in the sky, but where I am the sky is black as pitch.

There is no beginning of the sky and end of the earth. They melt together in one great black void; they are one. No stars. Just plain, smooth nothing. [b]brilliant, especially the last line

I live on the slopes of a mountain above a small town, called Inkom. Even in the black nothing, you can see it. The little place is spread across a wide valley, lights clustering around the edges, leaving darkness in the middle. When we were little, my sisters and I would find shapes of animals and flowers in the tangles of lights beneath us. To me, the town looks like a tulip, barely blooming. My sisters would say a mirror, or a guitar, or even a butterfly’s cocoon.

As I look down on my home town, I still see a flower, a mirror, a guitar. I feel a rush of memories from my childhood fill me. delete ' I feel' and just start with 'A rush of..." Same reasons as 'begin to ache:' using what is ultimately two verbs overcomplicates things.

On the west side of the town there is the large form of a building, smoke stacks and blinding lights. It’s the cement plant, and it was what kept this place alive half a century ago. Now it is charcoal black, noisy, and it reeks of sulfur. Even now, in the dead of night, a great plume of gray smoke rises ominously from one of the towering smoke stacks. There’s a spurt of flame I don't like spurt... spout maybe??, and as I open my window just a crack, I can hear a faint grinding as the cement rolls around in its rotating metal tubes to keep it from setting. It’s the only ugly thing about the town, that cement plant. It gives everything a dirty, dusty look, and I’ve hated it for a long time. I turn my attentionaway from it.
Behind my town is another mountain. Tonight you can hardly see it. It too blends into the sky, the valley floor. It’s as black as the rest, but in the center of it there is a sputtering, sickly blue pinprick of light. And that’s how I know the mountain opposite me hasn’t disappeared.
That light, like the cement plant and the tulip-shaped town, has always been there, as far back as I can remember. But I see it in a new light now. I close of my vision from the town, ignoring the other lights, orange, yellow, white, blue. I focus on the little point of light and imagine it hanging in the sky. A star; small, weak, but a star nonetheless. I turn back to my town and do the same.
Before I know it, both the earth and the sky are filled with stars, a patchwork of light the regular night sky will never see again. rectangular night... <3
And then it hits me.
What if this is it? What if this place is it? Earth-bound stars, right under my nose, a beauty I’d never imagined. Even the flames spurting from the ugly plant are wonderful discoveries to me. What if this is my heaven on earth, and I didn’t even know it? What if, what if, what if.
again, I don't like the 3 what ifs... one would be ok but I think you can think of something better

ok. basically I get this.
and I love this.

I havn't been to sleep before one for the past 3 months, so I would definitely class myself a night person.

You nailed the whole thing in my eyes, spot on.

And the idea of heaven being on earth is magic too.... why must we sell our souls to a god to achieve bliss??

Great stuff..

Brendan

Here with your review, as requested. I just want to start off by saying that my reviewing style is a little different. Instead of just going in and pointing out the problem, I’ll find where I see a problem (mostly in word usage, word choice, and sentence flow and style) and I’ll give you a revised work of the section with an option as to how it could be altered.

I wonder sometimes what life would be like if we had been designed for the night. What if our race could see right through shadow and live in the hours of darkness, go to school and work? What if we all abandoned the day and lived the night the way it should be lived? Our heaven on earth? What if, what if, what if.

The hours after sunset have always fascinated me, even though I usually sleep through them. There’s always something about the peacefulness outside in the dark—the quiet that is missing in the daytime—that draws me to it.

a rainstorm on the end of the valley,

Now, as I gaze down on the wintry valley beneath me, I feel myself begin to ache to go outside and feel the sting of the cold in my lungs. But instead I clutch a blanket closer around me and admire my view of the valley. It’s cloudy tonight, so the moon is just a grayish-white blur behind the mantle of clouds. Behind the mountain, the city lights create a rosy glow in the sky, but where I am the sky is black as pitch.

There is no beginning of the sky and end of the earth. They melt together in one great black void; they are one. No stars. Just plain, smooth nothing.

I live on the slopes of a mountain above a small town, called Inkom. Even in the black nothing, you can see it.

As I look down on my home town, I still see a flower, a mirror, a guitar. I feel a rush of memories from my childhood fill me.

Now it is charcoal black, noisy, and it reeks of sulfur. Even now, in the dead of night, a great plume of gray smoke rises ominously from one of the towering smoke stacks. There’s a spurt of flame, and as I open my window just a crack, I can hear a faint grinding as the cement rolls around in its rotating metal tubes to keep it from setting.

Behind my town is another mountain. Tonight you can hardly see it. It too blends into the sky, the valley floor. It’s as black as the rest, but in the center of it there is a sputtering, sickly blue pinprick of light. And that’s how I know the mountain opposite me hasn’t disappeared.

That light, like the cement plant and the tulip-shaped town, has always been there, as far back as I can remember.

I close of my vision from the town, ignoring the other lights, orange, yellow, white, blue. I focus on the little point of light and imagine it hanging in the sky. A star; small, weak, but a star nonetheless.

What if, what if, what if.

Hi there, 200397!

Well, what can I say? This is fantastic, that's what. Really. Truly. I'm not the sort of person who exaggerates.
The imagery was pungent, heady... without any pomposity. It was alive with the senses.
The wording was not repetitive; it was frank and meaningful. It did not in the least feel like it was written to look pretty. There was substance in it, I could tell as I read it.
At first I didn't like the "what if, what if, what if"--seemed a bit unnecessary to me--but when I got to the end I saw it fitted perfectly. You know, sometimes fiction can come across one long rant, but everything here links & seemed perfectly planned.

Just a few nit-picks:

The hours after the sun sets have always fascinated me

erethreal

When we were little my sisters and I used to find shapes of animals and flowers in the tangles of lights beneath us.

A star, small, weak, but a star nonetheless.

What if this is it? What if this place is it?

A review for you. My comments are bracketted. Feel free to dismiss them if you wish! Hope it's clear enough.



Heaven on Earth

I wonder sometimes what life would be like if we had been designed for the night. (great opening – nice hook, and concise) What if our race could see right through shadow and live in the dark hours( I think “hours of darkness, flows better – sorry to be pedantic), go to school and work? What if we didn’t need the sun to give us energy and help our eyes? What if we all abandoned the day and lived the night the way it should be lived? Our heaven on earth? What if, what if, what if. (As a rule, I don’t use rhetorical question, but this works. Possibly it drags a little – you might cut one of these musings)

The hours after the sun sets have always fascinated me, even though I usually sleep through them. There’s always something about the calm peacefulness(choose between calm and peacefulness, don’t use both) outside in the dark—the quiet that is missing in the daytime—that draws me to it. In the winter, the moonlight hits the smooth banks of snow and makes the sleeping world around me glow like an erethreal (my computer is telling me that this isn’t a word. Do you mean ethereal?) dream. In the summer, the wind rushes through my window, carrying the news of the day: a rainstorm on the end of the valley, new leaves on the giant maple in the yard, the crickets chirping in the grass as the sun sank. The return of night. (the end of the paragraph here is stunning)

Now, as I gaze down on the wintry valley beneath me, I feel myself begin to ache to go outside and feel the sting of the cold in my lungs. (grammar point (sorry). Don’t start a sentence with but unless with very good reason. “cold in my lungs, but…”) But I clutch a blanket closer around me and admire my view of the valley. It’s cloudy tonight, so the moon is just a grayish-white blur behind the mantle of clouds. Behind the mountain, the city lights create a rosy glow in the sky, but where I am the sky is black as pitch. (this is a nice observation, and not too wordy – excellent work)

There is no beginning of the sky and end of the earth. They melt together in one great black void; they are one. No stars. Just plain, smooth nothing. (grammar – “No stars, just plain, smooth nothing).

I live on the slopes of a mountain above a small town, called Inkom. (You’re dotting about a little here. You’ve focussed on your character, then back to the sky, and now on the character again> I assume you don’t want to cut the previous paragraph, but try to go from “the sky is black as pitch” to “I live on the slopes…” more smoothly.) The little place is spread across a wide valley, lights clustering around the edges, leaving darkness in the middle. When we were little my sisters and I used to find shapes of animals and flowers in the tangles of lights beneath us. To me, the town looks like a tulip, barely blooming. My sisters would say a mirror, or a guitar, or even a butterfly’s cocoon. (you might want to explain these images slightly – especially the guitar. I don’t quite get it…)

As I look down on my home town, I still see a flower, a mirror, a guitar.

On the west side of the town there’s (don’t like there’s. Either “there is,” or “lies”) the large form of a building, smoke stacks and blinding lights. It’s (everywhere else, you’re saying “it is.”) the cement plant, and it was what kept this place alive half a century ago. Now it is charcoal black, noisy, and it reeks of sulfur. Even now, in the dead of night, a great plume of gray smoke rises ominously from one of the towering smoke stacks. There’s a spurt of flame, and as I open my window just a crack, I can hear a faint grinding as the cement rolls around in its rotating metal tubes to keep it from setting. It’s the only ugly thing about the town, that cement plant.(that cement plant is the only ugly thing about the town) It gives everything a dirty, dusty look, and I’ve hated it for a long time. I turn my attention from it.

Behind my town is another mountain. Tonight you can hardly see it. It too blends into the sky, the valley floor. It’s a (typo I assume?) black as the rest, but in the center of it there is a weak, sputtering, sickly blue pinprick of light. (too many adjectives - get rid of weak, then the aliteration is really nice) And that’s how I know the mountain opposite me hasn’t disappeared.

That light, like the cement plant and the tulip-shaped town, has always been there, as far back as I can remember. But I see it in a new light now. I close of my vision from the town, ignoring the other lights, orange, yellow, white, blue. I focus on the little point of light and imagine it hanging in the sky. A star, small, weak, but a star nonetheless. I turn back to my town and do the same.

Before I know it, both the earth and the sky is(are) filled with stars, a patchwork of light the regular night sky will never see again.

And then it hits me.

What if this is it? What if this place is it? Earth-bound stars, right under my nose, a beauty I’d never imagined. Even the flames spurting from the ugly plant are wonderful discoveries to me. What if this is my heaven on earth, and I didn’t even know it? What if, what if, what if.



I loved this. Some really beautiful description. Right now, I’m supposed to be writing my dissertation, so this is a nice alternative.

I know I tried to change a lot of things, but I’m really just being pedantic. The couple of grammar points I made are because deliberate grammar rule breaking should only be done in circumstances where a character is especially confused, frightened, lost, sleepy etc. Here, you’re trying to create a feeling of peace and security, and the incomplete sentences are actually taking away from that. Am I making sense?

You can tell that this place has sentimental value, you describe it so lovingly. Since you’re obviously so involved in the landscape, you might want to use this a an opening to something longer, or a break in the action of a longer piece. Adding dialogue or timeshift would give it more texture, and you’d soon be able to take this forwards.


Thank you.

Nice use of metaphors! And a really great story! It's so wonderful that the things closest around us can inspire us to create.

It’s a black as the rest, but in the center of it there is a weak, sputtering, sickly blue pinprick of light.

Very good i like how the ending links to the Beginning.

A few things when you say:

But where i am the sky is as black as pitch.

Is that ment to be like that? Because to me it doesn't make sense.

I think this is very good
Well done !
Borntoshop