The Undying #1

Thanks,

I'm writing up the battle scene (was going in anyway) and hopefully the edited version should be up soon

Kylan's advice about starting in the middle of the action is really good, as is a lot of the other advice you received.

I didn't see any grammar or spelling mistakes, so I'd say you did a good job. But your readers did mention that you overused abstract language, and I can relate to that. You probably can make this into a story if you just tell it like one.

You are both completely right.

Kylan - I've been thinking about those irritating metaphors for a while. I feel like chopping them off and finally, I shall It shall be refined.

Much thanks again!

Hello there! Your story looked lonely so I decided to keep it company for a while.

Honestly, my friend, you lost me. And not due to of an over-use of metaphors and similes, but because of an overload of complex words and ideas, when really, all I wanted to read was a story. This smacks more of an essay on philosophy than a fantasy piece. Like Rowan, I feel that you need to toss your thesaurus aside for a little while and focus on connecting with a broader audience through some simpler words and a more direct stream-of-consciousness. You are not Charles Dickens. Therefore, you do not need the write like him. This flowed - and you used your vocabularly very well - but the words were just words and they tended to skim off of my eyes like skipping stones.

Lights...Camera...ACTION

I'm sure you're aware of this concept, but if not, allow me to enlighten you for a moment on the subject of introductions. When you begin a story, it is imperitive to your story's survival that you hook the reader and lure him into the lives of your characters. Immediately. And unfortunately, the average human being is hooked by the sensational, the shocking, and the exciting. So if you want a reader to pick up your book - I don't care if it's a Romance or a Thriller or a Historical Fiction piece - you've got to begin with action. You've got to introduce an interesting character doing something, instead of philosophizing. Is he talking to someone, killing someone, kissing someone? Is he robbing a bank or undergoing surgery or running for his life?

Pick up any book, even a book written by someone like Charles Dickens, and you'll find that they begin their stories with a character doing something. If not, then they're either an exception, or it's a miracle their book was ever published. Know this rule: open the curtains on ACTION.

Miscellaneous

The world around me is like the blade of blue grass; it feels artificial, as if I, a strand of human sickness do not deserve hate.

Hello,

Great job with vocabulary! Oddly enough, my suggestion is to cut back on more complex or less common words to make it easier to understand ex-"adroitly", "misdemeanors". As you say, perhaps just a few less metaphors and abstract language. As it is, I'm having a lot of trouble understanding the whole becauseI have to work to understand the parts. The last paragraph is the easest to grasp and where the story begins to take form for me. I am very interested in this being who is in such torment.

a few nitpicks-

"are within my grope"- grasp might work better

as if I, a strand of human sickness do not deserve hate- not totally sure, but I think you need a comma after "sickness"

Thanks for the review!

I agree, but right now I think if I rewrite it I will just be back where I was before, draft after draft...

Blink wrote:Thanks, all critiques appreciated:

Chapter One: Of a Blind Man

Do not empathise; blame me. Nature’s flight is a far memory—in a split second her wings beat against the breeze, and abandoned my heart in this madness, resembling what one could interpret as my life. The world around me is like the blade of blue grass; it feels artificial, as if I, a strand of human sickness do not deserve hate. I ponder my loathed silhouette’s existence often, many spent hours in the rain and beneath the black sky—yet another product of my imagination, I think. For no material wealth I am obliged to labour so I can only appreciate that somehow, the present is restringing my timeline, even hiding my misdemeanours.

I suddenly find my eyes captivated upon my saviours, whom I cannot decipher. Out of common expectation, or rather, not expectation, perhaps some translucent spirit I deemed to lower from the sky in such gracious facility I gasp, or whose words curve my spine and render a ceasefire in my sword. But no. Though much magical aroma seems to encircle them, my redeemers are still merely insects, a spec of dust in a warehouse, perhaps rafts in the open sea, even men on earth. Had my mind ever slanted to religious inclinations I could merrily contemplate how I fit into the circle so brilliantly that all my dreams, even those long surpassed, are within my grope. Perhaps I could say the stars have come to witness me take counsel with a particular god, who has procured eight perfect, human forms.

And so I stand, as cold as a stone statue. I cannot see through my eyes, and the last my bitter lips tasted a laugh, no rustic song recalls. It is the recent years that, from my adroitly carved body, have stolen a little strength and decayed my poise. I feel like a weary, old man whose spine has never felt such frost. My lack of food has finally reached my fingers, where the cold is no longer stopped and my power, vulnerable. Mindfully also does the disease of weakness now creep; I can no longer picture any colour or products of sight, no imagination to the oppressive suffering. Perhaps one could argue for me, sway me to believe that my heart is a vision of trickery and I consider my companions—a supplement for my empty love?

***

Congratulations on making it this far! I know it's not great, I think I am mixing too many metaphors together or something