Removed

Hey, dude. Do you know that I've never actually critiqued this?

(Yes you do.)

This piece frustrates me with its perfection and self-stability. I assessed it from a lot of different angles, trying to find rough points, areas for expansion. The party line is that plotless pieces can't be considered complete because there's no resolution or anything learned, but this story works. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you so gracefully and completely capture a short stretch of time? Or the fact that the emotion serves as a stand-in for thematic elements?

Eh, who cares.

My only large-scale consideration would be to either (a) finagle the piece slightly so that it could fall under the heading of prose poetry (which I think it can already) or (b) to establish a definitive background to sort of bring out the stretch of time the piece covers. I think that maybe that would give it a clearer backbone, so that you wouldn't have to worry at all about it being judged as a pure description piece.

But it would still be perfect even if you didn't change anything. It's awesome right now. Some of my favorite lines:

--"the kite of his smile", because that's such a lovely image
--"marking the spot where he began and the world stopped", because it's such a graceful insinuation as to the narrator's opinion of the boy, his placement in her world as opposed to *the* world
--the transition from the first paragraph to the second. I love that you incorporated humor!

The snags:

--"like denim". It was already mentioned in other reviews, but if they were jeans then they were denim, not like denim.
--I rolled my eyes just a little bit when she launched into the part about his soul. I liked where you went with it in terms of imagery, but it went from a very physical piece to a much more involved one in that moment. I believed it, but it made me take a step back, become less enthralled.
--I wanted to cut the "and" from the last line, but that's a personal preference.

Also, have I mentioned that I love the title? Because I do.

Aaaaaand...I think that's all I've got. Such an awesome job! And you say you doubt your prowess at times.

Hi Rachael! I usually don't go for this type of writing (long descriptions tend to bore me) but I have to admit I really loved what you wrote. The third paragraph was my favorite, although I'm not sure why. Maybe it just took that long for me to get used to your unique writing style. To me it just had a bigger impact than the rest. Also, I loved your ending line. That was perfectly done. I know this wasn't any help, sorry, but poetry-like things aren't my forte and I'd probably just mess you up.

RachaelElg wrote:She liked the way the T-shirt hung from his shoulders. It was blue like water, and like You repeat like a lot here. Maybe the first time you should say something different. Loved, maybe. water it rippled down, first off his shoulder blades, and then to the hem in lazy folds. When he shifted, those folds shifted in a kaleidoscope of shadows. He looked to the side and they dove in toward his spine; he looked back ahead and that series of ripples, it refit itself, a sheet of blue silk blowing in the wind. My only comment on this first paragraph it is kind of repetitive. You said blue three times. I think the last time (green) should be a different word for blue.

His jeans. She liked those too. The way they moved over and moved around his body. Stiff, not like water, more like denim, I don't get this. The jeans wouldn't be like denim, jeans are denim. but still blue, stained, splotched with paint, and frayed at the bottoms where the heels of his shoes met the edge. They bent when he kneeled, marking the spot where he began and the world stopped. When he stood and when he slipped his hands into the front pockets, lackadaisical and at ease, the motion moved his shirt again.

Waves of blue. Lapping ocean tides. Shadows and lines rocking back and forth like a porch swing every time he shrugged or yawned, and she had to imagine the skin beneath, stretching and shifting, and the muscles beneath, stretching and shifting and relaxing, and beneath the muscles, the bone. I don't like how you repeat stretching and shifting, I get why you did it just rubbed me the wrong way. Then his soul, somewhere deeper, rolling along like grasses bent in a meadow breeze that caught the kite of his smile along the way.

Hey RachaelElg, Fire here, I just happened to come across some of your reviews and they were, to put it simply, awesome. So i thought of checking out some of your stories as well and i ended up here. Lets see if your story lives up to your critiquing standards (i'm sure it will ^^).


And, sure enough, your story utterly blew me away. There are no mistakes (as far as my eye can see) and nothing to suggest that your an amateur writer, which i am sure, you're not. Your description was so vivid and colorful. The way you've turned something as dull as the clothes a person is wearing into this wondrous stream of emotion that keeps flowing into the mind of the reader retraining him or her and not letting him/her take his/her eyes off the story.

Your story makes me (personally) think how such... amateur writers like us can survive in a world where people like you live in. Hehe, to tell you the truth it makes me feel jealous, happy, sad (mainly cause i'm not in a relationship right now ) and... some other emotion that i have no idea how to explain. Wow, I usually don't ramble on on the sheer awesomeness of stories but your piece has certainly made me keep rambling on about it. Its... wow, i don't know how you've managed to do it. Where'd you get the inspiration from anyway?

Your piece is... too good to be true, too great, too godlike!

For both your good and mine, I've decided to end my critique here, although it wasn't an actual critique because there was nothing to critique, but... yeah. Keep it up, wouldn't be surprised if you became a bestselling author if you keep this up (that is if your going to pursue writing). Keep it up Rachael, I'll be looking forward to your future stories.

Well, that makes two of us, Blackbird. I'm confused about this piece myself. Really confused. I've never written anything like it before, and probably will never write anything like it again. To be honest, it was really just a personal observation (that I liked the way this guy's T-shirt hung off his shoulders) that I turned into a nice thick steak of purple prose.

Unfortunately, there's no "Nice Thick Steaks of Purple Prose" category here on YWS, or anywhere else in the world. Probably a good thing.

Hey, Rachael! Thought I should return the favor and critique this.

You're an experienced writer so I won't dwell on nitpicks. There's no SPaG errors that I can find and, stylistically, the piece is solid. I just find it hard to love this piece because I'm not sure at all what it is. The repetition of certain images here--the color blue, motion, water--make me think this might be a prose poem, but I'm not entirely confident in that assumption. This piece truly is "other." With novels, short stories, and poems, we can decide as readers if they are successful or not because there is a group of goals that each of those types have. Poetry should give us vivid imagery and flashes of deep emotion, fiction should craft compelling plots and invest us emotionally in the characters. But since this doesn't fall under any strict category, it's hard to decide if it's a true success or not. I'm confusing myself now.

The vibrations went out into the world around him, touching every ladybug, every tree leaf, every railroad track, every ray of sunlight with music.

Hey,
Thank you so much for requesting a review. It seems as though you have had alot of good information through some of your reviews, so I won't become redundant. This was well written; I just didn't like the repition of it all, but I think that might just be me. I'm sorry this is so short, my reviews are normally longer, but I don't see much that needs to be fixed or that hasn't already been said.


Have an awesome day,
Tiffany

Thanks Jen! I'll work on the repetition... it's an old habit.

Hey Rachel,

Your story gave me chills, really, it did. I love the way you move from the physical to the spiritual, the way you tie it in with the surroundings is almost effortless. My only critique was mentioned earlier, but I do think you should watch the repetitiveness in the wording. In a way I think it almost works. It's very poetic and I think it aids the feel/vibe of this piece, so long as it doesn't get out of control. Let me say this: your ending is superb. Really, I couldn't think of a better way to end the piece. What I've quoted of your work below this = pure joy. The last lines are so vivid and colorful, without being overstuffed! Well done. I agree you should expand this piece into a short story, or maybe a companion piece saying what he likes about her? I'm just saying, I definitely want more .

RachaelElg wrote: Then his soul, somewhere deeper, rolling along like grasses bent in a meadow breeze that caught the kite of his smile along the way.

That kite, loose to the sky, drifted in his eyes, also blue, and, loose to the gods, it would dance there as he laughed. The laughter would stir the shirt to slip and slide again, because the laughter shook his shoulders and the rest of him, down to his tattered sneakers. The vibrations went out into the world around him, touching every ladybug, every tree leaf, every railroad track, every ray of sunlight with music.

And she liked that too.

Thanks Tamara!

Heya Rachel, here to review as requested!!

Let me start by saying that this piece was wonderful, in the sense that the imagery was so clear to understand. It's quite hard to compare this to other things as it's not really a certain genre of writing, which is why of course you put it in 'other'. I don't have any grammar nitpicks, seeminglymeanignless seemed to cover most of that.

Nitpicks:

The way that they moved over and moved around his body.

That kite, loose to the sky, drifted in his eyes,You don't need a comma here also blue, and, loose to the gods,

It is insanely good. That's the only way to put it.

Woah! This should not be in other!! IN should be where it belong-IN short stories!! ITS FAB-U-LOUS!
Good work..
Kakagilr X X

The vibrations went out into the world around him, touching every ladybug, every tree leaf, every railroad track, every ray of sunlight with music.

Does it really work as a short story? I guess I keep imagining it too much as non fiction or memoir or prose poetry or something Otherish.

Thanks oodles, Jai! I went through and edited with your suggestions, and methinks it's much better now.

Does it really work as a short story? I guess I keep imagining it too much as non fiction or memoir or prose poetry or something Otherish.

Thanks again

Hey Rachael Glad to see something of yours up!

RachaelElg wrote:She liked the way the T-shirt hung from his shoulders. It was blue like water, and like water it rippled down, first off his shoulder blades, and then to the hem, in lazy folds. When he shifted, the folds shifted in a kaleidoscope of shadows. He looked over his shoulder and it dove in toward his spine; he looked back in front of him and that series of ripples it refit itself, a sheet of blue silk blowing in the wind.

His jeans. Those she liked too.

The way they moved over and moved around his body. Stiff, not like water, more like denim, but still blue, stained, splotched with paint, frayed at the bottoms where the heels of his shoes met the edge. They bent when he kneeled, marking the spot where he began and the world stopped. When he stood and when he slipped his hands into the front pockets, lackadaisical and at ease, the motion moved his shirt again.

Waves of blue. Lapping ocean tides. Shadows and lines rocking back and forth like a porch swing every time he shrugged or yawned, and she had to imagine the skin beneath, stretching and shifting, and the muscles beneath, stretching and shifting and relaxing, and beneath the muscles, the bone. Then his soul, somewhere deeper, rolling along like grasses bent in a meadow breeze that caught the kite of his smile along the way.

That kite, loose to the sky, drifted in his eyes, also blue, And and, loose to the gods, it would dance there as he laughed.The laughter would stir the shirt to slip and slide again, because the laughter shook his shoulders and the rest of him, down to his tattered sneakers.

The vibrations went out into the world around him, touching every blade of grass, every lady bug, every beam, every railroad track with music. And she liked that too.

Thanks Gabbs! It's here in Other, though, because it's half non-fiction and way, way more poetic than my usual fare. But, thanks again!

This story is.....perfect. I can't find anything to review! Your descriptions are amazing and I felt like I was looking at a picture. I think this story needs to be the romance section, though. This is talking about what she liked about this boy so she probably has a crush or something, correct? The way you wrote it made me feel like I was the one who liked him! haha I'll be looking for more of your stuff!!

- gabbs