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  #1  
Old 05-25-2010, 08:01 AM
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Default Writer looking for tips and advice


Here's a story I'm working on, it's not finished and probably never will be. I'm just posting to get some idea on what I need to work on; I'm sure there's a lot. I read a few of the stories on here and realized just how horrible my writing is. So hopefully you guys can give me some advice and show me some techniques to better my writing.

I awaken to the smell of burning leather, the taste of soot on my tongue, the roar of a rising flame ringing in my ear. Silently I close my eyes and wait to be taken away by dreams. This isn't the important part of the story however. The real plot lies within what brought me here, what put me in this dastardly situation I've found myself in.

My name is Dusk, I'm you're average “not-so average” guy. I'm not above average, nor am I under par. I'm most definitely not a legend, at least not one you will ever hear of. If you're reading this I'm probably like you. If not, you most likely exceed me in every conceivable way otherwise you wouldn't be reading this. You probably love drama, I know you do. It entertains the boredom of our ordinary lives. There are no heroes or villains in this story however. This is a book about a man who is dissatisfied with people. You learn a lot about other people by taking a deep look at yourself. Do it, go take a look, no not in the mirror you moron. No, don't look down at your body either, for fuck sakes not the reflection in the window. Go to your desk, your cabinet, your office wherever you keep your paper and pen. Now write down every thing, no matter how little, that you have accomplished in your life. Write everything you've done that you're proud of doing. Done? What do you have written, half a page, one paragraph, do you even have three lines? It's alright, most of us don't. Now take another sheet of paper, write down everything you've done that you regret, everything you're not proud of. Half a page? The whole sheet? Did you have to go grab another piece of paper, I know I did.


Guilt, it tears into the most inner part of you, through all the flesh and bone, slicing and dicing its way into the very soul of a man. It's midnight and I'm sitting in my car, radio turned down low, wondering if I should even walk through the front door into the living room up the stairs and through the bedroom door to greet my wife. How can I? I just slithered in silky white sheets with some random broad with large breasts, a firm ass, and a crotch that was begging for affection. Our bodies grind against each-other in perfect rhythm, until we both explode in ecstasy. It was pure bliss at the time, and then the shame cascades over me and leaves me vacant of any pleasure. I somehow manage to muster the courage to get out of the car and make my way to the little “Welcome Home” carpet in front of the white door lit by the porch light, attracting all those nasty little bugs I hate; I tell her every night to turn the light off yet I come home once again to be greeted by a swarm of moths and blood thirsty mosquitoes. I twist the door knob slowly, pushing the door in as quietly as possible, but still the tiny creak sounds like a tall skyscraper crumbling down to the ground in the silent night . I sit down on the bench inside, taking my shoes off and placing them on the black metal shoe rack, the laces put inside the shoe just as my wife likes, and placidly make my way to our room. As I walk through the door I see her lying in the bed on her side, the fluffy black with white stripes comforter up to her shoulder, sound asleep. She looks angelic when she sleeps, I'm not sure if that's because I can't hear her constant moaning and bickering or if its how her cute lips pucker up while shes asleep and her eyes twitch just a little ; the rest of her body staying still. I see my book on her night stand, I guess she was up reading it waiting for me to come home. No, she just conveniently left it there to make me think that she actually enjoys my work. It, like this, was complete and utter garbage. I sit down on my side of the queen sized mattress, nearly rocking back and falling asleep right on her tummy, and reluctantly get undressed, roll over, close my eyes and picture how we used to be.

I was sitting under that weeping willow tree on a windy Autumn Wednesday. It was cliché, as I look back now, carving “Dusk + Lilly” into the bark. It surprises me after all these years, while you’re no longer here, your name is still carved into that tree alongside mine. I want you to know that I walk out to the park and up the hill to the tree to this very day. I tell it stories of how we used to play, our footsteps forever engraved into the dirt. I tell it of your laugh that still echoes through the roots. I tell it of the sparkle in your eye on a sunny morning and I still see it glimmer as I look up at the bright sky. I try to explain the unexplainable feeling I had whenever you were near, and it is still as incomprehensible as it was then. Dark clouds move overhead, a quick streak of lightening illuminates the sky before the deafening roar of thunder. The storm moved in violently quick, reminding me of just how quick what we had had gone away. There is no bright sun to see the glimmer. The rain has washed away the footsteps. The thunder masks your laugh. The only thing that still remains is the feeling I have when you are around. That feeling is always there, because you are always here, in my heart.


Now I am here.

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Old 05-25-2010, 05:57 PM
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Lucidity:

This is good. The MC sort of offends me at first with his cheeky insults. Then, when he tells me to take another sheet of paper and write down everything I regret, it hits me. A nice impact.

Some grammar suggestions and a few spellings.

Originally Posted by Lucidity View Post
I awaken to the smell of burning leather, the taste of soot on my tongue, the roar of a rising flame ringing in my ear. Silently, I close my eyes and wait to be taken away by dreams. This isn't the important part of the story however. (some other transistion) The real story plot lies within what brought me here, what put me in this dastardly situation. I've found myself in

My name is Dusk, I'm your you're average “not-so average” guy. I'm not above average, nor am I under par. I'm most definitely not a legend, at least not one you will ever hear of. If you're reading this, I'm probably like you. If not, you most likely exceed me in every conceivable way. (lol) otherwise you wouldn't be reading this. You probably love drama, I know you do. It entertains the boredom of our ordinary lives. There are no heroes or villains in this story, however. This is a book about a man who is dissatisfied with people. You learn a lot about other people by taking a deep look at yourself. Do it, go take a look. No, not in the mirror, you moron. No, don't look down at your body either, for fuck's sake not the reflection in the window. Go to your desk, your cabinet, your office wherever you keep your paper and pen. Now write down every thing, no matter how little, that you have accomplished in your life. Write everything you've done that you're proud of doing. Done? What do you have written, half a page, one paragraph, do you even have three lines? It's (all right = preferred spelling) all right, most of us don't. Now take another sheet of paper, write down everything you've done that you regret, everything you're not proud of. Half a page? The whole sheet? Did you have to go grab another piece of paper? I know I did.


Guilt, it tears into the most inner part of you, through all the flesh and bone, slicing and dicing its way into the very soul of a man. (nice) It's midnight and I'm sitting in my car, radio turned down low, wondering if I should even walk through the front door, into the living room, up the stairs and through the bedroom door to greet my wife. How can I? I just slithered in silky white sheets with some random broad with large breasts, a firm ass, and a crotch that was begging for affection. Our bodies grind against each other in perfect rhythm, until we both explode in ecstasy. It was pure bliss at the time, and then the shame cascades over me and leavesme vacant of any pleasure. I somehow manage to muster the courage to get out of the car and make my way to the little “Welcome Home” carpet. The in front of the white door, lit by the porch light, attracts ing all those nasty little bugs I hate. I tell her every night to turn the light off, yet I come home once again to be greeted by a swarm of moths and bloodthirsty mosquitoes. I twist the door knob slowly, pushing the door in as quietly as possible, but still the tiny creak sounds like a tall skyscraper crumbling down to the ground in the silent night. (beautiful) I sit down on the bench inside, taking my shoes off and placing them on the black metal shoe rack, the laces put inside the shoe just as my wife likes, and I placidly make my way to our room. As I walk through the door I see her lying in the bed on her side, the fluffy black with white stripes comforter up to her shoulder, sound asleep. She looks angelic when she sleeps. I'm not sure if that's because I can't hear her constant moaning and bickering, or if it's how her cute lips pucker up while she's asleep and her eyes twitch just a little; the rest of her body staying still. I see my book on her nightstand. I guess she was up reading,it waiting for me to come home. No, she just conveniently left it there to make me think that she actually enjoys my work. (love this.) It, like this, was complete and utter garbage. I sit down on my side of the queen-sized mattress, nearly rocking back and falling asleep right on her tummy. , and I reluctantly get undressed, roll over, close my eyes and picture how we used to be.

(note: I like the reminiscing part that follows. The only trouble is that the MC has been talking to the reader "Go look at yourself." And now he appears to be talking to Lilly. It sounds sweeter to say "you" instead of "she", but you've already established that the MC is talking to the reader.)

I was sitting under that weeping willow tree on a windy Aautumn Wednesday. It was cliché, as I look back now, carving “Dusk + Lilly” into the bark. It surprises me. After all these years, while she's no longer here, her name is still carved into that tree alongside mine. (I like this.) I wish she could want you to know that I walk out to the park and up the hill to the tree to this very day. (A different side of him. Nice.) I tell it stories of how we used to play, our footsteps forever engraved into the dirt. I tell it of her laugh that still echoes through the roots. I tell it of the sparkle in her eye on a sunny morning, and I still see it glimmer as I look up at the bright sky. I try to explain the unexplainable feeling I had whenever she was near, and it is still as incomprehensible as it was then. Dark clouds move overhead, a quick streak of lightening illuminates the sky before the deafening roar of thunder. The storm moved in violently quick, reminding me of just how quickly what we had vanished.(double had) had gone away. There is no bright sun with which to see the glimmer. The rain has washed away the footsteps. The thunder masks her laugh. The only thing that still remains is the feeling I have (had?) when she was around. That feeling is always there, because she is always here, in my heart.
Now I am here.
When he says "here", I can't tell whether he is at the tree or in some kind of hell. Seemed like hell in the intro. Furthermore, since you use the word "here" twice, it would be better to use another word. Or perhaps "Now I'm in this God-forsaken place."

Good start!
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Lucidity (05-26-2010)
  #3  
Old 05-25-2010, 06:44 PM
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Meira:

Wow I didn't expect that detailed of a reply, I really appreciate it. I don't think I would of noticed using "you" instead of "her" if you didn't point it out and yeah the last part "Now I'm here" is hell, well his "hell" anyway.

Do you have any work I can return the critique on?
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Old 05-25-2010, 06:54 PM
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Originally Posted by Lucidity View Post
Meira:

Wow I didn't expect that detailed of a reply, I really appreciate it. I don't think I would of noticed using "you" instead of "her" if you didn't point it out and yeah the last part "Now I'm here" is hell, well his "hell" anyway.

Do you have any work I can return the critique on?
Lucidity - Glad to be of help I don't have anything posted just yet, but I've got a couple of things brewing. I'll let you know. Thanks!
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