potatoBell

Hello guys,
I hope you enjoy everything that I can offer.
I welcome all the comments and critique
Thanks!
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I should answer, with passion, without caution, the unborn question that time will bear. The birth may never take place, but the fate is already impregnated with the seed, of which will be nourished in secret, undisturbed by human wisdom. But it was through their eyes that the knowledge was known to me, the power to question the heavenly order that defines who we are. The defiance is, then, my true companion, the spokesman of my soul, the one to outlive my life in this world. The race promises no reward, but I find myself in this tedious run frightened – although weightless - by the stares of passersby. To fear invisible is incomprehensible among my kind, and to feel is to thrive upon killing without thoughts because that’s all who we really are, what we were made to be.

I cannot see what the world does not see in me and I cannot go on and say that I know who I am because it does not see. I’m invisible everywhere I want to be, but a show case of mockery in everywhere I hate to be. The people inherit the same blindness from the world, yet the hope lies in them, those sick people who can never see past beyond my face. Perhaps, this is the price I must pay for the things I have felt, for the knowledge that had set me free.

One might ask, in the days to come where my name is forgotten, that simple question which was the cause of my reincarnation, not in the mortal body but that of a mind by which I now speak of, freely, to the one who holds this journal in hands and I should answer, by the grace of God, that a new life may join this world unblessed but can leave behind a gift that was taken away at birth – a choice.

--Tuvahaar, the Orc Ranger.

JHB

This seems very similar to a section of a book i've read. I'm sure you've heard of it.



Forgotten Realms book. Very popular.

Tiamat10

This sentence alone makes me want to stop reading right there. You're trying FAR too hard to sound 'writerly' and that makes this a terrible read. I'm sorry to be so blunt but I see this all the time and it drives me crazy.

When you write in such long, wordy, overly-dramatic, painful sentences, all you're really trying to do is add substance to something that you're afraid would otherwise be lacking.

Does good, dramatic writing always have to sound like Emma Thompson? Or like Emma Thompson is in a speaking contest requiring her to use five words where three would do?

Here's my advice to you. Pitch this entire prologue out the window and write it again. The second time though, stop trying to sound like a writer, and write it in your own words. Don't try to sound like anything, don't try to imitate your favorite author. YOU are Tuvahaar the ranger, and this is YOUR journal. How would YOU write it?

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"I think I did pretty well, considering I started out with nothing but a bunch of blank paper."
- Steve Martin

DeVorn

Yeah, I consider myself a pretty smart guy, but I couldn't understand a word of this. To break down a few parts and talk about the stringy meat of the prose:



When we do something passionately, it follows that it will not be done cautiously. In addition, it would be much better for your character to do what he's saying he's going to do (aka, answer with passion and without caution) instead of telling us he's going to do it (which immediately brings to mind a silly fellow who loudly announces everything he's going to do before he does it).

"The unborn question that time will bear" is kind of a funny pun, at least. I think.



And here the pun is hunted down like a wild dog, dragged into the courtyard, and sodomized on the flagpole. "Undisturbed by human wisdom" could mean a lot of things, but--no.



'their eyes'? To whom do these eyes belong? The 'heavenly order' mentioned in the next sentence?

So on, so on. I'd recommend throwing this away and rewriting it entirely. It sounds like the start of a bad The Great Gatzby fanfic.

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www.thegreathippo.com/devorn

Maetrix66

DeVorn

Yeah, sorry if I'm a bit of a jack-ass about the way I put things; you've certainly got the building blocks for good writing--this is just an example of a very silly way in which to arrange them.

Greed

It's a good bit if you're rain man or have an EXTREMELY annalytical mind and enjoy having to piece things together in order to truly understand them.

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All the great works of the world, known or unknown; Be they bound in leather and scribed on gold leaf or scribbled on a napkin and stowed in some dusty desk drawer, they all started with an idea.

http://www.writingforums.com/fiction...pter-only.html

HippoHead

... what does any of this even mean?
Seriously, what's going on?!

even the title is ridiculously poetic-sounding

'crimson rain of the nightfall'

what's your excuse for this jibberish?!

Candrah

Ok, so this doesnt tell me anything that I can understand... but don't give up writing! I'm always being told as a writer "less is more". So I'd also advise you to scrap this prologue and start again.

How would you tell it to a person in a bus stop, for instance? Try saying your piece out loud in as conversational a tone as possible. If it is a journal, then you'll be writing the character's thoughts, how they speak, how they speak in their own head... Just my own thoughts

And by the way, Devorn, loved your wild dog analogy. I laughed out loud at this as well. Your sense of humour is crazy...

potatoBell

Haha it was a good laugh.
Question.
Can I start a new thread with each chapter? or post it here?
I'd appreciate more comments and critique.
hope you enjoy!
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Chapter One.

Tuvar looked up, his grey eyes moving among the stars. The orc stood alone and still, his stoic expression and stance resembling an ancient statue atop the castle under the night sky. The cold wind in the mountains felt warm against his callous and grotesque skin. The orc pondered, but the thought soon lost its coherency and wandered off. The orc growled by instinct, unaware that his thoughts stayed focused a little longer than the night before. Tuvar breathed air through his nose, getting his mind ready for another attempt when the familiar sounds caught his ears.


A small figure approached, dangling straps of metal at the waist as the little orc zigzagged his way toward his comrade. Tuvar thought it was too early for Pilopi to return and wanted to ask why, but the thought disappeared as the little orc got closer.

“Look!” The little orc shoved up a metal tray, raising his two arms just high enough to peek at the towering orc underneath the metal tray.

“Piloppi, “ The big orc said, his eyes moving from the tray to the top of the two-horned helmet the little orc was wearing, “We can’t eat stones”

“Huh?” The little orc poked his head forward, ringing the metal tray with his the horns.

“You find foods, not stones.“ The big orc took the tray, freeing the little orc from the lift.

“Foods?” Piloppi blinked, his left hand reaching and comforting his belly.

“Yes, “ Tuvar answered, dumping a pile of small rocks from the tray.

“But I am hungry,” Piloppi made a defying look, his impish small facial features distorted beyond description.

“I know,” The big orc confirmed, handing over the tray “That’s why you went”

Piloppi blinked and attached the tray back to the breast plate he was wearing.

“Come,” The big orc offered, walking past the little orc to the center of the openings, “We good, we find boar”


The hunt was usual and the two orc soldiers returned with an armful of mountain toads. Piloppi mumbled something about not finding the meat. Tuvar thought the same thing but comforted the little fellow by telling how tasty the toads were. The pair bustled about the small openings, each doing his share of work to prepare a meal for the night. The pair sat around the bonfire, a human tradition which took days of explanation for Tuvar to make Piloppi to follow the custom. Although, it took longer to explain that foods taste better when grilled to some extend, Piloppi wasted no time following it.

“I want meat.” The little orc said, sticking toads at the tip of the trident.

“This is meat.” The big orc said, eyeing the little chef burning the toads over fire.

The trident stopped spinning as Piloppi looked up, “I want big meat,” the little chef mumbled, rotating the toad rotisserie again.

“Tomorrow, we good, we find boar.” Tuvar assured the little orc who paid no attention to the promise. The big orc knew it was getting harder to find wild animals in the mountains, and felt these wild animals avoided coming near the outpost. He even thought these animals were getting smarter than his comrade who never agreed to wash hands before the meal.

“They know we are here” Tuvar said, shifting his look from the fire to the little orc.
The little orc bolted up straight in alram, his hands fumbling about his waist for a sword that was not there.

“No. Piloopi, “ Tuvar said, tapping up and keeping the rotisserie just above the flames with a trench, “Not humans. The boars. They know we are here.” The big orc continued his explanation. “That why we find less meat.”

“Oh!” The little orc said, his voice returning to normal tone, “Humans know?” Piloppi asked, turning his head around to look for his missing sword.

Tuvar thought about the question at hand which he had pondered many times. The outpost was far away from his homeland and was located in the opposite side of the battlefront. No war cries had ever reached this remote outpost and many seasons had gone by since the last supplies had arrived for the two sentries. The war begun at the emergence of a human race and although few in numbers, the human race was expanding at a tremendous rate. The Tribal Lands of Orc was the first to face this new threat for having the same borderlines.

“Piloppi,” Tuvar asked, staring at the little fellow who yanked out one of the toads with his tongue greasing his mouse with slime, “You hate humans?”

“Huh?” Piloopi cocked his head as he tore off the toad in half.

“Why you hate humans?” Tuvar repeated, grabbing his share of the food from the grill.

“They killed our parents,” Piloppi answered without a thought, biting off the halves.

“No, “ Tuvar said, dusting off the burns, “You have no parents.”

“They killed our king” The little fellow gave another fast reply, gouging on the meat, “This taste chicken.”

“Yes, “ Tuvar agreed, eyeing his meal but turned to stare at the little orc, “We have no king.”

“No?”

“No, Piloppi”

“Laktar?”

“He is our commander.”

“Who sent us?” Piloppi questioned, skinning the meat off the bone with his teeth.

“Laktar did”

“The king?”

“No, commander”

The pair looked at each other in silent, each wondering the meaning of the conversation. The little orc blinked once before he went back to his meal. Tuvar cocked his head once and joined in the feast, his thoughts lingering on the question that was fading away in his mind.

It was just another night at the outpost.

JHB

I thought his name was Tuvahaar.

Maetrix66

Not funny, dude.

Now you owe everyone a couple of Excedrin.

(edited)

I keep reading, and the image that keeps coming to mind is that of the Roadrunner from the cartoons as he starts to run.

So far I see alot of spinning, but he's not getting anywhere.

I recommend scrapping the Prologue, then concentrate on telling a story. The conversation would be passable if it were surrounded by an interesting plot, but to start off, it's asking too much of the reader.

I understad that they are stupid orcs, but remember, your job isn't to recreate a scene, it's to tell a story.

Ungood

Ok...

Umm normlly I try to always be supportive and building and try to say something that will help you grow and develop as a writer to work on making your story better and a more enjoyable read.

But...

I got nothing... if I try to correct this I am going to start ranting, and that helps no one.

However the urge to beat you with a Hard Bound copy of the Crystal Shard until you Die a Painful Bloody Death from paper cuts.

Just in case you are wondering how I view this work you have put up.

Ungood.

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potatoBell

It sure did made everyone angry.

Ungood

Look.. here is the deal... you insulted the snot out of us... really... you did...

Ungood.

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