Evolve - Writers Forum

evlis · 04-19-2008, 01:01 PM

Note: I think or would like to think it will be longer then just a short story, but knowing me thats what this will end up to be. So heres the beginning. The forward and part of the first chapter.
Another little side not indenting just wouldn't work right for me, just so you know I wasn't just forgetting to.

Forward

Some stories are never meant to be told, they glide wordlessly through time through the actions of every era, always felt but left breathlessly upon the unspoken thoughts. We seemingly forget tales that are felt by as all, always assuming that it is something new and it is only felt by a few, when in the end its the never ending tale of which we all feel.

A tale that will never end for it is passed to ever era under the guise of the unspoken words the thoughts that seemingly cannot pass over the lips of the ones that hold on to the pretext of sanity.
A comfort in which very few will give up, the ones that hold not to the supposed sanity are hidden away the words falling listlessly into deaf ears and passing into the hollow halls to forever echo. What is this echo? Its the sound of millions of unasked questions echoing thought-out time. The answers just a breaths leap away but the question forever stuck between the lips of ones that cannot speak.

Without the right question how can we ever hope for the answer?

Chapter 1

It is said that some stories are best left unspoken, in the hope that it will put to rest the feelings that dwell in all of us. I listen now to the echo hear it vibrating its way to my very soul. To stand aside would perhaps mean normalcy to return perhaps then I could go out and live without the feeling. But alas its the feeling that keeps me clinging to the echo of tales I cannot even understand. To give it up in the hopes of forgetting this foreign feeling would be in vain for this is what keeps me knowing that I live, and my feelings are never forgotten by the echo.

The walls are colder now then they were before I am sure of it now I wonder if I should move, I decide agiasn't it.

My head rests on the cool stone surface and I am almost sure that I can hear the heart beat of the building, the rhyme a small lullaby to my sore muscles. I feel my self beginning to fall into the darkness of the room as the slow steady beat flows through me, I realize as the darkness claims me that the door in my room has opened, to late to pull my self from my slumber I let it claim me.

The awaking is so much more then the drifting off, I feel the hands grab me but am not aware of them in the sense of it being a situation to react to I just alow them to shove me down the small what seems to be a damp hallway its strange to see light that it almost burns my eyes its a new feeling and I place it away for later and try to jog my mind on how to react to the ones around me. I cannot seem to remember what another such as myself would do with others around, maybe I have forgotten how to speak to another. Would they even understand me as I speak, I am sure I am capable of speaking but my mind moves my lips fail to repeat. The new feelings are fleeting as I feel my self fall, I do not prepare myself for the fall I wonder how should I react to this but place it away for later evaluation as my chest collides with the wet floor. Smells of soil and day old water I muse, bringing my hands up to the small collection of water, gliding my fingers atop it, the feeling is astonishing it makes small ripples I can almost feel it calling out. I could get lost in this feeling its a small hum I wish to save it, could I jar it up and feel this later. All to soon I feel hands upon my back and pulled to a more upright position.

We walk now more slowly but still at a speed that have my feet protesting to the movement with ever step, a thought blinks through perhaps I should walk more often, it falls away as a door is opened and I am virtually lifted into the room, the door clicks shut and a lock is brought into spot, as I find my legs are not up to the task of bearing my weight and I come to visit a dear old friend the cool stone floor. I was almost excited to perhaps feel another small ripple of water.

Tiamat10 · 04-21-2008, 12:28 AM

I'm sorry to be so harsh here, but I couldn't even make it to the end of this short piece. The language was too overdramatic and flowery for me to be able to follow what was going on. Let me emphasize this: Never, EVER write prose using large, multisyllabic words and complex sentence structures when you can say EXACTLY the same thing in a simple, unadorned way.

Why say something like:

"The beating of her tremulous heart pummeled her dainty ribs as the pernicious grip of despondency dragged her down into the depths of despair."

When all you really need to say is:

"She grieved."

Prose like that is the bane of everyone that tries to use it and make themselves sound 'writerly'. You're not writing to impress your reader with your command of vocabulary--you're writing to tell a story. And the best writing is the kind that makes you forget that you're reading at all.

In a word: Simplify.

WriterJohnB · 04-21-2008, 11:30 AM

I agree. Over-written and hard to follow due to lack of punctuation.

JohnB

WriterJohnB · 04-21-2008, 11:33 AM

Oops, posted twice.

JohnB

didi768 · 04-21-2008, 12:26 PM

Could this be considered "literary fiction" for a more literary type of magazine or something if she cleaned up the spelling/punc/sentence problems?

Tiamat10 · 04-22-2008, 11:02 PM

Good question. There are some magazines that like flowery prose, but that really depends on their preferences. It's always worth a look though.

Holden Blake · 04-23-2008, 10:37 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by evlis

Note: I think or would like to think it will be longer then just a short story, but knowing me thats what this will end up to be. So heres the beginning. The forward and part of the first chapter.
Another little side not indenting just wouldn't work right for me, just so you know I wasn't just forgetting to.

Forward

Some stories are never meant to be told, they glide wordlessly through time through the actions of every era.Your description here is a little convoluted especially for your opening sentence. It's too long, too confusing and you should really try being a little more succint. It starts off pretty well but I'd end the sentence at this point. always felt but left breathlessly upon the unspoken thoughts. We seemin to forget tales that are familiar to us all, always assuming that it is something new and it is only felt by a few, when in the end its the never ending tale of which we all feel.

Okay I had to stop reading that sentence because it became very confusing. It's all a bit cloudy at the moment. Remember that you can be as descriptive as you like but when writing fiction you must consider your readership. It has often been said that you should never underestimate the intelligence of your readers. That is all well and good but in order to deal with complex subjects or ideas then you must also remeber that clarity is your friend. Right now this is piece is very unclear to read.

I suggest that you rework this opening by taking out all the descrition and stripping the story down to the bare bones. Then read what you have written. Is the message before you clear to your readers? If not then I suggest you rewrite what you want to communicate in a clear and simlple fashion using short senctences. Once you have done this and made everything as simplistic and clear as if your were writing for a six year old then you can start reaching for the thesaurus and building on your descrition. Once you have made it clear what you want to commuicate to the audience it will be much easier to add all the extra trappings and trimmings of adult fiction. I hope this suggestion works as you are unlikely to reap the fruits of your hard work (in terms of a response) if your story is unclear. HB

A tale that will never end for it is passed to ever era under the guise of the unspoken words the thoughts that seemingly cannot pass over the lips of the ones that hold on to the pretext of sanity.
A comfort in which very few will give up, the ones that hold not to the supposed sanity are hidden away the words falling listlessly into deaf ears and passing into the hollow halls to forever echo. What is this echo? Its the sound of millions of unasked questions echoing thought-out time. The answers just a breaths leap away but the question forever stuck between the lips of ones that cannot speak.

Without the right question how can we ever hope for the answer?

Chapter 1

It is said that some stories are best left unspoken, in the hope that it will put to rest the feelings that dwell in all of us. I listen now to the echo hear it vibrating its way to my very soul. To stand aside would perhaps mean normalcy to return perhaps then I could go out and live without the feeling. But alas its the feeling that keeps me clinging to the echo of tales I cannot even understand. To give it up in the hopes of forgetting this foreign feeling would be in vain for this is what keeps me knowing that I live, and my feelings are never forgotten by the echo.

The walls are colder now then they were before I am sure of it now I wonder if I should move, I decide agiasn't it.

My head rests on the cool stone surface and I am almost sure that I can hear the heart beat of the building, the rhyme a small lullaby to my sore muscles. I feel my self beginning to fall into the darkness of the room as the slow steady beat flows through me, I realize as the darkness claims me that the door in my room has opened, to late to pull my self from my slumber I let it claim me.

The awaking is so much more then the drifting off, I feel the hands grab me but am not aware of them in the sense of it being a situation to react to I just alow them to shove me down the small what seems to be a damp hallway its strange to see light that it almost burns my eyes its a new feeling and I place it away for later and try to jog my mind on how to react to the ones around me. I cannot seem to remember what another such as myself would do with others around, maybe I have forgotten how to speak to another. Would they even understand me as I speak, I am sure I am capable of speaking but my mind moves my lips fail to repeat. The new feelings are fleeting as I feel my self fall, I do not prepare myself for the fall I wonder how should I react to this but place it away for later evaluation as my chest collides with the wet floor. Smells of soil and day old water I muse, bringing my hands up to the small collection of water, gliding my fingers atop it, the feeling is astonishing it makes small ripples I can almost feel it calling out. I could get lost in this feeling its a small hum I wish to save it, could I jar it up and feel this later. All to soon I feel hands upon my back and pulled to a more upright position.

We walk now more slowly but still at a speed that have my feet protesting to the movement with ever step, a thought blinks through perhaps I should walk more often, it falls away as a door is opened and I am virtually lifted into the room, the door clicks shut and a lock is brought into spot, as I find my legs are not up to the task of bearing my weight and I come to visit a dear old friend the cool stone floor. I was almost excited to perhaps feel another small ripple of water.

omginternetlord · 04-23-2008, 06:34 PM

Cringeworthy would just about sum it up for me.

Holden Blake · 04-23-2008, 10:01 PM

That's rich coming from someone who calls themselves omginternetlord. Why feel the need to comment if you've nothing constructive to say? Comments like that are just downright hurtful. Okay so it's not great. Big deal, there's always the potential to improve. You must think very highly of yourself to call someone elses work cringeworthy.