A Photo

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  1. #1

    A Photo

    Our first encounter was a random one. I was on the one side of the bar and she was on the other. I was enjoying the look of the waviness of her brunette hair, her long fingers holding the glass of champaigne, her high heels. She looked like a goddess, and it should be common knowledge that goddesses are lonely in this mundane world.

    I approached her discretely. It took her several seconds to notice my careful approach, the way I was trying not to distract the lovers' dancings in the bar.

    ''Aren't we all lonely?'' I asked. ''Yes'' was only she said taking a good and deep look first in my green bluish eyes, than on my free ring finger. It was obvious to me that she was a woman of few words. Maybe action was her thing?

    ''Do you like me?'' she suddenly opened her heart for me.

    ''Yes, I do.'' I could not smile; the speciality of the moment had acquired hotness.

    ''Let's dance.'' she invited me. I took her by the hand and led her to the lovers' podium.

    We were sliding to the musical sound. Her hands began to slide down my back. Then up again. Yes, this lady's polished fingernails were lifting andl owering my self-esteem, going up and down, causing my spine's skin erection.

    We were dancing. The minutes were passing by like days. As the orchestra was being wrapped by the silence of the night, we went on a lookout for a shelter. We found it in a hotel. We began to write the first page of our amorous diary.

    The heat of the night was adding to the sensation. There I was, entering through the gates of forgetfulness past. She was looking at me, inhaling the air around me. I could easily give more than two cents for her lushness. She was the beauty, the keeper of the temple of love, I had to give tithe that would be passionatelly remembered for aeons to come.

    Yes, she loved me that night. The night was fruitful. We were exchanging gifts of warmth and welcomed passion. We joyfully accepted each other for who we are.

    The floor I had been striding before climbing the mounts of her bed was covered with roses. The scent coming from the floor was filling and lifting her chest. It was lifting her breasts toward me. I was the lost captain of the ship stranded on the desert shores of roses.

    I had brought several rose petals with me to the bed. She moved her hand and they floated back to the flowermat.

    'She is powerful' ran through my head.

    '''Want some more?'' no sooner had my look escorted the rose petals to the mat than she grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed my back onto her breasts.
    She slaped me on my face ... Then another slap folowed ... She likes being playful. I left her alone in that game, I did not succumb to the pressure of her sensual enjoyments. Who knows, perhaps I was a stranger to her. Stranger than before. A stranger to her emotions. Perhaps all that she wanted was exhilarating emptying of herself, a joyful manner of her days, me to stay there.

    We ordered the drink of hotel gods, champaigne. Her satisfaction was absolute; I could sense it in the way she sipped from her glass. She found her emptied champaigne glass interesting, took it, and directed it to myheart, using it as a spyglass. I took my cell phone, and recorded it for all times to come
    Last edited by w.riter; June 5th, 2017 at 02:17 PM.

  2. #2
    Quote Originally Posted by w.riter View Post
    There I was, entering through the gates of forgetfulness past. She was looking at me, sucking the air around me. I could easily give more than two cents for her lushness. She was the beauty, the keeper of the temple of love, I had to give tithe that would be passionatelly remembered for aeons to come.
    This opening is overwrought and disjointed. You are trying too hard to be 'writerly' and many of the images don't work for me. '...sucking the air around me,' is clumsy and jarring. In four sentences you have already used four different images. That's too much. The reader expects the writing to flow, not be sprayed at them.

    She loved me that night. The night was fruitful. We were exchanging gifts of warmth, gifts of welcomed passion. We accepted each other that night.
    Yet another metaphor. This reads like another opening line. It's also a bit cliche'd.

    The floor I was striding on before climbing the mounts of her bed was covered with rose's flowers. The scent of it was filling her chest. It was lifting her breasts toward me. I was the captain of this ship stranded on the desert shores of roses.
    '...rose's flowers' is redundant, 'roses' would work better. And, once again, you've changed imagery. Your work will flow much better if you pick one metaphor and stick to it.



    Another slap on my face! She likes being playful. I left her alone in that game, I did not succumb to the pressure of her sensual enjoyments. I was a stranger to her. Stranger than before.
    Another slap? You've not shown the reader the first one. This line is confusing and interjects another concept for the reader to keep track of, that of the narrator being a stranger.

    ***

    The first time, I saw her at an alehouse, disarranged by tens of bottles. She was staring at a half empty bottle. I had no more time, and will left me; her strength was unifyingly pulling me toward her. I was approaching her as my taste buds grew numb. The danger had passed away.
    The image of a woman in a bar surrounded by 20 or 30 empty beer bottles and staring at another isn't very sexy, or romantic. Neither is the image of numb taste buds. 'Unifyingly' seems out of place. What is being unified? What danger had passed?

    ''Do you like me?'' she opened her heart to me.
    'She opened her heart to me' is not a dialogue tag, so 'she' should be capitalized.

    ''Yes, I do.'' I answered, not sure whether I should smile. The lucidity of the moment acquired hotness.
    The first sentence ('Yes I do.' and 'I answered, not sure whether I should smile' are one sentence. 'I answered... is a dialogue tag, so the period after 'do' should be a comma) is very good. It is simple, and the narrator's indecision speaks far more eloquently about his emotional state than does all the purple prose you've tried to shoehorn in to the rest of the story. In the second sentence you are again working too hard to sound like you seem to think a writer should. 'The lucidity of the moment acquired hotness,' makes no sense.

    ***

    I had brought several rose petals with me to the bed. She moved her hand and they floated back to the flowermat.
    The flowermat is an image I can work with. That creates a real visual for the reader. Here again the writing works because it is simple.

    'She is powerful' this thought of thoughts ran through my head.
    '...thought of thoughts' is too cliche'.

    '''Want some more?'' No sooner had my look escorted the rose petals to the mat than she grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed my back onto her grandiloquent breasts. I was at a loss for words.
    Don't use words just because they sound fancy, especially when they don't mean what you think they do. 'Grandiloquent' is a better description of your writing style than of a woman's breasts. Here's the definition of that word from Dictionary.com: speaking or expressed in a lofty style, often to the point of being pompous or bombastic.

    I still am. We have five children and a dog. It's us on the photo.
    Don't count on your reader remembering the title of your story. If the photograph has importance don't wait until the end and then mention it like the reader has seen it before.

    You have skill as a writer. Some of your phrasing is quite good, but a reader has to go through a lot of excess verbiage to find it. Since this is a romance, let's think of it like a woman with her perfume. It is most effective when it is subtle, when the scent is hinted at and used sparingly with great care. Less is more. A fine mist of a well chosen fragrance is far better than a quick dump of cheap cologne.

    Good luck with your writing. We've all been where you are now.
    “Fools” said I, “You do not know
    Silence like a cancer grows
    Hear my words that I might teach you
    Take my arms that I might reach you”
    But my words like silent raindrops fell
    And echoed in the wells of silence : Simon & Garfunkel


    Those who enjoy stirring the chamber-pot should be required to lick the spoon.

    Our job as writers is to make readers dream, to infiltrate their minds with our words and create a new reality; a reality not theirs, and not ours, but a new, unique combination of both.

    Visit Amazon and the Kindle Store to check out Reflections in a Black Mirror, and Chase

    Hidden Content






  3. #3
    Is this exercise better, TerryD./everyone ?

    Our first encounter was a random one. I was on the one side of the bar and she was on the other. I was enjoying the look of the waviness of her brunette hair, her long fingers holding the glass of champaigne, her high heels. She looked like a goddess, and it should be common knowledge that goddesses are lonely in this mundane world.

    I approached her discretely. It took her several seconds to notice my careful approach, the way I was trying not to distract the lovers' dancings in the bar.

    ''Aren't we all lonely?'' I asked. ''Yes'' was only she said taking a good and deep look first in my green bluish eyes, than on my free ring finger. It was obvious to me that she was a woman of few words. Maybe action was her thing?

    ''Do you like me?'' she suddenly opened her heart for me.

    ''Yes, I do.'' I could not smile; the speciality of the moment had acquired hotness.

    ''Let's dance.'' she invited me. I took her by the hand and led her to the lovers' podium.

    We were sliding to the musical sound. Her hands began to slide down my back. Then up again. Yes, this lady's polished fingernails were lifting andl owering my self-esteem, going up and down, causing my spine's skin erection.

    We were dancing. The minutes were passing by like days. As the orchestra was being wrapped by the silence of the night, we went on a lookout for a shelter. We found it in a hotel. We began to write the first page of our amorous diary.

    The heat of the night was adding to the sensation. There I was, entering through the gates of forgetfulness past. She was looking at me, inhaling the air around me. I could easily give more than two cents for her lushness. She was the beauty, the keeper of the temple of love, I had to give tithe that would be passionatelly remembered for aeons to come.

    Yes, she loved me that night. The night was fruitful. We were exchanging gifts of warmth and welcomed passion. We joyfully accepted each other for who we are.

    The floor I had been striding before climbing the mounts of her bed was covered with roses. The scent coming from the floor was filling and lifting her chest. It was lifting her breasts toward me. I was the lost captain of the ship stranded on the desert shores of roses.

    I had brought several rose petals with me to the bed. She moved her hand and they floated back to the flowermat.

    'She is powerful' ran through my head.

    '''Want some more?'' no sooner had my look escorted the rose petals to the mat than she grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed my back onto her breasts.
    She slaped me on my face ... Then another slap folowed ... She likes being playful. I left her alone in that game, I did not succumb to the pressure of her sensual enjoyments. Who knows, perhaps I was a stranger to her. Stranger than before. A stranger to her emotions. Perhaps all that she wanted was exhilarating emptying of herself, a joyful manner of her days, me to stay there.

    We ordered the drink of hotel gods, champaigne. Her satisfaction was absolute; I could sense it in the way she sipped from her glass. She found her emptied champaigne glass interesting, took it, and directed it to myheart, using it as a spyglass. I took my cell phone, and recorded it for all times to come

  4. #4
    Quote Originally Posted by w.riter View Post
    Is the following exercise a better version of the already posted homonymous story?

    Our first encounter was a random one. I was on the one side of the bar and she was on the other. I was enjoying the look of the waviness of her brunette hair, her long fingers holding the glass of champaigne, her high heels. She looked like a goddess, and it should be common knowledge that goddesses are lonely in this mundane world.

    I approached her discretely. It took her several seconds to notice my careful approach, the way I was trying not to distract the lovers' dancings in the bar.

    ''Aren't we all lonely?'' I asked. ''Yes'' was only she said taking a good and deep look first in my green bluish eyes, than on my free ring finger. It was obvious to me that she was a woman of few words. Maybe action was her thing?

    ''Do you like me?'' she suddenly opened her heart for me.

    ''Yes, I do.'' I could not smile; the speciality of the moment had acquired hotness.

    ''Let's dance.'' she invited me. I took her by the hand and led her to the lovers' podium.

    We were sliding to the musical sound. Her hands began to slide down my back. Then up again. Yes, this lady's polished fingernails were lifting andl owering my self-esteem, going up and down, causing my spine's skin erection.

    We were dancing. The minutes were passing by like days. As the orchestra was being wrapped by the silence of the night, we went on a lookout for a shelter. We found it in a hotel. We began to write the first page of our amorous diary.

    The heat of the night was adding to the sensation. There I was, entering through the gates of forgetfulness past. She was looking at me, inhaling the air around me. I could easily give more than two cents for her lushness. She was the beauty, the keeper of the temple of love, I had to give tithe that would be passionatelly remembered for aeons to come.

    Yes, she loved me that night. The night was fruitful. We were exchanging gifts of warmth and welcomed passion. We joyfully accepted each other for who we are.

    The floor I had been striding before climbing the mounts of her bed was covered with roses. The scent coming from the floor was filling and lifting her chest. It was lifting her breasts toward me. I was the lost captain of the ship stranded on the desert shores of roses.

    I had brought several rose petals with me to the bed. She moved her hand and they floated back to the flowermat.

    'She is powerful' ran through my head.

    '''Want some more?'' no sooner had my look escorted the rose petals to the mat than she grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed my back onto her breasts.
    She slaped me on my face ... Then another slap folowed ... She likes being playful. I left her alone in that game, I did not succumb to the pressure of her sensual enjoyments. Who knows, perhaps I was a stranger to her. Stranger than before. A stranger to her emotions. Perhaps all that she wanted was exhilarating emptying of herself, a joyful manner of her days, me to stay there.

    We ordered the drink of hotel gods, champaigne. Her satisfaction was absolute; I could sense it in the way she sipped from her glass. She found her emptied champaigne glass interesting, took it, and directed it to myheart, using it as a spyglass. I took my cell phone, and recorded it for all times to come.

    One of these things is exactly like the other. Please stop flooding the forums with double threads of the exact same post. That is rotten netiquette and stop begging for critique. Also poor netiquette. If members are interested they will reply. Not every post is going to get a reply and you have yet to offer any other member feedback on anything.

    Sorry about the vent, but if you want members to take you seriously, you need to take a step back and let members respond in their own time instead of clogging the boards with repeat posts. If you edit, update the existing thread. Posting the same story in different forums won't change the outcome. Learn to play by the rules. Mentors and members alike have mentioned it numerous times. Just like thread bumping, it is plain rotten netiquette. Give a little more and take a little less. Manners matter.
    Last edited by Darkkin; June 5th, 2017 at 05:20 PM.


  5. #5
    Quote Originally Posted by Darkkin View Post
    One of these things is exactly like the other. Please stop flooding the forums with double threads of the exact same post. That is rotten netiquette and stop begging for critique. Also poor netiquette. If members are interested they will reply. Not every post is going to get a reply and you have yet to offer any other member feedback on anything.

    Sorry about the vent, but if you want members to take you seriously, you need to take a step back and let members respond in their own time instead of clogging the boards with repeat posts. If you edit, update the existing thread. Posting the same story in different forums won't change the outcome. Learn to play by the rules. Mentors and members alike have mentioned it numerous times. Just like thread bumping, it is plain rotten netiquette. Give a little more and take a little less. Manners matter.
    I'm sorry, I am new at writing and on the forum so I get a bit impatient...won't happen anymore, promise.

  6. #6
    Writing isn't a race. Enthusiasm is great, but a little patience is a must. Consider what your project is, who your intended audience is before you click post, and if you have questions about the forum consider PMing a mentor rather than leaping in blind. There are no stupid questions, so ask. Don't plow in willy-nilly and then get frustrated when you don't get a reply five minutes after you post. Decent critique takes time and effort. Moreso than writing basic fiction.

    Don't rush. Allow things to settle. Go out on a limb and try waiting a day before posting newly written material. Let it rest for twenty-four hours and then read through it again before posting. Looking at a piece with fresh eyes helps in the process.
    Last edited by Darkkin; June 5th, 2017 at 06:04 PM.


  7. #7
    Global Moderator H.Brown's Avatar
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    This echoes our conversations. I said that it would begin to annoy members and to be patient, I hope that this is the last time any of us have this same conversation W.riter.

    Also as you have done I the past and know that I am here if you have questions.
    Fancy joining a photgraphy group? The check out the Hidden Content group.

    Visit My Blog to get to know me better.Hidden Content Hidden Content A fun group of like minded new writers.
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    Why not check out the Hidden Content and join in the latest challenge discussions.

  8. #8
    the passion is there but the devil is in the details. you should go into more detail in the beginning. set the stage and all. talk about how this was his 3rd night drinking alone or something. have him not really looking for something and just find it for her.

    also, he got her too easily. add some level of charm to him. if she is as beautiful as he says, then she should be use to having guys come up to her and try to have their way with her. why should he be any different from the others? some flirt and smooth talk can help.

  9. #9
    As a previous poster mentioned, this full of purple prose to me. You do have some nicely written sentences but too much telling. "I approached her discretely for example. You could do much better than that. Is this supposed to be erotica?

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