OT: A sample of my writing style - Honest Opinions Please

[Hellshade 110]

Ok guys,

 

Since several others have talked about getting into writing as a career, I figured there must be some interest in writing in general. I'd like to share a sample of a book I started writing several months ago. It's a fantasy - swords and sorcery style book. I'd like to see what you guys think of my writing style in general. Let me know if you like it or not and most importantly - what or why you felt that way about it. Forget about grammer for the moment. That's what Editors get paid to do. Here is Chapter One in it's entirety. If you have the time, I'd like to know what you all think about my writing style. Do you think there's any hope at all of me developing a following.

 

Chapter One

 

 

The smell emanating from within the dark cave was a mixture of rotting flesh and the waste of a large creature. Though shrubs and vines covered much of the entranceway, litter and refuse could still easily been seen scattered outside along with the flickering of firelight. The silver moonbeams that shone down through the partly cloudy sky reflected off of bones and broken weapons alike. Sword and axes, much tarnished by months of neglect and exposure to the elements, lay here and there like so many forgotten children’s play toys. A dented shield was propped up against the right hand side of the opening into the cave, its design of what appeared to have been a lion now mostly covered by dried blood. The sounds of bones being snapped in half and the meat around them being hungrily devoured by some huge beast within the cave permeated the otherwise quite night.

 

 

So intent upon the feasting was the creature, that it did not detect the quiet footfalls of a robed young man walking towards it. The man stood still a moment, silhouetted in the opening of the cave by moon light and gazed upon the giant frame of the ogre as it devoured the arm of some unfortunate soul. The stranger could see that the metal armor sleeves had been peeled off the dismembered arm and had been discarded like so much other trash to one side of the cave. The ogre itself, though seated on a filthy bearskin rug, must have towered a full 9’ tall when standing, though the cave roof appeared too low to allow it to do so. Mottled brown and green skin covered in scars and scabs, mangy black hair falling to its shoulders and into its face, the ogres muscles were none the less impressive. Easily weighing 350 to 400 stones in weight, the cave dwellers arms alone were twice the size around as that of a blacksmiths’ thighs. Greasy faced and fingered, with blood smattered across its chin, the ogre ripped into the dismembered arm with sharp teeth and a hungry, if twisted, smile. It remained, for the moment, unaware that it was being observed.

 

 

The robed stranger watched for a moment more, letting his hand slide half way down the length of his solid oak walking stick. Then, with a slight smile hidden within the darkness of his hood, the stranger spoke.

 

 

“Greetings, Cave Master. How is the fare this evening?” spoke a deep, yet calm and self assured man’s voice from within the folds of the hood.

 

 

The ogre turned its’ massive head quickly, bits of food and blood flicking everywhere, snarling at the intrusion of its meal and then it responded in a loud and menacing way. “My meal is good, human. Go or I have you next!”

 

 

The hooded intruder did not move, but responded just as calmly as if he had not heard the ogres’ threat at all. “I am glad the night finds you well fed, Master Ogre, but it seems that you have been feeding too much. Perhaps, even a bit more than your share.”

 

 

The ogre stopped chewing and tossed the mangled arm next to the fire pit. Its yellow eyes gleamed wickedly in the firelight, narrowing quickly as it focused intently upon the intruder before him. “I feed when and how I wish, little man. I hunt what I want. I kill what I want! I eat when I like!” The ogres’ voice rising to that of a shout at the last.

 

 

“Dat includes dumb ones who come into my home. Who is you?” he finished in a bit of quiet sneer as he wiped his bloodstained chin and mouth with his large forearm.

 

 

The robed and hooded stranger paused a moment, eyeing the visibly angered ogre carefully and mentally measuring the distance between them as being roughly 8 feet. “I am just a wanderer of these woods. I am a peddler of earth lore and a friend to the creatures who live here. I am nobody of significance, Cave Master. Surely I am no one who could challenge you. For tonight though, I am a simple messenger and I have come to bring a message to you.”

 

 

The ogre never took his eyes off of the fool before him. His mind slowly worked through what had just been said, deciphering the meaning with some effort. “What message? What you called?”

 

 

“I am called Danethi. As for my message to you, it’s time to move on to other hunting grounds, Master Ogre. The hunting here will soon become scarce at the rate that you are feeding. Make haste this night to other, fresher, lands where your belly will find more to fill itself with.”

 

 

There was a long pause while the great beast thought about what he had been told and then suddenly burst out in a shout “No! Me live here! Grogzmock owns cave! Gogzmock owns forest! Dumb human leave or die! Food go to strongest! Land go to strongest!! Victory always to Grogzmock!” he screamed in rage as he thumped his huge fist against his massive chest. At this the ogre grabbed the arm it had been feeding upon and used it as a club, slamming it down on the cave floor, splattering blood and gore upon the ground around it.

 

 

The robed intruder stepped to the side even as the ogre launched this first iron fisted assault. Pressing his right foot against the side of the cave wall, he quickly maneuvered his staff in his hands so it was held spear like before him and then launched himself full out at the giant ogre. The end of the staff struck the ogre hard in the right eye. Screams of rage and pain filled the night and the creature made a blind grab for the staff, but it and the intruder had already dropped to the cave floor and rolled to the right.

 

 

“Grogzmock kill you! Gorgzmock eat your heart!!” the ogre screamed in fury as it cupped its injured eye with its right hand. His left hand then swung out wildly hoping to hit his attacker, but instead passed harmlessly above as his tiny opponent rolled as one with his staff back out to the entrance of the cave.

 

 

“I’m out here beast! Come get your dinner if you are as strong as you boast!” The man rose to his feet and took up with a wide stance, staff gripped firmly in both hands and an intense, focused stare upon his face. One mistake, any mistake, he knew would be the death of him at the hands of this giant creature.

 

 

The ogre waited only a moment longer for the pain in its right eye to subside slightly, then looked with his remaining good eye outside the cave. There, just a few strides past the entranceway, stood his antagonist. Grogzmock snarled loudly and charged the man before him. Huge thigh muscles rippled with raw power as they pushed hard to start the charge. Chest and arm muscles tensed and flexed in anticipation of making a crushing blow. After just two steps, the ogre reached the cave opening and launched his massive frame into the air towards the solitary, unarmored man. Grogzmock had made of meal of many knights and their horses before this night. His iron grip could tear away shields, crush steel helmeted heads and break limbs with ease. The refuse around his cave was testimony to ferocity and bloodlust. All his mind could think of now in his rage was his teeth tearing into the living flesh of this robed fool. Grogzmock would hear him scream with satisfaction as he chewed the heart out of his living body.

 

 

Seeing his opponent fully airborne and committed to the assault, Danethi dropped one end of his fighting staff into the ground, braced against a deeply embedded rock, the other end pointed at the ogre. In the creatures’ pain and rage, it did not see or realize the danger, nor was there time to do anything had it understood. The ogres leap closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye and then the end of fighting staff struck hard into the ogre’s throat, crushing its windpipe. A gargled screaming gasp came out of the creature as its own weight and speed caused it to rip asunder the flesh of its neck. The fighting stick dug in hard against the rock under the crushing weight but did not break and the ogre’s body pitched backwards at the sudden stop, slamming onto the forest floor with a thunderous crash. A deep gash of torn flesh could be seen in the ogres’ throat and a heartbeat later, a spurt of blood pumped out of the freshly gouged hole. Grogzmock lay stunned and in agony on his massive back. His huge muscles alternately twitched and then went limp. The beasts’ left hand slowly moved up and clamped over the wound, attempting to stop the blood flow. Danethi stepped several paces back and waited. Blood continued to pump out between the massive fingers trying to cover the wound in the ogres’ neck. He could see a huge bruise on his opponents’ right eye. It had already completely swollen shut. The remaining open eye had a wild, fearful and frenzied look to it.

 

 

The hooded ogre slayer stood a few yards away, watching as the life drained out of his opponent. For though Grogzmock was clearly dying, even a dying ogre could possess enough strength to crush a man’s leg or snap every rib with a single blow. Danethi had no intention of making the fools’ mistake in assuming the mortally wounded ogre was indeed helpless. Unable to speak, Grogzmock merely grunted in agony and looked around wildly with his one good yellow eye. Intense hatred, fear, pain and disbelief could be seen within that eye. Danethi watched calmly, regaining his breath from the fight even as Grogzmock’s lasts breaths became faster and shorter. Then, a moment before he could see death would claim the beast, Danethi said softly to his foe “Victory is not only for the strongest, Cave Master. It can go to the fastest or to the wisest as well.”

 

 

 

Grogzmock choked on his own blood as his one uninjured eye widened in his final death throes. His massive frame twitched and tensed hard for one last time and then he was still. Danethi stood silently for a moment and then murmured quietly in a strange tongue a prayer for the soul of the vanquished. He finished, switching back to the common speech of men, saying “May the wholeness of the earth mend your spirit and use your body to bring forth new life.” He then strode quietly past the corpse and back into the cave.

 

 

The ogre had been waylaying both men and forest dwelling creatures alike for several months. Not that Danethi minded the ogre attacking the caravans of men who occasionally traveled through the Northwood Forest. To the contrary, fear of the ogre at first did much to reduce the forest for being used as a trade route. The loss of some deer and other game seemed a relatively small price to pay to be left alone. Yet eventually, when word got out that a reward for its death was posted in the nearby cities, the number of mercenaries trampling through the forest seemed to grow almost daily. It became impossible to keep track of hunting party after hunting party, causing no end of destruction to the woodlands. It was then that the High Council of Wild Priests appointed him to deal with the ogre. The appointment served two purposes, he knew. The first was to simply be rid of the creature. Once it was gone and caravan after caravan traveled safely through the woods, eventually the bounty hunters would realize the matter had been resolved and look for their rewards elsewhere. As annoying as the trade wagons are, at least they stay on the path! Second, it was a test for him to see if he was fit to stand alone. A small group of wild priests could have been sent to deal with the ogre, who was easily enough tracked to its lair. But by sending just Danethi alone, it was a clear test of his readiness to be accepted as a true adult in his Clan and by the Council Elders. At 22 cycles of the seasons, he was finally of age to be given a trial and become a full adult member.

 

 

Danethi smiled briefly to himself. No more guardians. He would be free to roam his forest home with all of the respect due to a Protector. Before he could return home with the news, however, he would inspect the ogres cave. The wild priests of the Northwood Forest were not materially motivated. For them, possessions that did not serve a survival purpose were merely viewed as unnecessary extra weight to be carried. A gem that shown brightly could not be eaten or used as a tool and would be discarded as quickly as would a bad apple. Why city men coveted such things was beyond him. So he searched the cave not for wealth or trophies, but to see if anything was left behind that the city men might come looking for. It was customary among his people to gather up all of the “valuables” found on such a creature and place them in a basket or bag on the side of the road near the entrance to the forest. It would be found by a passing wagon and no search parties would be sent into the woods looking. While the city folk believed that druidic clans lived in the forest, Danethi and his kind were careful to use skilled woods craft and earth lore to remain hidden from the sight of outsiders at all times. This gave rise to the legend that “ghosts” lived in the Northwood Forest and it was they who returned any gems or jewelry of those they killed to the roadside. After all, to the men who inhabited the nearby cities of Valentis and Stormharbor, only a ghost would have no use for gems and jewelry.

 

 

Danethi shook his head at the foolishness of civilized men. They would work their whole lives, murder or steal in order to acquire things that could neither be eaten nor used for anything other than decoration. Yet they considered the rumored clans of wild priests in the forest to be barbarians, for they “only” cared about food, water, shelter, clothing and their savage religion. Danethi knew many city dwellers thought this way. He had been sent on numerous scouting missions in his youth to watch caravans of traders pass through the woods. As he had camouflaged himself to match the forests foliage, he lay near wagons that had stopped for the night and listened to such discussions take place. In truth, the High Council of Wild Priests wanted it this way. So long as the city dwellers and traders felt that the wild priest clans had nothing of value to them, they knew their forest home would be left in relative peace. Wisdom could be used to win battles or to avoid them when desired.

 

 

Danethi stepped into the dead ogre’s lair and let his eyes adjust to the flickering firelight. His soft leather boots made hardly a sound as he walked inside and a quick inspection of his fighting stick appeared to show that it was none the worse for the battle it had just been through. The fire pit was shallow and the flame itself burned low. It was hard to see details and Danethi had no desire to walk several leagues back to his home only to have to return in the morning when better lighting prevailed. Bowing his head and dropping to one knee, he laid his staff beside him. Then, holding his arms outward as if in beseechment Danethis’ mind fell backwards and down through his body. His consciousness' traveled the pounding pathways of his blood vessels, touching each piece of living tissue within him. He felt the wholeness of his body, fullness of his breath and each moment was a celebration of life itself. His mind fell further downwards, through his feet and into the ground below him. Danethi was at one with the cavern floor. He then sent his consciousness’ racing to the forest outside. Each vine, plant, tree and animal became one with him. He breathed with the forest as one, becoming a shared entity and he felt the rightness of how balanced and beautiful nature truly was. He felt the power of life eternal, but ever changing and again he breathed in the awesome beauty of it all. Reaching out a spiritual hand, he grasped a moonbeam that shown through the clouds and trees. Slowly he pulled his hand back towards him and murmured “Let the light of the moon be the light for my eyes.”

 

 

When Danethi opened his eyes, he was back inside the cave which was now completely filled with the soft glow of moonlight. With everything much easier to see, he began to sort through the rubbish of the cave. As he expected, the cave itself was in utter disarray. Not exceptionally large, it measured no more than 20 by 30 paces at its farthest points. Irregularly shaped, one nook appeared to serve as a bedchamber, having had several deer and wolf skins thrown down on the floor. The center held the shallow fire pit and against one whole wall seemed to be the largest pile of bones, broken weapons and pieces of metal armor. Danethi had witnessed poachers mauled by the animals of the forest before, but the sight of the dismembered arm next to the fire pit filled him with loathing. He quickly dropped a wolf skin over the appendage to hide it from his sight. He continued his search, kicking aside shredded, bloodied clothing as well as numerous animal skins. He found two backpacks, one ripped open with little of worth inside but what appeared to be a lock picking set, a bulls eye lantern, some oil and a few rags while the other pack contained a number of finely balanced throwing knives, a jar containing a black, greasy substance and a length of rope of perhaps 20 paces.

 

 

Danethi continued his search over near the ogre’s bed. Kicking aside rugs and skins, his foot knocked into something solid. Kneeling down, he used his hands to peel aside the many layers of blankets until at last he uncovered a wooden chest. Carefully pulling on the lid, he found that it opened quite easily. Inside, glinting pale in the captured moonlight, was a pile of silver and golden coins. Danethi knew nothing of the value of such coins, though he assumed by the number of them that they would be worth much to the city men. Scooping his hand through the coins, he suddenly felt a sharp prick on his finger. He pulled his hand back instinctively and looked at the small puncture wound on his finger. His hand did not grow cold or numb, nor did it swell or change colors so he assumed the wound was not from some poisonous trap. Still, he sucked the blood out of the cut and spat it out. Satisfied he was not in mortal danger, he turned his attention back to the chest full of coins. Slowly and carefully he began removing coins from the container, placing them on the floor to his left. What he began to uncover caused him to stop and gasp. There in the chest of coins lay buried a dagger of such exquisite craftsmanship and design that for a long moment he could only stare in awe.

 

 

Danethi pulled back his hood and let the moonlight reveal the look of wonder upon his face. His long, thick blonde hair cascaded to his shoulders and his youthful face was strong and rugged. It was tanned from much time spent in the sun and he bore red dyed designs upon his cheeks, the sign of an apprentice. His moustache and goatee were also blonde, though with the hint of white just under his lower lip. His eyes were a deep and mysterious dark sky blue and in them was reflected the image of a dagger created with such incredible attention to detail that he wondered if indeed it could even be the work of mortal men.

 

 

The blade was bare, being 8 inches in length and curved with multiple sharp points on each side, in addition to the razor sharp one at the tip. Etched into the side of the bright metal blade itself were runic carvings such that Danethi had never encountered before. Yet even more fascinating, when he turned the blade over to look at it, the flip side of the blade was made of some dark metal, in direct contrast to the shiny metal of the side he first saw. Indeed, more bizarre still was the fact that this dark side of the blade had the same intricate runes carved into it as the other side, though after some studying he could see they were actually mirrored images. The same runes, inverted. The hilt was small and appeared delicate, yet the metal it was forged from seemed unbreakable. The handle of the blade was made of a solid black metal, but two snakes wound their way intertwined from the pommel up to the blade, one snake head on each side of the blade, their mouths open and forming the very base of the blade itself. The snake with its mouth meeting at the base of the black side of the blade was a shiny, metallic color. The one with its mouth forming the base of the shiny side of the blade was colored obsidian black. Both were carved in such incredible detail, that Danethi could make out the individual scales on each one. The illusion was so complete he imagined they would move around the handle itself in a twisting, infinite dance. The black snake had two tiny red rubies for eyes, while the silver snake possessed eyes of emeralds. Danethi sat transfixed for several minutes, staring and marveling at the craftsmanship, before he noticed the pommel of the dagger possessed its own little mystery.

 

 

The pommel of the dagger was made of a clear, round crystal, as transparent as glass but apparently as strong as steel, for it had never been chipped scratched or dented. Inside, it appeared to be filled with some kind of a clear fluid, he presumed water, in which was suspended a tiny obsidian human skull. The workmanship on the skull was no less than that of the snakes. Perfect in every detail, the mystery of the skull deepened the more he handled the dagger. No matter how he turned the dagger, the skull always turned to face a specific direction. Danethi even shook the dagger to try and alter how the skull faced, but to no avail. Spinning the dagger on its tip, flipping it end over end in mid air all failed to change the direction the obsidian skull faced. This would not be so strange, except the direction it faced was not due north. In fact, it was pointing north by northeast.

 

 

A detailed study of the weapon brought three conclusions to the young wild priests mind. First, the dagger was ancient. Even though the blade, hilt, handle and pommel of the object were all absolutely without imperfection, it was obvious that it was all very, very old. Something about the air of the object just made him feel that it was not even of this Age. Second, he did not believe it could have ever been crafted by mortal men of today, using traditional materials and methods. It isn’t possible to create such exacting, minute detail without any flaws whatsoever. Even the dwarves, who are master arms makers cannot create something that looks this delicate yet is unbreakably strong. Third, Danethi realized that he could not bring this back to the Council of Elders, if he ever wanted to discover the mystery of this blade. Even if he had just passed his test to become a Protector, as he assumed he had just done in dealing with the ogre, the Elders would make one of two choices. They would either send a group of hand picked and much more experienced Protectors out with the blade to discover its secret or, more likely, they would put it in a chest on the roadside for the next caravan to pick up, deeming it better to have nothing to do with the blade at all. Neither choice afforded Danethi the answers his young and imaginative mind demanded. Furthermore, having bested the ogre alone, the blonde haired wild priest felt he had earned the right to decide the fate of the blade on his own. Clearly the blade was not forged by the ogre. The creature merely stumbled upon it when it rummaged through the possessions of one of his victims. There was nothing of note in the backpacks or the rest of the cave to identify who the owner was, so that left only one course. To follow the obsidian skull until it took him to wherever it was eternally pointing to.

 

 

Danethi took a small cut of deerskin and wrapped the blade up inside it. He did not worry that his Clan would miss him. They would send someone in a day or so to check upon the ogres cave. When they found no sign of his body or blood, they would know well enough that he had set out on journey, purpose unknown. They could track him if they cared to, but the young wild priest doubted that they would. The druidic priests of his Clan were known to go on long, self meditating journeys from time to time. Having bested the ogre, he hoped they would respect his decision. Time would tell. Until then, he would pursue the mystery of the dagger. Standing up, Danethi turned around and stepped out of the cave. The moonlight he had captured inside faded and suddenly he was facing the chill night air alone. The young wild priest adjusted his belt pouches of herbs and water, got a firm grasp of his walking stick and pulled the hood back up over his head. He then took in the scent of the crisp, fresh night air with a deep breath and stepped into the dark forest. He chose to have the mystery of the daggers past lay the foundations of his future. He headed off, north by northeast.

 

 

End chapter

Edited December 29, 2010 by Hellshade

[Javito1986 14]

Are you serious? This is excellent work. The detail in the descriptions is sheer quality, and the dialog has personality to it. Often people's dialog is rather dry and monotonous. Obviously your prose can be tightened and beautified via revisions and editing, but I don't think there can be any doubt that you have immense talent as a writer. Go forth! Develop your characters and breathe life into them!

[Skyviper 1,101]

Okay first and foremost; YOU ARE AWESOME!!! I was immediately sucked into the story. Check out these sites(if you haven't already) they may help you with your future career.

 

Agent Query Connect

 

Absolute Write

 

Absolue Write Forums

[Javito1986 14]

Yea, I was likewise captured by the story from the get go. Which is a very important thing. Please by all means, expand and develop further!

[Cameljockey 3]

Where's Chapter 2? You've given me an itch that demands a good scratching!

Edited December 30, 2010 by Cameljockey

[RAF_Louvert 101]

.

Hellshade, I am not a professional writer and I’ve had very little actually published, so my opinions here should be considered in that light. However, I did serve as a teaching assistant in numerous college literature and writing courses where I had to read and grade hundreds of budding authors’ efforts. Also, I’ve helped my good lady wife raise three college graduates who all came to me on many occasions to critique their writing. So, here goes.

 

 

Let me start by saying that you’ve chosen one of the classic tales to tell: A young man’s coming of age and his quest to prove his mettle. This epic has been a staple in classic adventure writing for centuries, and you can hardly go wrong choosing it as your first effort. If well written it will have a wide appeal to adolescent and young adult males, but to that audience you must be sure to keep the action high and don’t get bogged down in too much flowery speech or detail.

 

 

This brings me to my second opinion: Keep the writing tight and concise. This is not to say you shouldn’t build a complete scene and flesh out your characters, but try to avoid over-telling. Ofttimes in writing less is more.

 

 

Next, while you say to forget about grammar and that’s what editors get paid to do, you absolutely DO want to have a strong command of proper use and structures of the written language you are attempting to work in. To try and write without such is akin to building a house with little knowledge of construction and no blueprints. Yes, you can build the house, but it will be of inferior quality and may well fall apart later. Let me give you an example from your own story.

 

You wrote: “The robed and hooded stranger paused a moment, eyeing the visibly angered ogre carefully and mentally measuring the distance between them as being roughly 8 feet.” What I imagine you meant here was that the hooded stranger was carefully and mentally measuring the distance between himself and the ogre, however your sentence structure instead is telling the reader that it was the ogre who was measuring the distance. An editor would likely not change this in the rewrite as there is nothing actually wrong with the structure, so it falls on your shoulders as the writer to make certain what you mean is being conveyed precisely to the reader, (that’s not to say there aren’t times you wouldn’t wish to intentionally create ambiguity in the course of a story, but I’m betting that was not your intent in this case). Allow me to offer my rewrite of the sentence in question: “The cloaked stranger paused a moment as he studied the angered ogre, mentally calculating the distance between them to be roughly eight feet.” You have aleady indicated to your reader that the stranger is robed and hooded, so repeating it is unneccesary and can become tedious. “Visibly angered” is a bit wordy, and we as readers can assume that the ogre’s anger is visible since the stranger is engaged in the act of eyeing him. “Carefully and mentally” is rather akward and detracts from the flow of your sentence.

 

 

All in all Hellshade, you have a very good start here and I strongly encourage you to continue crafting your story. But remember it is a craft, and you really owe it to yourself to develop your art fully and use all tools at your disposal to do so. Never be satisfied with “good enough”. I personally have gone back many time in the course of writing a story only to change a single word, or the placement of a punctuation mark, in order to better hone the point I am attempting to make. That being said, be careful of overworking a piece too. It’s a fine line that is walked between too little refinement and too much. I honestly believe it is the mark of the truly great author to know when the story is done.

 

Best of luck with your continued writing Sir, this old world needs all the storytellers it can find.

 

Cheers!

 

Lou

 

 

 

.

Edited December 30, 2010 by RAF_Louvert

[Hasse Wind 46]

Hey, I really liked this. I'm no native English speaker, so don't expect any useful tips from me, but your story managed to keep me interested from the start, which is always a good sign. Now where's Chapter 2?

[Dej 17]

I'm entirely with Louvert in his advice, terser is truer. The 'swords and sorcery' stuff I admit is these days only appealing to me if Terry Pratchett is sending up the clichés. I spent too long immersed in it in my youth, so I may be a biased judge.

 

To add to Lou's remarks: you should double check that your prose does not exceed your point. For example: 'Danethi pulled back his hood and let the moonlight reveal the look of wonder upon his face.' implies a deliberate act - extending to the moonlight's revelation; whereas I suspect doffing the hood was deliberate and the moonlight's effect involuntary.

 

Seems picky I grant you, but these build up over time if you are not careful and can make the prose turgid and self-indulgent. Still, Tolkien too was occasionally guilty of that, probably why he edited to the point of paralysis!

 

As to anything that qualifies me to criticise: none beyond the fact that you invited same, plus being an English scholar and erstwhile avid reader of anything and everything.

 

A good start, it shows definite promise. Above all though, kudos for the courage to post it and ask for advice!

[Javito1986 14]

The prose isn't perfect Hellshade, but remember that it's not necessary for it to be. Great stories aren't written, they're rewritten! You shouldn't even worry about pretty prose or stellar grammar until starting at least your second draft. First draft = skeleton. That said, what you have done there is great! Given a few revisions it'll be even better. Keep at it

[Hellshade 110]

Thank you very much to everyone for your input. I appreciate all the positive feedback and constructive criticism. If I didn't want to hear any criticsm, I would have asked my mother..so no worries about hurting my feelings! It's appreciated because that's how I learn to get better.

 

While I definately never entertained the idea of quitting my day job, I think I've heard enough to make me believe that if I'm willing to put some effort into it there's a chance a publisher might someday feel theres enough merit in my work to take a chance on me. Since there are no guarantees in life...only opportunities...I think it might be worth my effort to pursue this. I know that no single writer is able to entertain every reader. It's really all about finding your audience. Maybe with a little luck and a lot of effort I can convince a publisher there's a large enough audience out there for my (future) work for us both to make a buck or two on. It certainly would be great to get out of IT and into something I would find much more enjoyable.

 

Thanks a ton guys. My videos will probably slow down a bit as I shift my focus onto my writing, but I'll still put a few up now and then. Especially when Phase 4 comes out!

 

Hellshade

Edited January 1, 2011 by Hellshade

[Tripe & Flaming Onions 0]

Good Stuff Sport,

 

I read a lot on various subjects, but I don't read with a red pencil in hand ..

 

99.9% of people will not notice or forgive if you stamp on some "rules", they will just enjoy the story.

 

I suppose you have to get it past the picky ones to get it published, shame about that.

 

"Please Sir, can I have more?"

 

Cheers,

 

T&FO.