Fixed critique thread

new rule: no one is allowed to evaluate yours unless you evaluate two other peoples. ofc this cant be enforced but if even half of the ppl followed it the thread would be infinitely better

to demonstrate good faith, ill wait until there are things to critique here to post anything

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cryptb.in/24tNYtNI
pastebin.com/jTiqVTkV
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Me too I'll wait until there is something to critique before I post anything

i'll lurk here waiting for someone to post anything, but in the meantime heres a shitty description of a place i wrote.

The terminal looked like it had been built in the 70s and never remodeled. the ceiling was slowly falling apart, the plaster squares soaking up water with each passing rainstorm and sagging lower and lower on the metal frame, unable to support the increased weight even in the beginning, now in a losing battle with rust. the columns still looked strong, they didn't have much to hold up, just that old ceiling and the rainbow patchwork of corrugated metal and plastic. buses came in and out through the dusty driveway about every half hour. let in by a bulky man wearing a hernia belt and manually operating the angle iron gate. he joked with the taxi drivers gathered around the station between breaks, although taxi would be a very generous term for what they were driving: a motorcycle with the back half replaced with a cabin, made out of hollow steel tubing and covered in plasticized fabric,the back wheel replaced with an axle that spread out to the sides of the cabin. They waited for migrant workers to get off the bus, or gringos if they could get them. The ticket counter was under the least deformed part of the roof, showing a bus schedule at least an hour off, with prices. A middle aged woman sat there at a computer, lazily clicking and typing away, reserving seats on buses and taking payment. Another woman stood across from her on the other side of the seating area. She was behind a glass case with food, drinks and cigarettes, singles and packs. She was friendlier than the ticket seller, making small talk with patrons seemingly in an attempt to generate more revenue for herself.

How are we supposed to start?
I'll repost mine from the other thread and critique two after a while.

cryptb.in/24tNYtNI
First story I've written in a while. It's about two schizoids.

if it's shitty why should anyone read it

i think the idea is that by someone being nice and reading anyway they can explain why didnt wouldnt read it anyway and then the author can become more worth reading

too fast, it doesn't spend enough time introducing the characters/setting before going into the themes
because this thread is about critiquing work, so people can suggest ways I can make it less shitty and maybe worth reading

it's a bit clunky. vary your sentence structure more. ofc it's also sort of a boring scene but ill forgive that since it seems like more of an exercise. reminded me a littlle of levy pants for some reason
like ppl were saying in the last thread, this is good and you should keep writing. i think you said it was a novel, but it seems pretty focused in a way that might work better as a short story

here's mine. first time i wrote a short story and finished it. i think the narrator needs more characterization but idk what else

pastebin.com/jTiqVTkV

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It made me feel shut user it's really good

Amazing stuff user! You said this was your first story in a while, so do you have more?

hit me right in the feels, I don't have any suggestions. also thanks for the advice.

boring
pretty good

I find this scene to be very vivid, I could imagine everything happening. However, as for me, it doesn't seem to be interesting enough in a way that it evokes emotion. If your purpose was just to describe a place then you did it well, but in a novel this would be far too long of a detour and your readers might skip it after a few sentences. Overall good work!
I see, thanks for the critique. I considered that but thought I established their cores, which was the most important to me. I'll keep that in mind for my next story.
Thank you! No, it wasn't for a novel, it's just a short story.
I thought your story was interesting. The descriptions flowed well and I liked the overall feelikg of your story. However, I think it gets a little long-winded. It seems like you can cut a lot of fat in your work. The main character was alright, but nothing special. I really like the dialogue parts, they sound natural and dynamic. Good work as well.
Thanks, I'm glad you liked it.
I do have more but I'm a bit shy to post them.

post more works please

Sorry it was subpar

what is?

It's well written, but kinda uninteresting

Helpfully someone can read it
Frio fulminante
Debil rival al calor radiente
Recompensa a la paciencia
Es el sol de mi princesa

Mas,
Directo al sol no has de mirar
Ardiente brillo
Frio y tibio
Un calor tan infinito
Has de enfrentar
Por un segundo de princesa
Poder disfrutar

Lejos,
Brisa polar
Cerca,
Fuego infernal
Pecado mas grande
A Ícaro de su amor alejar

Luz del alba
Carbón de mi caldera
No pidas al mosco
Despreciar el calor de una vela

Bump

Maybe enhance the polarity on the character's emotions? I dont know im shit at this. Only one here that can read it tho. Greetings from arg

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Entiendo que es un poema de amor acerca de estar enamorado de una chica que es terriblemente hermosa, pero esa temática ya está gastadísima(Por ejemplo, el tema "Creep" de Radiohead, entre tantos). Aparte hay algunos aspectos estéticos que no me cierran:

>En el primer verso, la rima de "paciencia" con "princesa"
>En el segundo, usás mucho la palabra "has" y queda algo forzado. También la métrica está media desafada
>Por último, por ahí ésto es un problema mío rimar verbos en infinitivo es de mal gusto, yo por mi parte trato de evitarlo

Dentro de todo no está tan mal, se nota que es algo que escribiste como catársis romántica y no para ostentar.

>implying you are the only argie poster on Yea Forums
We may be few, but we are loud user :3

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Thanks argiebros
I just wrote this from a sudden inspiration. Of course is the first draft, but i just wanted someone's opinion to see in what direction should i go

Another boludo here

like said, don't ever talk yourself down. but anyway,
>lower and lower
no matter which style you're going for, you should always strive for economy. your opening sentence is good. it tells me you know what you're talking about and to settle in to your description. but your next sentence throws that off.
>the ceiling was slowly falling apart, the plaster squares soaking up water with each passing rainstorm and sagging lower and lower on the metal frame, unable to support the increased weight even in the beginning, now in a losing battle with rust.
too many competing ideas here. you want to tell me the ceiling was slowly falling apart, and that's fine, but it's not such a complicated or notable detail that it deserves such a long, multi-clausal sentence. you want to tell me that, but you also stuff in the "increased weight", "even in the beginning", and "battle with rust", which all just complicate without any clear purpose.
>the columns still looked strong, they didn't have much to hold up, just that old ceiling and the rainbow patchwork of corrugated metal and plastic. buses came in and out through the dusty driveway about every half hour.
as i read this, i really want to place a period after "strong". a lot of times when you want to introduce an idea, it's best to put down a bite size sentence to serve as a kind of header or mini-title. (this also helps with flow and your transitions.) also, probably just me, but i don't get the "rainbow patchwork" part. i guess the image of a rainbow is to contradict the grim and gray? doesn't feel right here.
>buses came in and out through the dusty driveway about every half hour. let in by a bulky man wearing a hernia belt and manually operating the angle iron gate.
good sentence about the buses, though i don't like alliteration. "manually operating" is unnecessary, and it throws me off further.
>he joked with the taxi drivers gathered around the station between breaks, although taxi would be a very generous term for what they were driving: a motorcycle with the back half replaced with a cabin, made out of hollow steel tubing and covered in plasticized fabric,the back wheel replaced with an axle that spread out to the sides of the cabin.
as other anons have commented, it's a little uninteresting. "he joked". what does that mean? what did they joke about? glossing this over would work if this scene were like a piece of stage rigging, but since it's the entire piece, it doesn't tell me about anything i should care about. if he tells a joke, then include it, or break from the grayness and transition into describing this falstaff gate keeper character. you can write just fine. but you need to refine your thought process -- deciding what's important and not, what's compelling to read and not-- and that comes with time.
>We were sitting on a slightly-crooked bench at the rooftop inside the school.
the modifier "slightly" throws this sentence off. (CONT'D)

(CONT'D)>We were sitting on a slightly-crooked bench at the rooftop inside the school.
you could improve this sentence a lot,
>We sat on the crooked bench looking out from the school's breeziest rooftop.
if you specify that the characters are sitting on the ONE crooked bench, then it helps characterize them, because it sets them apart from their peers, who implicitly are represented by all the other, un-crooked benches.
>The warm breeze softly touched our skins, and I, the sweaty one, kept wiping my forehead as summer imposed itself on our bodies.
this sentence is close to being good.
>The warmth rushed us and I started sweating; I kept upright against the imposing summer's wish; and I refused to wilt, wiping my forehead every other second.
all i did was tighten it up. just stay mindful of the content and how it needs delivery. the straightforward setting and characters demand to be delivered in a straightforward, tight fashion. "and I, the sweaty one", throws off any tightness or tight flow.
>Mina seemed to stare at my hand movements, but her eyes were unfocused - she was looking at nothing and I could not feel her gaze upon me. I stretched my legs.
not good. just not a good sequence. "hand movements" is awkward and uninformative. if narrator is wondering if she's staring at his hand, or wishing so, then that's fine. just communicate clearer whether her lack of focus is a result of her disinterest or a misinterpretation on the narrator's part.
>“Of course, Ms. Model Student.”
this teasing contradicts your earlier hint that she and the narrator are on uneasy terms.
>Mina twiddled her thumbs and looked down. After the breeze had passed through us again, she opened her mouth and sighed. She spoke in a low tone. “Thank you for talking me through this, Kim.”
"opened her mouth" is a glaring redundancy. if she sighs then it's implied her mouth has opened. "spoke in a low tone" confuses me. what i guess you mean is that she is talking like how a dog tucks its tail and lowers its head. but i can also see someone interpreting this as low, as in baritone.
>She thought for a while. Small stray pebbles rolled around our feet, and stopped when the wind thought to rest for a moment. I took a pebble and observed it.
this is exactly what i mean by a straightforward delivery. this is what the piece needs. but, you throw it off by choosing the word "observe" which is too heavy a word for the action of looking at a pebble in your hand. when people "observe" things, it is usually understood that an "observation" is something with depth, and long measure, and a lot of consideration. big things are observed, over long periods of time. small things, though, are looked at, or rolled in your fingers, or just glossed over entirely.
(CONT'D)

(CONT'D)>I found myself attracted to its strange allure. How did these pebbles get in the rooftop? Were students back then doing a pebble-related project? Were they perhaps measuring each pebble before and after being thrown to the ground? I found it interesting how each object had a history. Humans were not the only ones with depth.
i don't get this. the whole spill about pebbles here reminds me of anakin's sand line in episode 2. it distracts from the tension between narrator and his girl.
>Humans were not the only ones with depth.
feels eye rolling.

>The weather was uninviting as was the sidewalk filled with puddles but I could not wait until tomorrow.
jumbled. you felt rushed to tell me about the state of the sidewalk, when all i needed from the opening sentence was a mood. just say the weather was uninviting, then move on to the sidewalk. no need to hurry, especially not with a somber piece.
>Waiting would let on that I cared more than I projected, although she knew I did. Already I had spent an hour readying myself for little more than a bus ride to hide my hangover, which was simply unavoidable after she informed me of her decision.
confusing syntax.
>And if I waited, then she would know that I cared. She would know I cared more than I had let on.
clearer, more somber.
>Already I had spent an hour readying myself for little more than a bus ride to hide my hangover, which was simply unavoidable after she informed me of her decision.
again you pull out this confusing syntax.
>I had already spent an hour readying myself, from when I had woken up and ridden the bus to right then on the corner. I had a nasty hangover that needed hiding, and the hour riding over had just been enough.
don't pull anything exotic or "writerly" out of your ass until you've reached godhood.
>Nothing was left for me to do besides receiving her written decision and filing it away.
i don't really get what's happening here. this whole thing just feels like an excuse to write sentences and not a story.

reminder not to listen to retarded nitpicky tripfags.

i appreciate your advice, but did you read more than this paragraph?

i get it if you didnt but i dont think calling it an excuse to write sentences is fair when it was just an introductory paragraph and i was trying to introduce the concept and the narrator

Don't listen to him. He has some of the dumbest critiques I've ever read.

>Checking my watch I realized I had left my watch at home and had no way of knowing whether I was late for the bus, until a quarter mile from the bus station I watched the bus pass me and learned I was.
change it to
>Checking my watch, I realized I had left it at home at home and had no way of knowing whether I was late for the bus; It became clear to me that I was, when I noticed a bus pass me a quarter of a mile from the bus station.
>Pulling my hoodie a little hurther over my head I continued on.
>hurther
>The rain had not returned when I
Something about this irks me. I want to change it to "It had not started raining again when I", and I don't know why. I see that you're trying to consider it a companion.
Well. This is all very descriptive, but I can't help but worry that it would tire a person out.
I think you should shorten or divide some of your sentences. Maybe give them turns, like: Long sentence, short sentence, long sentence, short sentence, short sentence, long sentence. Too many long sentences back-to-back tend to slow the pace of the reading up because the reader is being challenged to comprehend every detail of what you're conveying.
The tone I get from the speaker is pretty bleak. It fits the story.
Although I don't think I'd enjoy a story that feels miserable throughout.

>“So,” I said, “What do you think does it mean?”
>"So," I asked, "What do you think it means?"
ftfy
Not a bad title. Heh, this makes me curious as to what happens next.
I recommend you look for more presets in starting a sentence, if the first-person narrative (which is what you're going for) is something you insist on using. One thing about it, is the repetitive use of " I " at the beginning of sentences. I'm not sure how most others feel about it, but it can get a little stale for me.
Otherwise, not bad.

On second thought, I don't think I'll be showing any work...

>at home at home
...fuck

>On second thought, I don't think I'll be showing any work...
posted this a while back w/o a trip. nothing newer i will post

Brother Tom came out from the Tabernacle and onto the dirty, cold lawn. He faced West, standing in the Tabernacle's shadow, breathing the cold, chapped air. He stared over the cold lawn which rounded the Tabernacle and which—like a spreading oil leak—crept into the road's nearest ditch. And the Tabernacle, which had chipped, white wood siding and a tarred black roof, was mistakable for a ratty, two-car garage from the road. And Brother Tom smiled in its shadow but, restrainedly, felt a heated yearning sadness. Overtop were clear skies but it was very, very early, the fourth and last Saturday in October in 2004. And the morning was very, very shadowy. And then his moment's sadness and yearning had passed. And so, returned to his senses, he began counting out the bunch of plastic grocery bags he had swept-together from home.

"One's here," to himself: "And, and one ain't gonna do me Chief. One gonna rip on me Chief. One gonna rip on me spill ever'where Chief. But O.K., two's here I got, three…"

He had come out on word from old Brother J.D., who had rung him in the night telling him that he had best hurry come light and had best pick the fallen-off pecans up, before the boys got a hold.
The same ringing in the night came every year.

And the pecan grove was far from the Tabernacle, among prickly, rough growths and twigs. And the grove hedged the cold lawn's farthest line, which adjoined the Tabernacle's small plot to Fluellen's hundred-odd acres of limestone. If Fluellen's boys came for the fallen-off pecans then Brother Tom would go. And if they stopped him from going then he would pretend to be an idiot. But he and Fluellen's boys had never met under the grove so it was an act he prepared yearly, humiliatingly, but was lucky to have never performed.

"Woulda look at an eighth bag I got here Chief," down to his last few: "And here's my nine bag here Chief, my ten bag…"

And the same preparing in the cold came every year.

He had come to the Tabernacle since he lived in his mother's stomach. He had grown up with and loved everyone dutifully. Everyone. But he specially loved the sweet ladies among their small congregation—Missus Russell Missus Lawrence Missus Whitfield Missus Jackson—who every year would sweetly bake the pecans into pies for the rest. The sweet ladies would bring their pies to next week's supper and would set them carefully on their fold-out table. Setting them around boiled collard greens and slaw and skillets of cornbread and roast chicken and Lays and Cokes and fried chicken, takeout, pork roast. Setting them far apart unconsciously. Every year unconsciously. And, at least in Brother Tom's conception, their pies were loved and counted on so damn him were there one year of pecans left in the dirt or stolen away and not made pies of.

He bent at his waist toward a pecan.

cool ty