Wed Apr 24, 2013 6:28 am Post
Fluff wrote:You won't be forced to walk the plank if you regale us with a few more hundred words. They'll give the sharks, piranhas, and barracudas, something to get their teeth into.
Floss wrote:as a reader, editor and general all round critic, i like to know i,m in for a good well written read. so in the same way that i hate to hear the apology ,sorry i,m not a great singer, just before someone launches into a song at an open mike night, an opening that suggests something might be an awkward or complex read - ,,it isn,t easy to explain or describe,, - sets some alarm bells ringing.
Wed Apr 24, 2013 7:27 am Post
vic-k wrote:Zubi, Hiya,zubingarda wrote:He was the last man on Earth. Then he heard a knock at his door.
When I skimmed this sentence, a while back, I went,'Ughhh! Creepy!" which, I should imagine, is the desired effect that you set out to achieve. However, having revisited your post, and reread it along with Floss's comments. I now see it in a different light.
Those schooled in the art of serious constructive critique of other's work, would, I suspect, want to know: on whose authority are we to believe that 'he' is, at the time of the knock on the door, the last human being on Earth, which is what I think you are implying. Or more accurately, he believes he is the last human being on Earth. Pedants would probably point out that only an omniscient narrator, would know if 'He" was the last human being. The man himself, could only reasonably be expected to suspect at the very best, that he could be the last. The fact that we the readers, as well as the narrator are in the privileged position of knowing yea or nay, doesn't extend to, "he". For the shock that the man would undoubtedly receive, from the knock on his door, to have the maximum impact upon the reader, I think you may have to sacrifice the brevity of the sentence, and redefine the nature of the man's isolation.
Still an eery quick skim, though!
Wed Apr 24, 2013 4:27 pm Post
Viking wrote:My writing style can be somewhat erratic and I think it's one of my biggest hurdles (apart from a multi-year long stretch of apathy and writer's block).
Viking wrote:When I get some free time, I will post up the first chapter. I make no promises when that will be, though.
Thu Apr 25, 2013 1:23 am Post
Floss wrote:and long sections where the protagonist finds a warm sunbeam and has a good lie down for a while.
Thu Apr 25, 2013 11:33 am Post
Fluff wrote:Haaagghhh!!!Haahhh!!nom wrote:some truly ferocious barking?
Canine cousin Scottie, give us a break! Y' mean irritating yapping...don't y'?
Thu Apr 25, 2013 2:03 pm Post
SkyPilot wrote:"He would have known that she came from money even if her name had not been entered on his appointment calendar, her body tall and erect, her gate telegraphing a no-nonsense style, moving with the accuracy of a rifle shot from the office door to the chair placed across from his desk, looking neither left or right but with eyes locked on his from the moment she entered the office, and without any hint of the hesitancy, awkwardness, uncertainty, fear, anger, or disgrace with which so many had entered through the door of his office, which even now was simply and discreetly lettered: Personal Investigations."
He didn't need to know her name to know she had money.
Her body, tall and erect. Her gait telegraphing her no-nonsense style. Her heels ricocheting as she walked to the chair in front of his desk.
She looked neither left nor right. Locked eyes with him the moment she entered the room.
No hint of hesitancy, awkwardness or uncertainty. No fear or anger. None of the shame that hung about most of his clients.
He eyed the discreet lettering on his office door—Jason Furgloe, Private Investigator.
Felt its dead weight seal the room as it swung closed behind her. Stale air. And silence.
Thu Apr 25, 2013 3:54 pm Post
Thu Apr 25, 2013 4:44 pm Post
He would have known that she came from money even if her name had not been entered on his appointment calendar.
When a working man walks into a PI's office he looks broken. His shoulders stoop with whatever weight he's been carrying, and his eyes betray the tired desperation of a guy down to his last roll of the dice.
Thu Apr 25, 2013 5:19 pm Post
Thu Apr 25, 2013 6:44 pm Post
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