A short story that I wanted to be critized

[Haze]

The whole idea behind this is that I wanted people to put in their thoughts and perspectives of a story I wrote, it has nothing to do with B-movies and I am sorry for that technicality, but this is the one place I thought it would actually get some good responses (plus, I respect people here more than everywhere else.)

SO ANYWAY:

THE WAX PORTRAIT

The play across the table as a trumpeting banner, the red marked cards trumped my only chance of taking this set. I looked to the other across from me; he met my consternated gaze with a steely confidence that I had always known him to abuse for the misconstrued belief of reassurance. I almost felt my conscious mind slump through the floor, but kept myself guarded with the utmost care, I could not let myself believe in his hallow visage lest I would be ever embroiled in his web of manipulation.
   I played for keeps, bets were on the table and beer money was scarce to me at this time, there was never a bet unless I thought I could win it with a great percentage backing up my stance. It seemed to be a gamble this time around; I had no legible former data of this encounter that would back up my choice, but somehow he allured me to this match of luck.
   Luck. What an awful word. The game set in a stand still as I peeked from my inner thoughts; my company seemed to be in the same state of mental-limbo as I, reality seemed a blur to us all, I could tell. The stories of our lives seemed separate, but intertwined at the very fabricates of our being as that of a tightly woven shirt, or a silk rope that straddled the safety of it’s number through time.
   I looked to the left of myself, the opposing team started with him, his desperate gaze estranged by his own glazed trance, it gave away the fragile imaginary coat of modestly, bleeding to the inner arrogance that he hid within. He had always done so with everything he loathed of himself, his self-perfecting attitude had followed him for many years into the darkest lairs of the human soul. I remember how we used to gad through the various occult spots through town; he was always searching for something he did not have, and always coming up short and disappointed.
   My thoughts had quickly left me as I saw the next card played, an Ace of Clubs, I saw no bother in such a move, looking at my had to reassure that the Ace of Hearts was still wedged between my palm and thumb. The dwelling soon overtook me again, like a flood of anguish I stared at the giant heart on the card, remembering how we had both called it a “just a fling.â€� What hollow words I spoke that day, my face squinted in the crushing tears that welled in my eyes and sank to the bridge of my throat. I almost spoke again, it would have only been the second time I had spoken that night if I had not quelled my desire to hear the jolly chatter of his dearest interests, both in me and in the world itself.
   The day this group of ours, not so much as a “gangâ€� that paraded around solving mysteries of some such thing, we were not as tightly woven as I had come to believe. That day started with the usual banter, I glowed as I heard the unusually alien talk that graced our lips. We said, “There are no good-byes.â€� I never understood that meaning, such a cornerstone to their guilt and my own as well. We had never alleged of such a supposition that we would gather in such a rendezvous. I cried frequently, sometimes for no reason what so ever. The others did as well, it was not I but my only other friend that had burrowed her head into my bosom, shedding rain upon the pasty obtrusions and pruning my skin to the verge of a raisin.
   It seemed as if we were frozen in time now, movement seemed to have ceased between us all. Her golden hair did not wave in the gentle breeze of his whistling jingle, and his glasses did not slip to the end of his nose as he looked down in contempt and regret, and my own fingers would not curl at the flare of my emotions as my mind unconsciously willed it to. No chests heaved to breath, content with asphyxiating in the moment of solace.
   We must have been through everything imaginable I recalled, remembering only a few glimpses of the past in a few stills that had burned themselves into my memory as a brand of a bovine. I could not keep track of the card game and sift through these petrified recollections either; my world went dark, only lit by the movie screen that played the only existing print of our lives. The drugs flew to the screen with a gusto that was amiss the zombified carnal pleasures we entrusted each other to guard with a zeal that rose beyond life and into death itself. The tortured memories of those terrible words, cracking lips meeting as lost lovers in the midst of a gap that could not be healed, only repaired to the slightest degree. Words of hate, anger, and sorrow were an impossible avarice by each party to salvage our sanity from the clutches of the sadomasochist beliefs we had immersed our lives within. Our beliefs and studies went to sadistic rituals and unbridled sexual appetites; life became torment between the meetings of mind and flesh.
   It was to be my last reoccurring memory that night (one that had left me incapacitated, accosted by my own regrets. I relived the fantasy that my mind had masqueraded the depraved side affects of our curiosity.

I haven't ended it yet, but if enough people are iterested, I will post it later (when I write it).

[Ash]

I am sorry but this composition uses too many overblown big words and is very vague even though that is not what you were going for.  The use of such large words within complex sentences is exactly what makes it so indistinct.
Having a rather large vocabulary doesn't always translate into good writing and that is precisely what has happened here.  
I was not even half way through when my face wrinkled up and I started thinking, "What kind of drivel is this & what the hell is he getting at!?"  
About every other sentence while reading it I simply thought, "What!!?"
I found it difficult to get through it all even though I understood every single word and it wasn't very long.

I understood that it was a card game but once that was established, your prose trails off into abstract, disjointed fantasy and non-developed characters that I did not care about in the least.  Someone could've entered their room and sprayed them all with a Tommy gun & I wouldn't have given a s**t.  I actually would've been glad.
If I worked at a publishing company and was assigned to read all of the slush piles that were thrown upon my desk, this one would go straight into the trash bin without hesitation and you would promptly receive a rejection letter.
If I were your teacher in a writing class, you would get an F.  
I do give you credit for having a big vocabulary but like I said before, knowing lots of large words can hurt you...as it did here.  Sure my words about this are harsh, but not as harsh as yours were as they entered my head.  I almost considered going to my medicine cabinet to get out the Tylenol.

I do imagine that as you were writing this, you thought that what you were putting down was pure genius.  

I'm afraid not.

Even though you might not think so, in my honest opinion this is BAD writing plain & simple.  
You wanted our criticism and you've got mine.  I'm sorry if you find my opinion offensive but that is truly the way I feel.  What you've written stinks.  I even read it a second time, though it pained me to do so and it only served to reaffirm my opinion.
I've written several short stories and have read an enormous amount of books (hell, I even have my own book review website) and this ranks up there as some of the worst writing I have ever read.  Believe me, I know what its like to have someone tell you what you've written totally stinks so please don't get your panties in a bunch and get all angry at me for saying so.  
I do not proclaim to be a genius at writing...but it doesn't take a genius to see that your prose is atrocious.  You do have a somewhat decent idea...although I was hard pressed to figure out what it was...you need to change many things.
Please DO NOT put the rest of the story on here if you write it....I won't read it.  Not unless you make DRASTIC changes in your writing style.

Read Stephen King's "On Writing".  That is without a doubt the best book about the craft that I can recommend.  Sure, you & lots of people may dislike his work...but you cannot deny that the man IS a genius when it comes to writing.  One doesn't become as prolific as he has without knowing his s**t!

As for your writing, I quote King's basic premise, "If you're a bad writer, no one can help you become a good one, or even a competent one.  If you're good and want to be great....Fuhgeddaboudit!!" (page 138 in "On Writing")

To me, what you wrote sounds like horrible coffehouse poetry-like gobbledygook.

(and Brother R....if you read what he wrote and actually liked it, remind me to smack you upside your head the next time I see you!  Ya smarmy bastard! Hehe!)



Post Edited (11-20-03 05:35)

[Velvet Brotha]

Ok, I know how difficult it is to get your ideas down on paper and sometimes, those ideas may be misunderstood. In this case, I was lost as well... It was a little difficult to follow because I kept wanting to look up just about every word in a dictionary. My suggestion would be to try simplifying your story and develop the characters a little more. Remember, when writing a story line, it is important to draw your reader in within the first minute or so.  If you fail to do so, you may lose them forever.  

Unfortunately we now live in a society plagued by an overload of information. It is because of this that advertisers and other creative individuals struggle to compete for everyone's attention.  Attention spans are much shorter than what they use to be.... ugh! I fell for you... : ) Hope this helps...

- Mario Salcido

[FearlessFreep]

I am sorry but this composition uses too many overblown big words and is very vague even though that is not what you were going for.

I got the feeling after the first two sentances that I was reading a detective-noir story that had been jumped and beaten mercilessly by a thesauraus

[Brother Ragnarok]

I must agree it's a little too verbose.  Cut down on the fancy language and try to make your ideas clear.  Once that's done, you can always go back through it and change words if you want to.
A specific correction, in the third paragraph, either the word "fabricates" should be "fabric," or the sentence needs to be reworded to fit the context.

Brother R

[Haze]

Actually no, plain and simple I did this because I had to, I don't give a damn whether it sounds good and frankly, I don't have a freaking clue what the Hell I was even talking about.

I actually came down harder on myself than you did, even on things I take my time to write. I have never actually liked anything I write, but instead use it to be liberating.

Oh, and the big words? Why not use them? I don't write for luxery and the fact that people have a hard time reading it has always been a problem that I take it to concern on projects that I care about. This would be an exception since I don't give a damn about what this monstrocity of creation actually means.

Because I know exactly what it means- nothing.
Thanks for your comments.

[Haze]

Do remember that this is a short story, the attention emphasized was to be vague and fractured so that the story would do nothing more than leave you wondering. Whether people like this or not, I wanted to do so because of the essential point of why I wrote it:

1. I had to

2. If I have to, I am not going to do my best because I don't care about what the Hell I am doing.

[Haze]

I got the feeling after the first two sentances that I was reading a detective-noir story that had been jumped and beaten mercilessly by a thesauraus

That sounds about how this one was made.

[Haze]

I just looked at that, thanks for the correction.

[Haze]

I have read these comments, and agree with most of them. I usually do not write like this (I have been comdemned to work s**t jobs like this) and I had put this up specifically for hearing your reactions, when I explore a new approach to writing (in this case, using abstract thought) I want it tested, and I think I have my answer to my question.

However, I do not accept this as my final piece, regardless of how I feel about the piece myself, I will not turn in something that is crap. So I thank you for talking me out of turning this in.

Another However, I have do have to produce something, I have been on writing hiatus for a long time now and I hoped that I could just duplicate my usual technique and that monstrocity proves my problems.

I have written another since this though, and I have used your comments to craft something that I hope will avoid bombastic language and have a cohesive idea.

So, if you guys are willing to give me another chance, I hope that you will allow me to post another.

Trust me, this one is not THAT bad.

[Velvet Brotha]

Perhaps I gave you the wrong idea as to what kind of "constructive" criticizm I was offering. I didn't mean to trash your idea. If you felt that way, then I apologize. I don't believe in trashing anybody's idea because everyone has the right to explore different venues of creativity. That being said, your story was meerely hard to follow because of the big words. This doesn't mean that you should dumb it down to the point of "spoon feeding." Just keep it smooth and tantalizing. Best of luck on your future endeavours . I am interested in seeing what else you wrote.

[JohnL]

>the attention emphasized was to be vague and fractured

That doesn't necessarily mean that the reader should have a hard time following or understanding the individual sentences. The first time I read;

>few stills that had burned themselves into my memory as a brand of a bovine.

I thought "A brand of cow? Is that like a brand of dish soap?"

I've never written anything of any importance, but I have read quite a bit and if that was the beginning of a short story in a book I'd bought, I would have skipped to the next story by the end of the first paragraph.