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So, this is just a small excerpt from what I've been writing for a bit. If you wish to criticize it, do so constructively, please. That means not just saying, "Oh, this sucks," and instead explaining why it sucks.
The old man, who I later learned was named Alistair, was waiting for me right where I last saw him. He was sitting underneath the same small tree, eyes closed, breathing softly. I didn’t know if he stayed there all night or if he got there much earlier than I, but either way, the fact he was there let me know he was serious about helping me. He seemed to be meditating, his face relaxed, an almost serene look about him. As I approached, the calm look dissolved, and he opened his eyes to glare at me.
“I told you to be here at 8,” he growled.
I checked my watch, but before I could look back up, he was in standing in front of me.
Damn, he’s fast.
“Before you give me some idiotic excuse,” he said, his voice annoyed, “I need you to know that, from now on, when I give you an order, you follow it.”
When I tried to answer, he interrupted me. “Starting today, you will heed my every word. My word is now law for you, and any disobedience will not be tolerated. If you backtalk me, or try to be a smartass, I will hit you.”
When he said that, he raised his hand up and snapped off a low hanging branch. He twirled it around in his hands, studying it for a second before nodding. I assumed this was going to be what he’d hit me with.
I assumed correctly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The training was terrible. Every morning, I got up at 8 and spent all day with the old bastard, all the way until 8 at night. Imagine that training montage in the first Rocky movie, except multiply it by 10, and add some ancient decrepit buzzard that would do nothing but berate you and shout at how you’re not doing it exactly how he showed you. Every time I screwed up, he’d hit on the back of my shoulders with that branch. When the branch broke, he snapped off another one. When that one eventually broke, he’d get another one, and so on.
It wasn’t even until the second month that he finally decided to show me how to properly control an undead. It started with small animals, usually squirrels or birds. The first day of the actual necromancy training, he came in with a bag of dead critters, presumably he killed them near his house. It was a bit unnerving on the first day to see him toss the bag on the ground, letting a pile of rotting animal corpses fall out. I was already familiar with how to do this, but he showed me how to control more than one at a time. He taught me how to concentrate, letting my own will take over the lifeless husks, commanding them like puppets. Before, all I’d be able to do was just get the animal to stand up, never anything more. Needless to say, the smell was horrid, almost making me vomit a few times. He said I’d eventually get used to the smell.
Of course, after some time, he upgraded me to bigger animals, like beavers and small foxes. If you’re wondering, yes, one time, he did bring in a dead dog. He assured me it was dead when he found it, but I couldn’t even concentrate enough to get it stand. That was the only time he brought in a house pet. I wanted to believe it was because he was being somewhat kind to me, but even now I think it was because he was annoyed at my inability to focus.
Every day, my body would feel worse, even more sore and tired. Every few weeks, he’s let me take a day or two off in order to, as he called it, reflect on what I learned. Again, I wanted to think he was being nice, but that’s just a stupid thought. On those days off, I spent them in my room, usually sleeping the whole day away. A few times, I’d have enough energy to walk around town and pick up some food, not that I needed to do so. The Hunters provided all the food the recruits needed back at the base, but I still got some things to snack on whenever I wasn’t with Alistair.
Over the months, he seemed to yell at me less often, and I caught him smiling every now and then whenever I did something right. It made me feel like maybe I wasn’t a complete screw-up, and it also kind of made me happy a bit to see this crotchety old man show me some hint of kindness and, dare I say it, compassion. The Hunters the character refers to are the group of mages who protect regular humans from other mages who try to kill humans(I finally decided to go with murder instead of subjugating them).
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I made some changes and recommendations for you. Plot-wise, this seems like a good idea !
The old man, who I later learned was named Alistair, was waiting for me right where I had last seen (use the pluperfect in this case) him. He was sitting underneath the same small tree, eyes closed, breathing softly. I didn’t know whether he had stayed there all night or if he had gotten there much earlier than I -- but either way, the fact he was there let me know he was serious about helping me. He seemed to be meditating, his face relaxed, an almost serene look about him. As I approached, the calm look dissolved, and he opened his eyes to glare at me.
“I told you to be here at eight,” he growled.
I checked my watch, but before I could look back up, he was in standing in front of me.
Damn, he’s fast.
“Before you give me some idiotic excuse,” he said, his voice annoyed, “I need you to know that from now on, when I give you an order, you follow it.”
When I tried to answer, he interrupted me. “Starting today, you will heed my every word. My word is now law for you, and any disobedience will not be tolerated. If you backtalk me, or try to be a smartass, I will hit you.”
When he said that, he raised his hand up and snapped off a low hanging branch. He twirled it around in his hands, studying it for a second before nodding. I assumed this was going to be what he’d hit me with.
I assumed correctly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The training was terrible (perhaps 'grueling' more than terrible, which makes it sound like it was of v. low quality). Every morning, I got up at eight (time is more often written out in full in literature, though that's just a recommendation) and spent all day with the old bastard, all the way until eight at night. Imagine that training montage in the first Rocky movie, except multiply it by ten, and add some ancient decrepit buzzard that would do nothing but berate you and shout about how you’re not doing it exactly how he had showed you. Every time I screwed up, he’d hit me on the back of my shoulders with that branch. When the branch broke, he snapped off another one. When that one eventually broke, he’d get another one, and so on.
It wasn’t even until the second month that he finally decided to show me how to properly control an undead (I'm assuming here an 'undead' is a noun ?). It started with small animals, usually squirrels or birds. The first day of the actual necromancy training, he (you may want to specify the subject) came in with a bag of dead critters, presumably he killed them near his house. It was a bit unnerving on the first day to see him toss the bag on the ground, letting a pile of rotting animal corpses fall out. I was already familiar with how to do this, but he showed me how to control more than one at a time. He taught me how to concentrate, letting my own will take over the lifeless husks, commanding them like puppets. Before, all I’d be able to do was just get the animal to stand up, never anything more. Needless to say, the smell was horrid, almost making me vomit a few times. He said I’d eventually get used to the smell.
Of course, after some time, he upgraded me to bigger animals, like beavers and small foxes. If you’re wondering, yes, one time, he did bring in a dead dog. He assured me it was dead when he found it, but I couldn’t even concentrate enough to get it stand. That was the only time he brought in a house pet. I wanted to believe it was because he was being somewhat kind to me, but even now I think it was because he was annoyed at my inability to focus.
Every day, my body would feel worse; even more sore and tired. Every few weeks, he’d (Ideally, here, and elsewhere, you would use "he would", but that's just stylistic so do what you feel is best) let me take a day or two off in order to, as he called it, reflect on what I had learned. Again, I wanted to think he was being nice, but that was just a stupid thought. On Those days off, I spent them in my room (To avoid you having to repeat the subject twice in such a short space of time), usually sleeping the whole day away. A few times, I’d have enough energy to walk around town and pick up some food -- not that I needed to do so. The Hunters provided all the food the recruits needed back at the base, but I still got some things to snack on whenever I wasn’t with Alistair.
Over the months, he seemed to yell at me less often, and I caught him smiling every now and then whenever I did something right. It made me feel like maybe I wasn’t a complete screw-up, and it also kind of made me happy a bit to see this crotchety old man show me some hint of kindness and, dare I say it, compassion.
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Thanks. To be honest, I tend to ignore grammar mistakes when I write, which is probably not the best way to go about it. Your corrections make me realize I made similar mistakes on previous pages. Thanks for the feedback, it was very helpful. Peer reviewing is much more helpful than school made it out to be, probably because the people doing the reviews didn't care about it. All in all, thanks SERIOUSLY.
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Wow, this is pretty awesome, if you have any more writing I'd love to read it, also I agree with Seriously Though's critiques. Again though, I would love to read more of your writing. Also do you plan on publishing this?
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The text is really good. The plot at least. With the excepcion of a few grammar mistakes (that SERIOUSLY THOUGH gladly corrected) it's very good.
But, what's the text for? For a book? A short text for a contest?
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03-31-2013, 06:19 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-31-2013, 06:23 AM by Ouberry_13.)
(03-30-2013, 10:38 PM)ThePlainGamer Wrote: Wow, this is pretty awesome, if you have any more writing I'd love to read it, also I agree with Seriously Though's critiques. Again though, I would love to read more of your writing. Also do you plan on publishing this?
I may post more, but only after fixing any of the obvious mistakes or after finishing writing a few more pages. As for publishing it, I'm not sure.
(03-31-2013, 05:04 AM)BomberJ Wrote: The text is really good. The plot at least. With the excepcion of a few grammar mistakes (that SERIOUSLY THOUGH gladly corrected) it's very good.
But, what's the text for? For a book? A short text for a contest?
It's for a book I'm trying to write. I tried to write one last year, but some of the plot ideas got a bit too complicated, and I couldn't figure out how to fix it, so I started over. This one has a new plot, characters, takes place in a different time period, etc. It's nice to hear there are some people interested in this, though.
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I'll definitely keep a close eye on the progress of this - looks promising !
A close eye.
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
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(03-31-2013, 08:20 AM)SERIOUSLY THOUGH Wrote: I'll definitely keep a close eye on the progress of this - looks promising !
A close eye.
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Well, I was going to say something, but that face...it's too beautiful to say a smartass comeback to.
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Ok, so here's the intro to the jackass mages of the story. Now, I'm not sure if the group name works, so tell me what you think. If you can think of a more fitting name for them, I'd be glad to hear it.
I sat down at the bar and ordered a
beer. Looking around, I saw some of the cliché bar-goers; the bikers, the
loners, the old men, the chain smoking pool players. It was a bit too early for
any of the regulars just getting off of work, so the place was kind of empty,
not that I didn’t mind. I usually drank with just my roommates anyway, so I
generally didn’t like crowded bars.
I sighed and looked up at the rinky
dink television mounted on the wall, which showed a football game going on. I
never really enjoyed the sport, but since my roommates watched it, I was used
to hearing the generic announcer talk.
Looks like player x fumbled. He’s
clearly not in his A-game.
Oh, and it looked like they almost
had it for a second.
Not something I
really cared for.
Just when one of the teams was about
to score, the screen blacked out for a second, only to be replaced with a
solitary man standing in what looked like to be warehouse. He was fairly
average looking with a plain face and short, brown hair. The only thing he was
wearing was a black robe and an odd, eerie smile. He slowly walked towards the
camera and his smile grew even more, until it looked like his lips would crack
and fall off.
The bartender reached up and was
about to change the channel, but then the odd man on the screen spoke.
“Good evening, pathetic human filth.”
His voice was soft and calmly, belying his words.
“My name is Vincent, and I am the
leader of the Wraiths. Perhaps you’ve heard of us. If not, then let this be
your proper introduction.”
The bartender scoffed and changed
the channel, only to find this Vincent guy on the next channel.
“For those uninformed,” he said, “we
are the ones who have been gutting you like pigs. You see, we view humans as
inferior, and we decided we’ve had enough of letting you run the show.”
Suddenly, the whole bar grew dead
silent, as everyone was leaning in to listen to the rant of this insane man.
Vincent narrowed his eyes and looked
off screen, yelling, “Bring her in!”
At his words, two guys in similar
black robes came into view, holding a frail woman between them, shoving her
face first in front of Vincent. Her hands and legs were tied, preventing her
escape, and her clothes were ripped and torn in numerous places. She was gagged
with some cloth, and her skin was ashen and sweaty. I didn’t want to think of
what they had done to her.
Vincent grabbed the woman by the
hair and lifted her to her feet, his smile turning into a scowl, and his calm
voice changing into one filled with hatred and disgust. “This, ladies and
gentlemen, is Senator Hale. The fine Senator here spoke bad about us about a
week ago, and we didn’t really like that.” He smirked then and snapped his
fingers, and one of the others pulled a piece of paper from their robe, handing
it to him. He held the paper to the woman and spoke again in his calm voice, “Would
you like to tell them, or can I?”
She whimpered and tried to move away
from him, prompting one of the two others to smack her across the face, sending
her to her knees. She cried out and tears began to fall down her cheeks.
“Me?” Vincent mocked. “Well, Miss
Senator, I’m honored I can read it for you.” He cleared his throat. “‘It is in
my opinion that these people are not to be protected under the law. Their very
existence is a crime upon God’s good earth. That is why I’m signing this bill,
to hopefully ensure the protection of American citizens. These beings are not
human, and they do not follow the law of the land, so we must either kill or be
killed in this situation. My only hope is that this bill becomes law, so that
our children, and our children’s children, will be able to live in peace, free
from these devils.’” Vincent smiled wide then and spoke in that hate-filled
voice, “Oh, Senator Hale, I do so love when people call us devils. It makes me
feel…powerful.” He laughed at his own words and then snapped his fingers again.
This time, a young woman was brought
into view, only she was unharmed. She was wearing the same robes as the others,
and was glaring at the senator, who was still whimpering and shivering on the
ground.
“This young lady here,” Vincent calmly
said, “is Miss Hale’s own daughter, Chloe.” He grabbed the senator by her hair
and wrenched her face upwards, forcing eye contact between mother and daughter.
“You see, Chloe here is like us. She’s different. She’s…a devil.” He laughed
again before continuing. “Miss Hale here found out her daughter’s ability to
control magic when Chloe was only four years old. And for the past thirteen
years, she has verbally and physically abused her own daughter, who had no idea
how to properly control her power in order to fight back.
“But, we taught her the control she
needed, and now, we’re going to allow young Chloe here to, as some might say,
make her mother taste her own medicine.” Chloe, with the same glare, reached
her hand out to her mother, placing it on her forehead. Her mother, tears now
streaming down, was trying to beg her to stop, but through the gag only
whimpers could be heard. Chloe closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and when she
opened her eyes, a stream of fire came from her hand, directly onto her mother,
covering the poor woman head to toe in flames. Despite the gag, her screams of
agony could clearly be heard, and she was kicked off screen by the two towering
men.
“We are the next step in human
evolution,” Vincent spoke, his eyes devoid of any emotion. “Either you stay
down, or you die. Any resistance shall be crushed. Nothing you throw at us can
stop us.” He breathed deeply, and then exhaled slowly before speaking again. “And
as for the so-called Hunters, stay out of our way. We’re making the world a
better place for our kind, so you’d be smart to let us. If any Hunter is caught
protecting the human garbage, they will be killed on the spot.”
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Spoiler
