#1
This is a couple of paragrpahs (the first ones, seoc horror) of something I'm writing that I thought i'd put up to see what people though. see if i'm going in the right direction

Obviously will critique people's pieces back (I hope I have been anyway! )

The dog was named Seoc.


‘Jock!’ I shouted out. My girlfriend Lauren and I were riding in the car on the way back from New Galloway, puppy in the back seat, trying to think of a name for it. Her lips pursed, her eyebrows fell and I knew her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth before she laughed ‘No, don’t be stupid’. I looked at her pointedly and said ‘I was being jocular’. She didn’t laugh, but she did give a slightly condescending smirk, so I was grateful. This drive really had been going on too long: I don’t think her tether could stretch all the way to New Galloway and back again and any respite from the steely, silent anger was welcomed. The metaphorical red mist was literally suffocating me. Well, not literally, but close enough.

9 hours we’d been driving; whilst New Galloway was only around 150 miles from Perth. If the idiot women they’d bought the dog from had told us she’d changed the deal or, rather, that her twat of a husband had, we wouldn’t have had to drive back half the way we came looking for a damn cash machine. Trust her to live out in the middle of nowhere, stupid cow. Her children sounded ****ing retarded as well. I remarked as much to Lauren. She agreed and we both cathartically and explicitly examined their future career options. In the end, cackling, we both agreed that they’d end up as colliers because they thought they’d get to play with dogs. Later I remembered the littlest child wailing as we took the golden creature away and I felt guilty about this cruel, anarchic outburst.

In the end we named the dog Seoc, apparently any link to heritage would do. That said I was also quite fond of it because of the strange shock of white hair that carved a canyon through the beasts back from hind haunch to head. We checked with a friend to make sure it was pronounced 'shawk'. It was. We’d laughed (well, I’d laughed) at the idea of calling him Jock, but upon arriving back at our home we’d were so drained we decided that simply slapping a Gaelic translation on top would do fine. You see, we both suffered from what we’d taken to calling the Scottish malaise:

Scot-tish ma-laise
N
1. A condition that causes one to yearn for a culture that has been thrust all around one, but never successfully pinned to the donkey in question.
2. A condition whereby the sufferer reports several symptoms of ‘Scottishness’ and exaggerates said symptoms. Apparently so as to ingratiate one’s self with the local tourist board.


She had it worse than me, but we both still had an alarming propensity for casually reading up on Gaelic or reading poems in Scots (what is Scots anyway?). We laughed at the American tourists who came to buy turf and wear kilts whilst we frantically constructed a different, subtler, identity from the tourist board;s cast-offs. The quirks of history that weren’t quite quirky enough to make it into the tour. The traits that, as a nation, we’d managed to lay claim to. What other nation hoards traits? Dour? Oh yes, we’re all dour here. Everyone! Have you met Callum? Dourest guy I know. Have you met Stacy? Oh what a lass, what a fine, bonnie wee lass. It's despicable.
On vacation from modding = don't pm me with your pish
Last edited by meh! at Aug 25, 2008,
#3
Don't feel obligated, I only crit things i like reading (I say this to everyone... :/ ) (and my crit of yours was hardly meteoric in proportions )
On vacation from modding = don't pm me with your pish
Last edited by meh! at Aug 25, 2008,
#4
Quote by meh!
This is a couple of paragrpahs (the first ones, seoc horror) of something I'm writing that I thought i'd put up to see what people though. see if i'm going in the right direction

Obviously will critique people's pieces back (I hope I have been anyway! )

The dog was named Seoc.


‘Jock!’ I shouted out. My girlfriend Lauren and I were riding in the car on the way back from New Galloway, puppy in the back seat, trying to think of a name for it. Her lips pursed, her eyebrows fell and I knew her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth before she laughed ‘No, don’t be stupid’. I looked at her pointedly and said ‘I was being jocular’. She didn’t laugh, but she did give a slightly condescending smirk, so I was grateful. This drive really had been going on too long: I don’t think her tether could stretch all the way to New Galloway and back again and any respite from the steely, silent anger was welcomed. The metaphorical red mist was literally suffocating me. Well, not literally, but close enough.

To me... this highlighted part made no sense whatsoever. What tether? So far, you haven't established any moods... hers or yours.... thus the angry thing sort of comes out of no where and leaves me thinking "WTF?" Up until "I was grateful" was very good though. Not award winning, but decent story telling with a nice PoV.

9 hours we’d been driving; whilst New Galloway was only around 150 miles from Perth. If the idiot women they’d bought the dog from had told us she’d changed the deal or, rather, that her twat of a husband had, we wouldn’t have had to drive back half the way we came looking for a damn cash machine. Trust her to live out in the middle of nowhere, stupid cow. Her children sounded ****ing retarded as well. I remarked as much to Lauren. She agreed and we both cathartically and explicitly examined their future career options. In the end, cackling, we both agreed that they’d end up as colliers because they thought they’d get to play with dogs. Later I remembered the littlest child wailing as we took the golden creature away and I felt guilty about this cruel, anarchic outburst.

Meh to this. To be honest, it seemed overdone. The first half was too angry, it tainted my view of the narrator... it sounded like you were just being pissy to be pissy and frankly made me like the "idiot" more than the narrator, I lost my trust in the narrator's character through this. Then, we get to the end... and the last phrase of the last sentence... and I thought, "who fucking cares?" You took the kids dog away, of course he's going to cry. And the change in moods from angry to remorseful was unsettling. This was just a bitter taste in my mouth.

In the end we named the dog Seoc, apparently any link to heritage would do. That said I was also quite fond of it because of the strange shock of white hair that carved a canyon through the beasts back from hind haunch to head. We checked with a friend to make sure it was pronounced 'shawk'. It was. We’d laughed (well, I’d laughed) at the idea of calling him Jock, but upon arriving back at our home we’d were so drained we decided that simply slapping a Gaelic translation on top would do fine. You see, we both suffered from what we’d taken to calling the Scottish malaise:

Yeah, you could drop stanza/pargraph two and this would be better. Lose the anger and make it a story of hope and happy and a quirky couple. By this point, I'm already so disencahnted with the narrator that i hate your story, but if you lose para.2 I'm down with it.

Scot-tish ma-laise
N
1. A condition that causes one to yearn for a culture that has been thrust all around one, but never successfully pinned to the donkey in question.
2. A condition whereby the sufferer reports several symptoms of ‘Scottishness’ and exaggerates said symptoms. Apparently so as to ingratiate one’s self with the local tourist board.


She had it worse than me, but we both still had an alarming propensity for casually reading up on Gaelic or reading poems in Scots (what is Scots anyway?). We laughed at the American tourists who came to buy turf and wear kilts whilst we frantically constructed a different, subtler, identity from the tourist board's cast-offs. The quirks of history that weren’t quite quirky enough to make it into the tour. The traits that, as a nation, we’d managed to lay claim to. What other nation hoards traits? Dour? Oh yes, we’re all dour here. Everyone! Have you met Callum? Dourest guy I know. Have you met Stacy? Oh what a lass, what a fine, bonnie wee lass. It's despicable.

Wonderful way to wind this down. If the narrator was this quirky all the way through, I'd have volunteered to have your children.


Just my thoughts take them or leave them.

-zC
#5
First off: Thanks

Right, I see what you mean about the anger now that I read with your comments, it does feel shunted in. Have you heard the phrase 'He was at the end of his tether?" either thta was to esoteric or I just put it in cack-handedly but that was what the tether part was supposed to be about, that was kind of the introduction of her anger.

'Meh to this. To be honest, it seemed overdone. The first half was too angry, it tainted my view of the narrator... it sounded like you were just being pissy to be pissy and frankly made me like the "idiot" more than the narrator, I lost my trust in the narrator's character through this. Then, we get to the end... and the last phrase of the last sentence... and I thought, "who ****ing cares?" You took the kids dog away, of course he's going to cry. And the change in moods from angry to remorseful was unsettling. This was just a bitter taste in my mouth.'

Yeah, I thought some of the swearing might have been going too far. Do you think it would be improved by toning down the anger, introducing it better in the 1st paragraph and taking out that sentence at the end about remove and building a later pargraph out of that?

Yeah, you could drop stanza/pargraph two and this would be better. Lose the anger and make it a story of hope and happy and a quirky couple. By this point, I'm already so disencahnted with the narrator that i hate your story, but if you lose para.2 I'm down with it.

Ok.

Wonderful way to wind this down. If the narrator was this quirky all the way through, I'd have volunteered to have your children.

And lol, right, at least the humour came off

Thank you very much!
On vacation from modding = don't pm me with your pish