#1
Decided to take Zachs advice and write prose.

It was a breezy night out. I've always thought about the effect that the wind has on my mind. It's comforting, but in a layered kind of way. I guess when it's still, your body forms this mold in it, that your swimming in a tasteless, lifeless smog. When it's blowing, it keeps you on your toes. It breaks the notion of a foundation, and disconnects you from your surroundings. At least it does for me.

Sitting in the truckbed, I stared blankly at my notepad, which had become a symbol of my public wierdness (shame I couldn't write anything), just thinking about the kind of person I was, and who I wanted to be. I thought about the fellas still inside the rink, talking about how they do things, and how they've done; thought about the four guys standing outside their cars, talking, passing a puck across the less-than-forgiving asphalt. You could smell the fumes from one of their trucks. It didn't smell bad, but it threw you from your rut. The kind of rut you get when you never leave home, and the air is always the same, and the carpet is always just so. It bothered me, which goes to show you how deeply entrenched in that rut I am.

I didn't feel to bad, though. I was comfortable right where I was, in this truckbed, with my back against a bag of hockey gear, waiting for a stranger to take me home at 1 in the morning. I wasn't in a panic, nor was I nervous. I knew exactly where my hands and arms needed to be (they tense up when I'm not in control). I felt fine.

I didn't make the team, if you were wondering. Never tried out, though I wanted to. Instead, I donned the title of "coaches assistant", or "stick bitch", a term thrown around behind my back. I'm a coward, really. I should go over there and mingle with everybody else. But to converse means, at some point in time, you have to take hold of the reins, and everybody is waiting to see where you take them. You don't want to go somewhere they hate. And they WILL hate, it's in their character. They'll hate for real, they'll hate for fun, they'll hate to carve their name in the tree like everybody else, to take their place in the shade. Or maybe not. Maybe they're twitching under their skin. Maybe they'll wish to retract what they said. I hope they do, because I don't want to be the only one. You know they don't though.

They laughed and said goodbye, and my driver started to walk towards the truck, thoroughly happy with what he had accomplished. I got up and slid into the passenger seat, making a concious effort to get as loose as possible. Even if I'm not comfortable, I want to look like I am. It's bad enough that I kept away from the others. I wonder if he sees that.

I wish I was more decisive. I wish I was more comfortable with myself. I wish I wasn't so damn quiet when I spoke. I wish I could go up to them and say "Hi, I believe in Jesus Christ" (I'd never mock someone like that, but I'd sure as hell follow the guy who did). I wish the little men in my head wouldn't drop so many packages, that maybe I could trust them. But I can't. And at this rate, that's never gonna change.
Last edited by Ninjamonkey767 at Oct 5, 2008,
#2
Speechless.

EDIT: Now that I can speak, I like the imagery.

This ending line leaves me with a sense of sadness, and wonder, almost...

"I wish the little men in my head wouldn't drop so many packages, that maybe I could trust them. But I can't. And at this rate, that's never gonna change."
ok, yeah. my name is silly because I signed up when I was 13.

BEDBUGS
Last edited by ratmblink123 at Oct 5, 2008,
#3
It was a breezy night out. I've always thought about always is the wrong word for me. I does kind of work but the immediate idea is that you always think about it, which isn't what you're trying to say. the effect that the wind has on my mind. It's comforting, but in a layered kind of way. layered? I guess when it's still, your body forms this mold in it, that your swimming in a tasteless, lifeless smog. the first comma isn't needed and 'in it' is kind of open to either meaning inside your body (what I assume you mean) or inside the 'it' from earlier in the sentence ie the 'layered comfort'.. And then the 'that' doesn't relate to anything else and doesn't work in the sentence. I'd suggest 'I guess when it's still your body forms this mold inside, like you're swimming in tasteless, lifeless smog.' as a revision. Or something like that. When it's blowing, it keeps you on your toes. It breaks the notion of a foundation, ncn and disconnects you from your surroundings. At least it does for me.

Sitting in the truckbed, I stared blankly at my notepad, ncn which had become a symbol of my public wierdness (shame I couldn't write anything), just thinking about the kind of person I was, and who I wanted to be. This sentence goes awry. You should put a full stop after the end of the brackets and then consider looking again at the next sentence. It doesn't really make sense, even inside the first sentence (which is just over-complex) I thought about the fellas still inside the rink, talking about how they do things, and how they've done I don't think this sentence works either. ; thought about the four guys standing outside their cars, talking, passing a puck across the less-than-forgiving asphalt. You could smell the fumes from one of their trucks. It didn't smell bad, but it threw you from your rut. The kind of rut you get when you never leave home, and the air is always the same, and the carpet is always just so. It bothered me, which goes to show you how deeply entrenched in that rut I am.

I didn't feel to bad, though. I was comfortable right where I was, in this truckbed, with my back against a bag of hockey gear, ncn waiting for a stranger to take me home at 1 in the morning. I wasn't in a panic, nor was I nervous. I knew exactly where my hands and arms needed to be (they tense up when I'm not in control). I felt fine.

I didn't make the team, if you were wonderingthis conversational feel only seems to pop through very occasionaly, kind of disconcertingly . Never tried out, though I wanted to. Instead, I donned the title of "coaches assistant", or "stick bitch", a term thrown around behind my back. I'm a coward, really. I should go over there and mingle with everybody else. but should be joining the sentences together, there But to converse means, at some point in time, you have to take hold of the reins, and everybody is waiting to see where you take themthis makes it sounds as if taking the reins is simply referring to some reins, and not to the fact that reins are in control of something (that's what you're taking over), if you see what I mean . You don't want to go somewhere they hate. And they WILL hate, it's in their character. the fullstop before and is a bit too much. Also, try itallics instead of capitalising They'll hate for real, they'll hate for fun, they'll hate to carve their name in the tree like everybody else, to take their place in the shade. semi-colons are generally use for listing 'large' items like that. Or maybe not. Maybe they're twitching under their skin. Maybe they'll wish to retract what they said. I hope they do, because I don't want to be the only one. You know they don't though.

They laughed and said goodbye, and my driver started to walk towards the truck, thoroughly happy with what he had accomplished. I got up and slid into the passenger seat, making a concious effort to get as loose as possible. Even if I'm not comfortable, I want to look like I am. It's bad enough that I kept away from the others. I wonder if he sees that.

I wish I was more decisive. I wish I was more comfortable with myself. I wish I wasn't so damn quiet when I spoke. I wish I could go up to them and say "Hi, I believe in Jesus Christ" (I'd never mock someone like that, but I'd sure as hell follow the guy who did). I wish the little men in my head wouldn't drop so many packages, that maybe I could trust them. But I can't. And at this rate, that's never gonna change.
__________________


It's an enjoyable to read and you convey the characters state of mind really well but you should look up commas and just check that some of your sentences don't get out of hand. Also, go through and look at the tenses. There's a little slip with them that takes away from the impact of the present tense at the start and end.

Anyway, aside from that it was good at presenting the mental state but you could have gone into more sense-data. I don't think we really learn anything, sensually, except what you see and, maybe, how your arms feel later on (go into more detail about that?) and maybe if you count the breeze at the start (I don't). If we can see and hear and feel what the character is experiencing, then it helps to bring us into the story.
On vacation from modding = don't pm me with your pish
#4
Thank you both for the crit.

Meh: I posted this at 2am last night, so I wasn't in prime editting mode. The main reason I'm posting this is to see how I could prersent the story, because that was my weak point before. Everything you said was right, but it's not as much of a focus as the character himself.
#5
I'm going to give a full critique, which means the positives may be addressed at the end, but not before. Nothing is meant to be offensive. The ideas here are solid, but you need to get tuned into prose mode. There are many little things in here which detached me from the read, much like they would/should were it verse.

It was a breezy night out. I've always thought about the effect that the wind has on my mind. It's comforting, but in a layered kind of way. I guess when it's still, your body forms this mold in it, that your swimming in a tasteless, lifeless smog. When it's blowing, it keeps you on your toes. It breaks the notion of a foundation, and disconnects you from your surroundings. At least it does for me.

Omit the out from the first sentence, it is superfluous. The second sentence sounds completely off, I would change the wording and, possibly, combine it with the first sentence to support the brief and somewhat weak opening image. Third sentence made no sense since you didn't elaborate, the whole sentence adds nothing to the story. The sudden change to second person also bugged me - it begins appearing a lot throughout the piece, I would work on that.


Sitting in the truckbed *truck bed separate would sound better, I stared blankly at my notepad, which had become a symbol of my public wierdness *weirdness (shame I couldn't write anything), just thinking about the kind of person I was, and who I wanted to be. I thought about the fellas *go with 'guys' this sounds as if you're trying too hard still inside the rink, talking about how they do things, and how they've done done... them?; thought about the four guys standing outside their cars, talking, passing a puck across the less-than-forgiving *get rid of hyphens asphalt. You could smell the fumes from one of their trucks. It didn't smell bad, but it threw you from your rut. The kind of rut you get when you never leave home, and the air is always the same, and the carpet is always just so. It bothered me, which goes to show you how deeply entrenched in that rut I am.

Aside from a few grammatical errors this was good. The second person started becoming all too prominent here, try to keep it in first/third for the most part (in this story, not as a general rule).

I didn't feel to bad, though. I was comfortable right where I was, in this truckbed *, with my back against a bag of hockey gear, waiting for a stranger to take me home at 1 *spell out 'one' in the morning. I wasn't in a panic, nor was I nervous. I knew exactly where my hands and arms needed to be (they tense up when I'm not in control). I felt fine.

I didn't make the team, if you were wondering *blah, get rid of 'if you were wondering'. Never tried out, though I wanted to. Instead, I donned the title of "coaches *Coach's assistant", or "stick bitch", a term thrown around behind my back. I'm a coward, really. I should go over there and mingle with everybody else. But to converse means, at some point in time, you have to take hold of the reins, and everybody is waiting to see where you take them. You don't want to go somewhere they hate. And they WILL hate, it's in their character. They'll hate for real, they'll hate for fun, they'll hate to carve their name in the tree like everybody else, to take their place in the shade. Or maybe not. Maybe they're twitching under their skin. Maybe they'll wish to retract what they said. I hope they do, because I don't want to be the only one. You know they don't though.

I know I said I wouldn't mention it yet, but I did enjoy this stanza. Once again though, the second person teetered on the edge of ruining it.

They laughed and said goodbye, and my driver started to walk towards the truck, thoroughly happy with what he had accomplished. I got up and slid into the passenger seat, making a concious *conscious effort to get as loose as possible. Even if I'm not comfortable, I want to look like I am. It's bad enough that I kept away from the others. I wonder if he sees that.

I wish I was more decisive. I wish I was more comfortable with myself. I wish I wasn't so damn quiet when I spoke. I wish I could go up to them and say "Hi, I believe in Jesus Christ" (I'd never mock someone like that, but I'd sure as hell follow the guy who did). I wish the little men in my head wouldn't drop so many packages, that maybe I could trust them. But I can't. And at this rate, that's never gonna change.

As far as plots go, this was a good story. The problem with this is that you're trying to develop the wrong voice; you're focusing on your voice as the narrator, when you should be looking at the character's voice. This is where all of the 'you's and 'your's came from. A great deal of this felt like you were talking directly at me, the reader, which was an unpleasant thing to deal with. I'm not saying you should go and create a bunch of dialogue, but instead of expressing your thoughts as if conversing with someone, express them as if thinking to yourself. Let the reader into your minds eye and show us what you see.
On the eight day we spoke back...

let there be sound.