Hey! It looks like you're new here. You might want to check out the introduction.
Halfway through this, I thought I had my main criticism: A lack of focus, wandering idly from the problems of releasing Catra to tension between Bow and Glimmer to Bow-Perfuma shipping.
I was completely wrong.
In fact, what stands out about this story is how focused it actually is. Once you see the theme and the emotional tenor, every fits together.
There's nothing superfluous here. We don't need to know the exact nature of Bow and Glimmer's argument, or Bow and Perfuma's relationship. The story is wise enough to know that, and confident enough not to waste time on such matters.
Nor do we need to know what Adora will choose. She's stuck because she has no good choices. And it's that note of melancholy that stops this piece from being saccharine. She will get to talk to Catra again, without all the scrabbling for power and ego that has ruined their relationship since she changed sides. That's not much. But it will have to be enough.
This story is the good-tempered fantasy denouement that S4 didn't give us. It's about healing, reconciliation, the mutual support that comes from community. It's about that theme we see over and over again in She Ra: The difficulty of finding yourself opposed to someone you care about.
I was completely wrong.
In fact, what stands out about this story is how focused it actually is. Once you see the theme and the emotional tenor, every fits together.
There's nothing superfluous here. We don't need to know the exact nature of Bow and Glimmer's argument, or Bow and Perfuma's relationship. The story is wise enough to know that, and confident enough not to waste time on such matters.
Nor do we need to know what Adora will choose. She's stuck because she has no good choices. And it's that note of melancholy that stops this piece from being saccharine. She will get to talk to Catra again, without all the scrabbling for power and ego that has ruined their relationship since she changed sides. That's not much. But it will have to be enough.
This story is the good-tempered fantasy denouement that S4 didn't give us. It's about healing, reconciliation, the mutual support that comes from community. It's about that theme we see over and over again in She Ra: The difficulty of finding yourself opposed to someone you care about.
This is a difficult one to review. It hits all the beats that the (rather limited) traditional idea of story structure says it should, so it's sufficient. But that's just the problem: It doesn't really go beyond sufficient.
One of the things fanfiction can do very well is dig deeper into the source material, tease out implications that aren't investigated, show us what isn't there but could be. The emotional core of this story is Shadow Weaver's favouritism towards Adora, and the effect that has on Catra. And there's the problem: It doesn't dig deeper. It just revisits what the show has already given us. I could already see what was going before the fight, because I'd already walked down this route before.
A couple of other issues:
The fight with the guardian starts very abruptly. Not just in the middle of a paragraph, but in the middle of a sentence: “just as something smashed the ground right where she had landed.” It's jarring, and deflates any sense of tension or urgency.
The delivery is incredibly blunt at times. We're only four sentences in when the whole theme is unceremoniously dumped on our heads: “She needed to impress Shadow Weaver to prove to her that she was just as good as Adora.” And at the end, we get another, similar faux pas in Catra's dialogue. Or, rather, three in quick succession: “I just wanted her to acknowledge me,” “I just wanted her to accept me,” “All I've ever wanted was her approval!” When your characters explain your theme, it's like a comedian explaining the joke. It removes pretty much any emotional impact.
The prose is often quite awkward. We get “The blonde girl” referring to Adora, and even “The human girl” referring to Lonnie. The sentence structure is repetitive. In Octavia's confrontation with Catra, we keep getting the form, “‘Dialogue,’ character said, verbing.” A lot of time, it felt like the verbing was unnecessary and could've been cut without the scene losing anything.
One of the things fanfiction can do very well is dig deeper into the source material, tease out implications that aren't investigated, show us what isn't there but could be. The emotional core of this story is Shadow Weaver's favouritism towards Adora, and the effect that has on Catra. And there's the problem: It doesn't dig deeper. It just revisits what the show has already given us. I could already see what was going before the fight, because I'd already walked down this route before.
A couple of other issues:
The fight with the guardian starts very abruptly. Not just in the middle of a paragraph, but in the middle of a sentence: “just as something smashed the ground right where she had landed.” It's jarring, and deflates any sense of tension or urgency.
The delivery is incredibly blunt at times. We're only four sentences in when the whole theme is unceremoniously dumped on our heads: “She needed to impress Shadow Weaver to prove to her that she was just as good as Adora.” And at the end, we get another, similar faux pas in Catra's dialogue. Or, rather, three in quick succession: “I just wanted her to acknowledge me,” “I just wanted her to accept me,” “All I've ever wanted was her approval!” When your characters explain your theme, it's like a comedian explaining the joke. It removes pretty much any emotional impact.
The prose is often quite awkward. We get “The blonde girl” referring to Adora, and even “The human girl” referring to Lonnie. The sentence structure is repetitive. In Octavia's confrontation with Catra, we keep getting the form, “‘Dialogue,’ character said, verbing.” A lot of time, it felt like the verbing was unnecessary and could've been cut without the scene losing anything.
Welcome to the WriteOff!
(I hope you are new, otherwise I'm going to look very silly come reveal-time.)
First of all, that author's note. I know it's common practice in some fanfic circles, but we don't do that here. It's a let-the-story-speak-for-itself sort of deal. So if Adora's had her eyes scratched out, the story should be telling me that, not the author's note. And personally, I think you should never apologise for what you've written (unless it's actually hurt someone).
Now, beyond that, I think there are three areas you can focus on for improvement. The first is prose.
Take this for example: “The flying unicorn said, spreading his beautiful multicolored wings.”
It's quite common in fanfic circles to refer to characters by their descriptions like this. The flying unicorn, the Princess of Power, the blonde etc. But you very rarely see it in professional writing. And so those of us who like to think we're good writers tend to avoid it and use names instead: Swift Wing said. Try it. It'll make your writing look a lot cleaner and less amateurish.
As for the second part “his beautiful multicoloured wings.” I think in this case, you'd be better off just writing “his wings.” Similarly, elsewhere you write “rolling his magenta eyes”. Instead, try “rolling his eyes”. We already know what he looks like, so there's no need to squeeze description here. Don't get me wrong. There is a place for description, but it's not here.
The second area is perspective.
In your first paragraph you bounce back and forth between Adora's perspective and Swift Wind's. Generally, it's better to pick one character's perspective and stick with it, describing things from their point of view. This limits what you can say: If you choose Adora, you wouldn't want to be describing things visually, for example.
Again, this is a matter of convention rather than a hard rule, and there are other ways of doing it, even in the professional sphere, but limiting you perspective to one character is usually easiest.
The third area is focus.
You've got a clear premise here – what is Catra blinded Adora? – but your story doesn't really reflect that. The bulk of it consists of Swift Wind running about in battle while Adora is just hanging out in bed. I'd suggest you decide what you want to do with your premise and focus on that. Do you want to give us the emotional fallout of a blind Adora? Then best skip over the battle. Do you want to show us how the battle goes without Adora? Then focus on that – (and consider if you really want Adora to be blinded, since it's not really necessary to take her out of the picture.)
I think those three areas should be your priorities. If it's a bit overwhelming, try working on each of them in turn.
(I hope you are new, otherwise I'm going to look very silly come reveal-time.)
First of all, that author's note. I know it's common practice in some fanfic circles, but we don't do that here. It's a let-the-story-speak-for-itself sort of deal. So if Adora's had her eyes scratched out, the story should be telling me that, not the author's note. And personally, I think you should never apologise for what you've written (unless it's actually hurt someone).
Now, beyond that, I think there are three areas you can focus on for improvement. The first is prose.
Take this for example: “The flying unicorn said, spreading his beautiful multicolored wings.”
It's quite common in fanfic circles to refer to characters by their descriptions like this. The flying unicorn, the Princess of Power, the blonde etc. But you very rarely see it in professional writing. And so those of us who like to think we're good writers tend to avoid it and use names instead: Swift Wing said. Try it. It'll make your writing look a lot cleaner and less amateurish.
As for the second part “his beautiful multicoloured wings.” I think in this case, you'd be better off just writing “his wings.” Similarly, elsewhere you write “rolling his magenta eyes”. Instead, try “rolling his eyes”. We already know what he looks like, so there's no need to squeeze description here. Don't get me wrong. There is a place for description, but it's not here.
The second area is perspective.
In your first paragraph you bounce back and forth between Adora's perspective and Swift Wind's. Generally, it's better to pick one character's perspective and stick with it, describing things from their point of view. This limits what you can say: If you choose Adora, you wouldn't want to be describing things visually, for example.
Again, this is a matter of convention rather than a hard rule, and there are other ways of doing it, even in the professional sphere, but limiting you perspective to one character is usually easiest.
The third area is focus.
You've got a clear premise here – what is Catra blinded Adora? – but your story doesn't really reflect that. The bulk of it consists of Swift Wind running about in battle while Adora is just hanging out in bed. I'd suggest you decide what you want to do with your premise and focus on that. Do you want to give us the emotional fallout of a blind Adora? Then best skip over the battle. Do you want to show us how the battle goes without Adora? Then focus on that – (and consider if you really want Adora to be blinded, since it's not really necessary to take her out of the picture.)
I think those three areas should be your priorities. If it's a bit overwhelming, try working on each of them in turn.
>>scifipony
I know I shouldn't jump on this bandwagon at so late a stage, but ... screw it.
No. Submitting a story and not reviewing might be selfish, but it is not patronising.
I don't generally like to lean on pedantry, but I would have thought a professional writer and alumnus of Clarion such as yourself would pay more attention to the meaning of words.
To be patronising is to give something with a presumption of superiority. You can tell it apart from generosity because the giver doesn't care about what the recipient wants; they assume the gift must be valuable, that they deserve respect, and that the recipient is a fool for not appreciating it.
So when you make a feeble attempt to win some imaginary pissing contest by bragging about being a professional writer, going to Clarion, and making people vomit, yes, you are being patronising. When you release your own vomit of vapid advicelets like "Never attack the critic.", yes, you are being patronising.
Now, on a level of basic principle, I don't think there's anything wrong with the content of your original review. I mean, I wouldn't have the same problem, but that's a matter of personal taste. In fact, I think Posh's criticism of it is mistaken.
But that's no longer the main issue here. The issue here is with your personal conduct, which we all seem to agree is piss-poor. (Most decent people wouldn't consider making others break into tears and throw up something to brag about.)
Now, to be fair, you've said a couple of times that Raisin is free to ignore your criticism, and that your point about faith was from one person's perspective only. So it seems that behind all the pomposity you are capable of humility.
See, writing is not the only area where people give feedback. Every area of social interaction gives you feedback. You're getting some right now.
What does it say? I'd summarise it as: Learn that your perspective is not the only one. Learn to interact with your fellow human beings with some basic civility.
And I think it would behoove you to listen to it.
I know I shouldn't jump on this bandwagon at so late a stage, but ... screw it.
Patronizing would have been for me to enter this event but to not have critiqued every other entry.
No. Submitting a story and not reviewing might be selfish, but it is not patronising.
I don't generally like to lean on pedantry, but I would have thought a professional writer and alumnus of Clarion such as yourself would pay more attention to the meaning of words.
To be patronising is to give something with a presumption of superiority. You can tell it apart from generosity because the giver doesn't care about what the recipient wants; they assume the gift must be valuable, that they deserve respect, and that the recipient is a fool for not appreciating it.
So when you make a feeble attempt to win some imaginary pissing contest by bragging about being a professional writer, going to Clarion, and making people vomit, yes, you are being patronising. When you release your own vomit of vapid advicelets like "Never attack the critic.", yes, you are being patronising.
Now, on a level of basic principle, I don't think there's anything wrong with the content of your original review. I mean, I wouldn't have the same problem, but that's a matter of personal taste. In fact, I think Posh's criticism of it is mistaken.
But that's no longer the main issue here. The issue here is with your personal conduct, which we all seem to agree is piss-poor. (Most decent people wouldn't consider making others break into tears and throw up something to brag about.)
Now, to be fair, you've said a couple of times that Raisin is free to ignore your criticism, and that your point about faith was from one person's perspective only. So it seems that behind all the pomposity you are capable of humility.
See, writing is not the only area where people give feedback. Every area of social interaction gives you feedback. You're getting some right now.
What does it say? I'd summarise it as: Learn that your perspective is not the only one. Learn to interact with your fellow human beings with some basic civility.
And I think it would behoove you to listen to it.
I want to love this, but I'm not sure I can. I'm intensely ambivalent about it.
The good: This story is saturated with a melancholic maturity, a sense of largely decent people doing their best in ugly, messy circumstances. It's right up my alley. It's ambitious but effective: Behind all the adventure! and drama, She-Ra does have a tragic sense of life.
And to go along with that, you're teasing out some of the darker implications the show glosses over: The costs of war, borne largely by all those faceless soldiers.
But as impressive as all that is, it doesn't quite land. Why? Characterisation.
There's no trace here of Scorpia's bubbling brio. She's gloomy and pensive the entire way through. When we get free indirect, it's stuff like “Proms were stupid, anyway. They deserved to get blown up.” For dialogue, we get “The longer we keep this up, the more chance someone’s going to find those bombs” – a grimly practical complaint. The Scorpia we know was largely occupied with the shrimp. On top of that, at the end we get an unusually self-aware Catra at the end.
Now, I'm not saying you can't have a glum, grumpy Scorpia. Indeed, the reason we're all in love with her now is because Season 2 gives her some worries. But you need to justify it. You need to account for the phenomena. In other words, to show how this fits in with the chirpy Scorpia we've seen in the show. (Is she hiding her worries? Is it all a coping mechanism? Etc.)
A couple of other thoughts:
There's an odd lacuna before the final scene. Some drama at games night? I don't recall that happening in the show. If it didn't, and you're just skipping over a key dramatic scene … that's an unusual choice, but not a bad one. I thought it worth flagging, anyway.
The prose here is generally pretty good, and I have a thing for rich descriptions, but sometimes it could use a polish. In your first paragraph, between “dreary hum” and “carefully-ventilated corridors”, almost every noun has a modifier. It makes the prose seem plodding rather than rich. On the other hand, “She was not jealous of Adora./She was so jealous of Adora.” is a great turnaround.
In short, a strong story, but not such a strong fanfic.
The good: This story is saturated with a melancholic maturity, a sense of largely decent people doing their best in ugly, messy circumstances. It's right up my alley. It's ambitious but effective: Behind all the adventure! and drama, She-Ra does have a tragic sense of life.
And to go along with that, you're teasing out some of the darker implications the show glosses over: The costs of war, borne largely by all those faceless soldiers.
But as impressive as all that is, it doesn't quite land. Why? Characterisation.
There's no trace here of Scorpia's bubbling brio. She's gloomy and pensive the entire way through. When we get free indirect, it's stuff like “Proms were stupid, anyway. They deserved to get blown up.” For dialogue, we get “The longer we keep this up, the more chance someone’s going to find those bombs” – a grimly practical complaint. The Scorpia we know was largely occupied with the shrimp. On top of that, at the end we get an unusually self-aware Catra at the end.
Now, I'm not saying you can't have a glum, grumpy Scorpia. Indeed, the reason we're all in love with her now is because Season 2 gives her some worries. But you need to justify it. You need to account for the phenomena. In other words, to show how this fits in with the chirpy Scorpia we've seen in the show. (Is she hiding her worries? Is it all a coping mechanism? Etc.)
A couple of other thoughts:
There's an odd lacuna before the final scene. Some drama at games night? I don't recall that happening in the show. If it didn't, and you're just skipping over a key dramatic scene … that's an unusual choice, but not a bad one. I thought it worth flagging, anyway.
The prose here is generally pretty good, and I have a thing for rich descriptions, but sometimes it could use a polish. In your first paragraph, between “dreary hum” and “carefully-ventilated corridors”, almost every noun has a modifier. It makes the prose seem plodding rather than rich. On the other hand, “She was not jealous of Adora./She was so jealous of Adora.” is a great turnaround.
In short, a strong story, but not such a strong fanfic.
The star attraction here is the characterisation. The voicing here is pure Scorpia. And on the level of structure, this hits that note of overwhelming, optimistic, and slightly oblivious glee, followed by the moments of self-doubt we see in Season 2. I wish I could write character this well.
The emotional structure is simple but sharply drawn. Scorpia is great for making something feel light and fluffy, and this is where we start. The foreknowledge of Season 2's end remains a subtle tension. From there, things get darker and more difficult. The final entry is filled with pathos. We end with Scorpia's optimism too – but how much it has changed. We see her determination, her thoughtfulness, her the nerves of steel that lie beneath the blithe demeanour. And what a wonderful contrast that is. The latter is why we love her; the former is why we respect her.
If I have a gripe – and I'm not sure if I really do – it's with the lack of originality. Everything we see of Scorpia here, well-rendered as it is, is nothing that the show hasn't already given to us. Every entry apart the final one tells us about things we've seen firsthand.
But is this a problem? Is fanfic obliged to add something original? I'm not sure it is. It certainly didn't hurt my enjoyment of this story (which is odd, because I tend to penalise stories for lacking originality). What this story offers is a perspective, an (admittedly not new) way of looking at canonical events. I won't penalise it as such, but if another story does impress me with an original take, that's probably going to get a higher rank.
The emotional structure is simple but sharply drawn. Scorpia is great for making something feel light and fluffy, and this is where we start. The foreknowledge of Season 2's end remains a subtle tension. From there, things get darker and more difficult. The final entry is filled with pathos. We end with Scorpia's optimism too – but how much it has changed. We see her determination, her thoughtfulness, her the nerves of steel that lie beneath the blithe demeanour. And what a wonderful contrast that is. The latter is why we love her; the former is why we respect her.
If I have a gripe – and I'm not sure if I really do – it's with the lack of originality. Everything we see of Scorpia here, well-rendered as it is, is nothing that the show hasn't already given to us. Every entry apart the final one tells us about things we've seen firsthand.
But is this a problem? Is fanfic obliged to add something original? I'm not sure it is. It certainly didn't hurt my enjoyment of this story (which is odd, because I tend to penalise stories for lacking originality). What this story offers is a perspective, an (admittedly not new) way of looking at canonical events. I won't penalise it as such, but if another story does impress me with an original take, that's probably going to get a higher rank.
The impression I'm getting from Catra here is whatever-age comic-books. (I don't really know my comics too well.) The super dramatic close up in this context is delightfully silly. As is Entrapta's shocked hair. And, holy hell, Scorpia is shorter than Entrapta!
This is hella adorable. Especially Catra's expression, which communicates so much serenity. It's not the sort of picture which invites interpretation, so I won't do that.
I suspect you already know this, but the biggest weakness here is anatomy. And two people cuddling does make for some hellishly complex anatomy, so to be fair, bravo for having the ambition to attempt it.
I suspect you already know this, but the biggest weakness here is anatomy. And two people cuddling does make for some hellishly complex anatomy, so to be fair, bravo for having the ambition to attempt it.
Raisin is right again. The broken glass makes this. As well it should: Like the story, we see the counterpoint of innocence and bitter experience. And like the original story, this is an epistolary picture, a one-sided trace, something that uses what we already know to tell a story is what we don't see.
Also: Cats!
Also: In joke!
Also: Cats!
Also: In joke!
This has a good chance of hitting the top of my slate. And I'm not just saying that because bias.
The composition here is excellent. let's face it, silhouettes are always gonna be sexy. But this goes further than that. The impressively detailed, 2000AD-ish Fright Zone in the is the background. Except not quite. Your normal background in an environment for the foreground elements. But here, the Fright Zone is constrained by a window. Entrapta and Catra overflow it; they are, in a sense, beyond it. (Compare that to the title ... )
But they are not the only silhouettes. The gritty industrial-gothic of the Fright Zone is itself a quasi-silhouette against the bloated sun. The ultimate backdrop, behind the industry, is the greatest force of nature. But, like the characters, the building also overflows its frame. Layers within layers.
Criticisms?
I'll follow Raisin is saying that the coloured edge of the characters doesn't really work. For one think, it looks like they haven't got eyes or mouths, which is just a tad creepy. Their profiles also look pretty inhuman, which doesn't help.
One more thing: There's an asymmetry here. We see Entrapta's hair between then, but not Catra's tail. That's not a criticism, and I won't try and interpret it. It's just something interesting that stands out to me.
The composition here is excellent. let's face it, silhouettes are always gonna be sexy. But this goes further than that. The impressively detailed, 2000AD-ish Fright Zone in the is the background. Except not quite. Your normal background in an environment for the foreground elements. But here, the Fright Zone is constrained by a window. Entrapta and Catra overflow it; they are, in a sense, beyond it. (Compare that to the title ... )
But they are not the only silhouettes. The gritty industrial-gothic of the Fright Zone is itself a quasi-silhouette against the bloated sun. The ultimate backdrop, behind the industry, is the greatest force of nature. But, like the characters, the building also overflows its frame. Layers within layers.
Criticisms?
I'll follow Raisin is saying that the coloured edge of the characters doesn't really work. For one think, it looks like they haven't got eyes or mouths, which is just a tad creepy. Their profiles also look pretty inhuman, which doesn't help.
One more thing: There's an asymmetry here. We see Entrapta's hair between then, but not Catra's tail. That's not a criticism, and I won't try and interpret it. It's just something interesting that stands out to me.
Overly-long last minute review activate!
It's always a risk to make a story out of a single character contemplating their life. At least part of that, I think, is because narrative works best on multiple levels, weaving them together, playing the physical, the metaphorical, the conceptual, and the emotional off against each other. If you've only got the one level, the medium doesn't really work.
Fortunately, this story clears that first hurdle. For one level, we've got Entrapta going about her business and studying robots. For the other, we've got a deep dive into Entrapta's character (squee!).
But the point of having two or more layers is to have them interact. And here … they don't really do that. At least, not enough. The emotional journey here is mostly bunched up at the end, which make sit hard to weave it into robot-watching strand because they don't really share much space. The result is that a lot of stuff seems to come out of nowhere. For example, Entrapta suddenly lurches into melancholy near the end. Why? She just does. It's arbitrary.
Okay, now, you could say that she does so because she sees the scrap robots looking after each other, which makes her think of her own friends, which leads to the sudden realisation that they're not with her. The problem is that the story doesn't draw this connection. In an introspective fic, this is exactly the sort of place where you could follow her thought processes. And on top of that you've got three paragraphs between these two events filled with other stuff, which weakens the link even further.
From there, a couple more things pop up. First of, she decides she's okay again. Again, this just happens. Second, near the end, we learn that Entrapta's motivation is …. helping people. This really comes out of left field. The big issue is that we've seen none of that in the show. By all appearances, show-Entrapta is motivated by a childlike, amoral curiosity, a need to understand and control. She's shown as largely indifferent and ignorant of the effects her actions have on others.
This doesn't mean that you can't add a moral dimension to her character – one of the goals of fanfic is to expand upon what we see in the show. But since it is a big change, it needs a lot justification. It needs groundwork. We need to see why it doesn't become apparent in the show. We need to see how it connects to the behaviours of the character we've seen. Once again, it's a matter of connections. And this story doesn't give us those connections, so this event, too, seems arbitrary.
That's it for structure, what about voice? There's both good and bad here. Let's start with the bad.
A lot of the time, the voice is often off. The most common problem is that it often feels like a third person voice with the pronouns changed. Entrapta has picked up a weird habit, it seems, of describing her facial expressions instead of displaying emotion. You get stuff like “I furrowed my brow in thought”, which doesn't seem Entrapta-ish at all. (Even in third person, this way of doing things can seem a little stilted when compared to free indirect.)
Now, I don't really blame you for this. That most imbecilic form of show-don't-tell, the idea that you should write facial expressions instead of emotions, has a lot to answer for. It's repeated by people who ought to know better far too often, so it's easy to fall under its spell. Right. Enough of S&S Soapbox Hour. Let's get back to the review.
I do want to flag this phrase here: “Like that time she’d programmed her computer to print out the results of an experiment.” This is difficult to parse. It seems like it's actually referring to Entrapta in the third person … was this fic written in third person and then converted? Because that would explain my earlier problem.
All that said, however, sometimes the voicing here is really good. Take, for instance “The modifications I had made to the plasma rifles had reduced kickback by twelve percent and the number of shoulder injuries had gone down to unprecedented levels!” That sentence is so Entrapta. More of this, please.
And how about this beauty? “Science was evolving and ever changing, too, but it was also honest … it would never stop, or abandon you.” This is even better. It expands on Entrapta's character is a way that's consistent with what we've seen. And notice what is does: It connects two things we've seen in the show: Entrapta's love of science, and her pain at her friends' apparent betrayal.
And what a serendipitous segue into final thoughts that is. Because the main takeaway here is connection. Tie things together. Unify things that look unrelated. Follow the roads of implication. That's your route to improving this story.
It's always a risk to make a story out of a single character contemplating their life. At least part of that, I think, is because narrative works best on multiple levels, weaving them together, playing the physical, the metaphorical, the conceptual, and the emotional off against each other. If you've only got the one level, the medium doesn't really work.
Fortunately, this story clears that first hurdle. For one level, we've got Entrapta going about her business and studying robots. For the other, we've got a deep dive into Entrapta's character (squee!).
But the point of having two or more layers is to have them interact. And here … they don't really do that. At least, not enough. The emotional journey here is mostly bunched up at the end, which make sit hard to weave it into robot-watching strand because they don't really share much space. The result is that a lot of stuff seems to come out of nowhere. For example, Entrapta suddenly lurches into melancholy near the end. Why? She just does. It's arbitrary.
Okay, now, you could say that she does so because she sees the scrap robots looking after each other, which makes her think of her own friends, which leads to the sudden realisation that they're not with her. The problem is that the story doesn't draw this connection. In an introspective fic, this is exactly the sort of place where you could follow her thought processes. And on top of that you've got three paragraphs between these two events filled with other stuff, which weakens the link even further.
From there, a couple more things pop up. First of, she decides she's okay again. Again, this just happens. Second, near the end, we learn that Entrapta's motivation is …. helping people. This really comes out of left field. The big issue is that we've seen none of that in the show. By all appearances, show-Entrapta is motivated by a childlike, amoral curiosity, a need to understand and control. She's shown as largely indifferent and ignorant of the effects her actions have on others.
This doesn't mean that you can't add a moral dimension to her character – one of the goals of fanfic is to expand upon what we see in the show. But since it is a big change, it needs a lot justification. It needs groundwork. We need to see why it doesn't become apparent in the show. We need to see how it connects to the behaviours of the character we've seen. Once again, it's a matter of connections. And this story doesn't give us those connections, so this event, too, seems arbitrary.
That's it for structure, what about voice? There's both good and bad here. Let's start with the bad.
A lot of the time, the voice is often off. The most common problem is that it often feels like a third person voice with the pronouns changed. Entrapta has picked up a weird habit, it seems, of describing her facial expressions instead of displaying emotion. You get stuff like “I furrowed my brow in thought”, which doesn't seem Entrapta-ish at all. (Even in third person, this way of doing things can seem a little stilted when compared to free indirect.)
Now, I don't really blame you for this. That most imbecilic form of show-don't-tell, the idea that you should write facial expressions instead of emotions, has a lot to answer for. It's repeated by people who ought to know better far too often, so it's easy to fall under its spell. Right. Enough of S&S Soapbox Hour. Let's get back to the review.
I do want to flag this phrase here: “Like that time she’d programmed her computer to print out the results of an experiment.” This is difficult to parse. It seems like it's actually referring to Entrapta in the third person … was this fic written in third person and then converted? Because that would explain my earlier problem.
All that said, however, sometimes the voicing here is really good. Take, for instance “The modifications I had made to the plasma rifles had reduced kickback by twelve percent and the number of shoulder injuries had gone down to unprecedented levels!” That sentence is so Entrapta. More of this, please.
And how about this beauty? “Science was evolving and ever changing, too, but it was also honest … it would never stop, or abandon you.” This is even better. It expands on Entrapta's character is a way that's consistent with what we've seen. And notice what is does: It connects two things we've seen in the show: Entrapta's love of science, and her pain at her friends' apparent betrayal.
And what a serendipitous segue into final thoughts that is. Because the main takeaway here is connection. Tie things together. Unify things that look unrelated. Follow the roads of implication. That's your route to improving this story.
Now there's a hell of a title. I went into this with more than a little trepidation, but it turned out to be unwarranted. Mostly. I mean, yeah, we have a a nigh-obsessive focus on bodily fluids, but it's all front-end stuff, so I'm not too put off.
So, once we've wiped away all the snot, what do we have here? A cute little hurt/comfort fic. The plot is simple enough: Catra gets sick. Catra continues to obsess over Adora. Scorpia looks after her by … acting the part of Adora to a feverish and hallucinating Catra, thereby allowing her to find her old tough-bitch self and get back on track.
I want to say I have two big problems with this. Except they're entangled enough that they could just be facets of a single problem. And I'm not really sure if they/it are/is actually problems.
Semi-problem one: There doesn't seem to much linking the events of this story together. Catra has some issues with Adora. That's fine – we can take it as given. And Catra gets sick. That's also fine as a way to kick things off, but the story tells us that she very rarely gets sick, which makes it seem like there's something else going on here. What? Is it linked somehow to Adora? I have no idea. And then Scorpia looks after her. That follows on in a causal sense, but it doesn't seem to have other significant connection to what's going on. And then at last Catra gets better, and everything fine again. Again, it follows – fevers usually retreat at some point – but that's about it. As a sequence of events, it's on a par with “I didn't have any milk so I went to the shop and bought some milk and then I came home and put the milk in the fridge.”
The second semi-problem is character. Why is this entangled with the above problem? Because one of the big ways to link events is by characterisation. Good characterisation informs how your characters are effected and the choices they make in response. It links up events in a way that's emotionally meaningful. Conversely, when its lacking, those choices start to feel arbitrary or trivial. So, what's the characterisation here? It's very thin on the ground. Scorpia is chirpy and really likes Catra. We already knew that. Catra has loads of baggage about being abandoned by Adora. We already knew that.
That said, there is one thing we do learn about Catra, an admission that she probably would only make in a fevered state: She feels guilty about leaving Adora behind on the cliff. Aha! This is good. It expands on what we saw in the show, and demonstrates the emotional relevance of those events to Catra. This is the focus of the story, and to a degree it counters my criticisms above. Everything leads to this revelation, and it gives the story coherence. But … it doesn't feel like enough. It's there and gone in a few lines, and that's it.
Am I being too harsh? This is only 2000 words, after all. I can't reasonably ask for a full dive into Catra's personality and relationship with Scorpia. And yet, I still fell unsatisfied. Perhaps I would feel more satisfied if less of the story had been spent on talking about snot and puke, and more on Catra's confession, or on how that guilt manifests earlier in her training the cadets (you could show this with her reaction to one cadet leaving anther hanging, like she did to Adora in the first episode).
And I suppose by this point I've talked myself into a somewhat coherent understanding of “Fuck Adora!”. I want more focus on the things that matter, and less focus on the things that don't.
So, once we've wiped away all the snot, what do we have here? A cute little hurt/comfort fic. The plot is simple enough: Catra gets sick. Catra continues to obsess over Adora. Scorpia looks after her by … acting the part of Adora to a feverish and hallucinating Catra, thereby allowing her to find her old tough-bitch self and get back on track.
I want to say I have two big problems with this. Except they're entangled enough that they could just be facets of a single problem. And I'm not really sure if they/it are/is actually problems.
Semi-problem one: There doesn't seem to much linking the events of this story together. Catra has some issues with Adora. That's fine – we can take it as given. And Catra gets sick. That's also fine as a way to kick things off, but the story tells us that she very rarely gets sick, which makes it seem like there's something else going on here. What? Is it linked somehow to Adora? I have no idea. And then Scorpia looks after her. That follows on in a causal sense, but it doesn't seem to have other significant connection to what's going on. And then at last Catra gets better, and everything fine again. Again, it follows – fevers usually retreat at some point – but that's about it. As a sequence of events, it's on a par with “I didn't have any milk so I went to the shop and bought some milk and then I came home and put the milk in the fridge.”
The second semi-problem is character. Why is this entangled with the above problem? Because one of the big ways to link events is by characterisation. Good characterisation informs how your characters are effected and the choices they make in response. It links up events in a way that's emotionally meaningful. Conversely, when its lacking, those choices start to feel arbitrary or trivial. So, what's the characterisation here? It's very thin on the ground. Scorpia is chirpy and really likes Catra. We already knew that. Catra has loads of baggage about being abandoned by Adora. We already knew that.
That said, there is one thing we do learn about Catra, an admission that she probably would only make in a fevered state: She feels guilty about leaving Adora behind on the cliff. Aha! This is good. It expands on what we saw in the show, and demonstrates the emotional relevance of those events to Catra. This is the focus of the story, and to a degree it counters my criticisms above. Everything leads to this revelation, and it gives the story coherence. But … it doesn't feel like enough. It's there and gone in a few lines, and that's it.
Am I being too harsh? This is only 2000 words, after all. I can't reasonably ask for a full dive into Catra's personality and relationship with Scorpia. And yet, I still fell unsatisfied. Perhaps I would feel more satisfied if less of the story had been spent on talking about snot and puke, and more on Catra's confession, or on how that guilt manifests earlier in her training the cadets (you could show this with her reaction to one cadet leaving anther hanging, like she did to Adora in the first episode).
And I suppose by this point I've talked myself into a somewhat coherent understanding of “Fuck Adora!”. I want more focus on the things that matter, and less focus on the things that don't.
The important part of a backstory is rarely the end. We already know how things are going to turn out. And to its credit, this story acknowledges that, there's no attempt at a shocking reveal or overwrought underlining of tragedy at the end. The final letter simply is, and, haunted by the title, trusts us fill what happens afterwards.
If not the end, the important part of a backstory seems to be the process. And how does the story fare on that front?
We start in innocence. For a character like Shadow Weaver, who edges out Hordak as most clichéd villain on She Ra, the contrast stands out. But otherwise, it looks like things are pretty thin on the ground. The tragic slide-into-evil form runs on character choice. We have to know the character well enough to understand their decision.
It's impossible not to bring up Catra here. Promise gives us the same contrast of innocence and bitter experience as Every Letter does. But it also gives us Catra pride, her hurt, her need to be ackowledged – and gives us a point where it's not obvious which way she'll turn. She chooses poorly. Here, on the other hand, Light Spinner progresses more or less directly from innocence to eminence to obsession to catastrophe. There's no real complexity there, and the progression ends up feeling shallow.
Except …
Except, I've missed something, haven't I? This isn't just an epistolary, this is a one-sided epistolary. The bulk of this story isn't the end or the process. It's in the structure and theme. It's not about Light Spinner. It's not really about Castaspella either. It's about Light Spinner as she is perceived by Castaspella, a subject irreducible to either of them alone. Loneliness haunts this story. Light Spinner has, as it were, chosen not to speak to us. She is aloof, distant. She communicates only by her actions, none of which seem responsive to anything but her own aims. Casta is in her orbit, begging for attention (literally, at one point.) And when at last Light Spinner flares out and sinks into darkness, we can imagine Casta left adrift.
All sorts of events mentioned in passing have significance. From stuff like Light Spinner's illness during the wedding to the identity of Ishara (a quick visit to Wikipedia confirmed my suspicions). And then there's the coins: Moon and … scorpion? Now there's an odd contrast. But it all fits. Every Letter is very much a story that lives in the stuff that isn't told. That's damned hard to do (I've failed at it myself), but it succeeds admirably. I'd say this has a good shot at first place.
If not the end, the important part of a backstory seems to be the process. And how does the story fare on that front?
We start in innocence. For a character like Shadow Weaver, who edges out Hordak as most clichéd villain on She Ra, the contrast stands out. But otherwise, it looks like things are pretty thin on the ground. The tragic slide-into-evil form runs on character choice. We have to know the character well enough to understand their decision.
It's impossible not to bring up Catra here. Promise gives us the same contrast of innocence and bitter experience as Every Letter does. But it also gives us Catra pride, her hurt, her need to be ackowledged – and gives us a point where it's not obvious which way she'll turn. She chooses poorly. Here, on the other hand, Light Spinner progresses more or less directly from innocence to eminence to obsession to catastrophe. There's no real complexity there, and the progression ends up feeling shallow.
Except …
Except, I've missed something, haven't I? This isn't just an epistolary, this is a one-sided epistolary. The bulk of this story isn't the end or the process. It's in the structure and theme. It's not about Light Spinner. It's not really about Castaspella either. It's about Light Spinner as she is perceived by Castaspella, a subject irreducible to either of them alone. Loneliness haunts this story. Light Spinner has, as it were, chosen not to speak to us. She is aloof, distant. She communicates only by her actions, none of which seem responsive to anything but her own aims. Casta is in her orbit, begging for attention (literally, at one point.) And when at last Light Spinner flares out and sinks into darkness, we can imagine Casta left adrift.
All sorts of events mentioned in passing have significance. From stuff like Light Spinner's illness during the wedding to the identity of Ishara (a quick visit to Wikipedia confirmed my suspicions). And then there's the coins: Moon and … scorpion? Now there's an odd contrast. But it all fits. Every Letter is very much a story that lives in the stuff that isn't told. That's damned hard to do (I've failed at it myself), but it succeeds admirably. I'd say this has a good shot at first place.
So, yes. I'm the culprit here. And a most-controversial medal for both rounds of voting? Ace.
>>Rao
Thank you! Once I had the title, I knew I had to lurch into completely different territory.
>>Hap
This is going down as one of my favourite comments about anything I've written.
Also, since my degree is in the sciences, I'm inordinately pleased I can successfully imitate the lit crowd.
Also this. This is a very astute observation. Misato is, if you'll forgive the lit-grad phrase, present in her absence. So it ifts nicely that only appears in the story when spoken of, or spoken to.
>>Monokeras
Thanks! What's the correct Sarte quote?
>>Haze
Thank you! I'm glad someone got the Skins ref.
I don't understand this. Where is the lie?
But I do like the fact that in a story where I quote Sarte, Borges and Milton, and throw around a couple of other literary references, it's the line from a popular teen drama that makes me pretentious. I'll gleefully accept that epithet.
>>Rao
Thank you! Once I had the title, I knew I had to lurch into completely different territory.
>>Hap
Profoundly uncomfortable and not even a little bit enjoyable. This is going to the top of my slate.
This is going down as one of my favourite comments about anything I've written.
Also, since my degree is in the sciences, I'm inordinately pleased I can successfully imitate the lit crowd.
And I think the choice of format is designed to reinforce that idea. It's only a basic framework, just like Misato. Only the perception of her mattered, and there is nothing in this story but the perception of her.
Also this. This is a very astute observation. Misato is, if you'll forgive the lit-grad phrase, present in her absence. So it ifts nicely that only appears in the story when spoken of, or spoken to.
>>Monokeras
Thanks! What's the correct Sarte quote?
>>Haze
Thank you! I'm glad someone got the Skins ref.
Here it's not so much of a twist but turns into a complete lie ...
I don't understand this. Where is the lie?
But I do like the fact that in a story where I quote Sarte, Borges and Milton, and throw around a couple of other literary references, it's the line from a popular teen drama that makes me pretentious. I'll gleefully accept that epithet.
When I read this, I realised I'd need a few days to organise my thoughts. Now it's been a few days, am I'm no closer to understanding how I reacted to this story. But something is better than nothing, so have some inchoate thoughts instead.
Suffice to say, I found it a slog to get through, it didn't arouse any emotions in me -- and right now I kind of want to put it at the top of my slate.
The technical skill on display here is undeniable. The structure is everything I can ask for. It's novel, but complete. Everything weaves together in a coherent whole. The theme of noble lies, gets its variations from the grand to the miniscule. Repetition is used as it should. The ending – a farce with a Chekhovian inversion – underlines it perfectly.
So why didn't I like it?
I have no idea.
Perhaps it's because the story claims wisdom – it seems in love with its own portentiousness – and yet seems to lack it. There are many offhand observations here, the sort of gently ironic jabs at human foibles that can work so well. And yet none of them do anything for me. In fact, most of them seem, if not cliches, then on the border of becoming so. The main thrust of the story, we all its utilitarian pulpit-thumping, certainly is. Then there's the feminist showing strength by socking a sexist.
Perhaps its because that for a story driven by questions of humanity, there's not much humanity on display. Most of it feels like it's told at a remove. I don't want to say unemotional prose is bad – used effectively, it can be incredibly heart-wrenching. Indeed, my favourite author writes like this pretty much all the time. But here, for whatever reason, it isn't effective. There are a couple of moments of genuine tenderness – Victor's telegram, and Helena's last moments with him.
But everything else feels like a grim slog through duties. That doesn't arouse much melancholy in me.
The end result: Most of the time, my reaction to events wasn't “this is sad”, but “oh look, the sotry is trying to make me feel sad”. And that's no fun at all.
What else can I say to a story that seems to be doing everything it should, but is failing at its most important task: Making my feel something? After some dithering between putting this at the top of my slate and the abstain box, I think I may have to opt for the latter.
Suffice to say, I found it a slog to get through, it didn't arouse any emotions in me -- and right now I kind of want to put it at the top of my slate.
The technical skill on display here is undeniable. The structure is everything I can ask for. It's novel, but complete. Everything weaves together in a coherent whole. The theme of noble lies, gets its variations from the grand to the miniscule. Repetition is used as it should. The ending – a farce with a Chekhovian inversion – underlines it perfectly.
So why didn't I like it?
I have no idea.
Perhaps it's because the story claims wisdom – it seems in love with its own portentiousness – and yet seems to lack it. There are many offhand observations here, the sort of gently ironic jabs at human foibles that can work so well. And yet none of them do anything for me. In fact, most of them seem, if not cliches, then on the border of becoming so. The main thrust of the story, we all its utilitarian pulpit-thumping, certainly is. Then there's the feminist showing strength by socking a sexist.
Perhaps its because that for a story driven by questions of humanity, there's not much humanity on display. Most of it feels like it's told at a remove. I don't want to say unemotional prose is bad – used effectively, it can be incredibly heart-wrenching. Indeed, my favourite author writes like this pretty much all the time. But here, for whatever reason, it isn't effective. There are a couple of moments of genuine tenderness – Victor's telegram, and Helena's last moments with him.
But everything else feels like a grim slog through duties. That doesn't arouse much melancholy in me.
The end result: Most of the time, my reaction to events wasn't “this is sad”, but “oh look, the sotry is trying to make me feel sad”. And that's no fun at all.
What else can I say to a story that seems to be doing everything it should, but is failing at its most important task: Making my feel something? After some dithering between putting this at the top of my slate and the abstain box, I think I may have to opt for the latter.
This came together nicely. I'm not troubled by the setting's consistency, or possible lack thereof. This announced itself as generic medieval land early on, and it's not a setting story, so that's all you really need.
The plot itself is simple but effective. We're led from thinking Hob is a self-serving egoist to seeing he does have some conception of honour. And it's complete -- it touches all the bases it needs to, which puts ahead of many plots I've seen so far.
However ... This is very much a character-driven story. Most of the drama turns on what the characters value and believe in, and the choices they make. As things stand, they seem rather threadbare. Ratimir and Dalibor especially -- they're father and son, and this is a crucial point, but we see almost nothing of their relationship. As things stand, their motivations are understandable but generic. Hob, too -- was he always honourable, or was he a liar who changed his mind at the end? If the latter, we should see what caused him to make that decision. By making them feel more like real people, your ending will have more power.
Beyond that, all I can suggest is polish to make things clearer. How old is Hob? Is his arm actually broken (he doesn't reach to being bashed with a pipe, but later it seems to have done some damage).
The plot itself is simple but effective. We're led from thinking Hob is a self-serving egoist to seeing he does have some conception of honour. And it's complete -- it touches all the bases it needs to, which puts ahead of many plots I've seen so far.
However ... This is very much a character-driven story. Most of the drama turns on what the characters value and believe in, and the choices they make. As things stand, they seem rather threadbare. Ratimir and Dalibor especially -- they're father and son, and this is a crucial point, but we see almost nothing of their relationship. As things stand, their motivations are understandable but generic. Hob, too -- was he always honourable, or was he a liar who changed his mind at the end? If the latter, we should see what caused him to make that decision. By making them feel more like real people, your ending will have more power.
Beyond that, all I can suggest is polish to make things clearer. How old is Hob? Is his arm actually broken (he doesn't reach to being bashed with a pipe, but later it seems to have done some damage).
This is excellent. Everything from prose to progression is solid. The misdirection of the first scene worked a charm. And I'm a sucker for this sense of sordid one-upsmanship that tramples empathy and corrupts friendships.
Conceptually, your treading some well-worn ground – overpopulation as a scifi theme was hackneyed decades ago – and the ay it's portrayed here doesn't strike me as terribly realistic. But you know what? That doesn't matter. Because you know it's just a backdrop, and it has a place. The real story is in the drama made possible by these conditions. (This is quite high-level stuff, and one of the biggest issues I find with writers here.)
My big issue is with the ending. After the subtle and creeping horror suffusing most of the story, the final line comes off as bombastic. You've gone from describing nastiness in a low-key tone to describing something comparatively banal in an overdramatic tone. It's almost as if the final line wants to be written bolded, underlined, with a chain of exclamation points at the end.
To look at it another way: By the time we're halfway through the story, the stakes are obvious. One life must be traded for another. That's fantastic and creepy. But you don't capitalise on it. Your tension flatlines. I was reading this in a state of tension, my mind conjuring up all manner of grotesqueries. Will we get a murder? Will they accidentally kill the baby by going underground to induce birth too soon? No. All that happens isa dude prays for something he was already hoping for and expecting.
But the plus side is that all you need to do to fix that ending is do what you were doing for the rest of the story. Keep your mettle and just keep turning the screw.
Conceptually, your treading some well-worn ground – overpopulation as a scifi theme was hackneyed decades ago – and the ay it's portrayed here doesn't strike me as terribly realistic. But you know what? That doesn't matter. Because you know it's just a backdrop, and it has a place. The real story is in the drama made possible by these conditions. (This is quite high-level stuff, and one of the biggest issues I find with writers here.)
My big issue is with the ending. After the subtle and creeping horror suffusing most of the story, the final line comes off as bombastic. You've gone from describing nastiness in a low-key tone to describing something comparatively banal in an overdramatic tone. It's almost as if the final line wants to be written bolded, underlined, with a chain of exclamation points at the end.
To look at it another way: By the time we're halfway through the story, the stakes are obvious. One life must be traded for another. That's fantastic and creepy. But you don't capitalise on it. Your tension flatlines. I was reading this in a state of tension, my mind conjuring up all manner of grotesqueries. Will we get a murder? Will they accidentally kill the baby by going underground to induce birth too soon? No. All that happens isa dude prays for something he was already hoping for and expecting.
But the plus side is that all you need to do to fix that ending is do what you were doing for the rest of the story. Keep your mettle and just keep turning the screw.
This is a paint-by-numbers space opera yarn. Honestly, I'm struggling to say much more because there's so little here.
The gross structure is serviceable. You have a problem and your character resolves that problem. But beyond that? Everything is a cliché, from generic space thugs and generic space marines through to the plot itself – captured smart guy turns the tables on his captors. The prose isn't excluded – “Red mist danced in front of his eyes.” Consequently, the setting and characterisation are notable only by their absence.
The plot could be tightened up a little. Your ending isn't foreshadowed very well, except for the pun value. If nothing else, you could lay out the details of the protag's plan in more detail. Other than that, my only advice would be try and use your own ideas instead of someone else's.
The gross structure is serviceable. You have a problem and your character resolves that problem. But beyond that? Everything is a cliché, from generic space thugs and generic space marines through to the plot itself – captured smart guy turns the tables on his captors. The prose isn't excluded – “Red mist danced in front of his eyes.” Consequently, the setting and characterisation are notable only by their absence.
The plot could be tightened up a little. Your ending isn't foreshadowed very well, except for the pun value. If nothing else, you could lay out the details of the protag's plan in more detail. Other than that, my only advice would be try and use your own ideas instead of someone else's.
What up, my writeoff droogs. And congratulations to horizon and Aragon!
So, a lot of you found this pretty opaque. I don't blame you, and I guess some explanations are in order:
The environment for this one is, in fact, not Jupiter, but a planet resembling Venus. That's why Rustmoss can fall to the ground. Just below the sulphuric haze layer, the pressure is about 10atm, and the temperature about 200 degrees. The ecology here is based on sulphuric acid -- which is why the characters drink vitriol and can be burnt by water.
As for the aliens themselves: Picture something between a starfish and an octopus.
>>Fenton
Why do I say swim rather than fly? This was a tricky choice. I didn't want to use fly, because that implies a dynamic lift -- you need to actively kick air downwards to fly. I didn't want to imply that. And since these creature are neutrally buoyand, and kick air backwards to move, "swim" seemed a more fitting verb.
And yeah, Drasil is a reference to Yggdrasil. But, honestly? It wasn't a clever reference or anything like that. I just needed a name, and I didn't want to cram in nonsense syllables.
>>AndrewRogue
Balls? I don't recall mentioning balls. Everything else, though, is pretty accurate.
>>Ranmilia
The trees float, and they are hollow.
Also, I'm guess for the capitalisation that GLaD is a reference to Portal, but I've never played it, so I can't really say much about that.
>>RB
>>Monokeras
>>CoffeeMinion
Not sure I have any specific comments for you guys -- but thank you for the support!
So, a lot of you found this pretty opaque. I don't blame you, and I guess some explanations are in order:
The environment for this one is, in fact, not Jupiter, but a planet resembling Venus. That's why Rustmoss can fall to the ground. Just below the sulphuric haze layer, the pressure is about 10atm, and the temperature about 200 degrees. The ecology here is based on sulphuric acid -- which is why the characters drink vitriol and can be burnt by water.
As for the aliens themselves: Picture something between a starfish and an octopus.
>>Fenton
Why do I say swim rather than fly? This was a tricky choice. I didn't want to use fly, because that implies a dynamic lift -- you need to actively kick air downwards to fly. I didn't want to imply that. And since these creature are neutrally buoyand, and kick air backwards to move, "swim" seemed a more fitting verb.
And yeah, Drasil is a reference to Yggdrasil. But, honestly? It wasn't a clever reference or anything like that. I just needed a name, and I didn't want to cram in nonsense syllables.
>>AndrewRogue
Near as I can make out, this takes place in the sky with floating trees or the like, and out aliens are balls with arms, eyespots, and multiple pincers on the arms.
Balls? I don't recall mentioning balls. Everything else, though, is pretty accurate.
>>Ranmilia
It reads like they're in caves, but they aren't on the ground so... floating islands, or what? What are these "worldtree" things, does this sort of drift happen often?
The trees float, and they are hollow.
Also, I'm guess for the capitalisation that GLaD is a reference to Portal, but I've never played it, so I can't really say much about that.
>>RB
>>Monokeras
>>CoffeeMinion
Not sure I have any specific comments for you guys -- but thank you for the support!
The problem with puzzle box stories hinges on the reader's ability to solve them. And, honestly? I can't solve this. I suspect the last part, between Unnr and Dagmar, holds a great deal of significance. Bit as to that significance, I'm entirely in the dark. And it's not pleasant.
Still, I liked the names here. Clever references in names, Gene Wolfe style, are always appealing. But the difference between that and the above is that the story needn't hinge on you getting the names. Solving the puzzle is an added bonus, rather than an essential requirement for understanding the story.
The other part of the plot, one that troubled Mono, is the shift into fantasy. I think that criticism is unfounded – in the beginning there's a clever ambiguity. Is there theurgy going on, or are we just getting an unreliable narrator? This is subtly and post and effectively answered, but isn't quite enough for me.
I'll echo the others' praise about atmosphere and style, with a similar reservation. What's fascinating to read isn't always fun. I places I found the story rather boring.
I'm of two minds. On the one hand, reading this felt a bit like talking to one of those people who can't let a single exchange pass without showing off their erudition. That's no pleasant. On the other hand, I do kind of admire the ambition. I'll have to think about where to place this.
Still, I liked the names here. Clever references in names, Gene Wolfe style, are always appealing. But the difference between that and the above is that the story needn't hinge on you getting the names. Solving the puzzle is an added bonus, rather than an essential requirement for understanding the story.
The other part of the plot, one that troubled Mono, is the shift into fantasy. I think that criticism is unfounded – in the beginning there's a clever ambiguity. Is there theurgy going on, or are we just getting an unreliable narrator? This is subtly and post and effectively answered, but isn't quite enough for me.
I'll echo the others' praise about atmosphere and style, with a similar reservation. What's fascinating to read isn't always fun. I places I found the story rather boring.
I'm of two minds. On the one hand, reading this felt a bit like talking to one of those people who can't let a single exchange pass without showing off their erudition. That's no pleasant. On the other hand, I do kind of admire the ambition. I'll have to think about where to place this.
Possibly a nitpick, but it's awkward to begin a story with the name of someone other than your viewpoint character.
The prose, too, is awkward in places: “But before them was a sight that gladdened Turven at first glance, then chilled his heart as he looked at it.” It's already evident that he's looking at it. And later: “As the column of vertebrae collapsed beneath them, he strained his arms and climbed through.” The column collapsing seems important enough to warrant more than a subordinate clause.
For your first half, you're doing pretty well in building the tension, though the prose could stand to be a bit more atmospheric. Then halfway through, it mutates into something else. That's fine, as a midway twist – the spooky noises are actually coming from something quite benign (except maybe this friendly voice isn't quite so friendly).
And it's effectively creepy idea. But it's let down in multiple ways.
First, the lack of atmosphere really starts to bite around this part. They're inside a magically-mutated skull. But as atmosphere goes, the conversation could've been conducted in my living room.
Then, the bulk of this section is a long chat about the conditions of a magic system that's barely explained and clearly taken from the cutting room floor.
Finally, though we do start to build some tension near the end, the story seems to lose its nerve halfway through. We escape with a copout which dissolves all the tension built up so far. It comes from nowhere, goes nowhere, and leaves us with an anticlimax.
There's no real characterisation here, either. It seems to me that you could get rid of Shaviel entirely without really affecting the story.
The prose, too, is awkward in places: “But before them was a sight that gladdened Turven at first glance, then chilled his heart as he looked at it.” It's already evident that he's looking at it. And later: “As the column of vertebrae collapsed beneath them, he strained his arms and climbed through.” The column collapsing seems important enough to warrant more than a subordinate clause.
For your first half, you're doing pretty well in building the tension, though the prose could stand to be a bit more atmospheric. Then halfway through, it mutates into something else. That's fine, as a midway twist – the spooky noises are actually coming from something quite benign (except maybe this friendly voice isn't quite so friendly).
And it's effectively creepy idea. But it's let down in multiple ways.
First, the lack of atmosphere really starts to bite around this part. They're inside a magically-mutated skull. But as atmosphere goes, the conversation could've been conducted in my living room.
Then, the bulk of this section is a long chat about the conditions of a magic system that's barely explained and clearly taken from the cutting room floor.
Finally, though we do start to build some tension near the end, the story seems to lose its nerve halfway through. We escape with a copout which dissolves all the tension built up so far. It comes from nowhere, goes nowhere, and leaves us with an anticlimax.
There's no real characterisation here, either. It seems to me that you could get rid of Shaviel entirely without really affecting the story.
Two big problems I see here, though they're entangled. A problem in motivation leads to a problem in story structure.
So let's start with motivation. Your problem is that there isn't any, really. The Captain wants to sail over the edge of the world just because. The crew want to go with him just because. The narrator joins up just because.
Now this breaks the structure, because in a story like this, motivation is key. It's fundamentally about people's choices – They choose to set sail together, the Captain chooses to go over, the crew don't. But because their motivations are so flimsy, all these choices seem arbitrary.
The first half is okay, story-wise. Atticus gets recruited – yeah, that makes sense. But once we're on the water, things go astray. We just potter from shore to shore, then up to the edge. Nothing of any significance happens. Here is where you should be laying the groundwork for the climax. Here's where you could, for example, talk about the Captain's obsession. His friendship with Silver. What drove the crew to come with him – what gave them confidence in him in the first place, and how he's losing it.
Now, I'm not saying you can't have an obsession. You don't need to fill out “He's obsessed because … ” Maybe the he's simply obsessed and that's it. But that comes with a sort of temperament, a certain personality. It comes with a certain set of relations with other people. And it also raises the question of why the crew were along for the ride in the first place. If you fill out those, you can – hopefully – earn your climax.
So let's start with motivation. Your problem is that there isn't any, really. The Captain wants to sail over the edge of the world just because. The crew want to go with him just because. The narrator joins up just because.
Now this breaks the structure, because in a story like this, motivation is key. It's fundamentally about people's choices – They choose to set sail together, the Captain chooses to go over, the crew don't. But because their motivations are so flimsy, all these choices seem arbitrary.
The first half is okay, story-wise. Atticus gets recruited – yeah, that makes sense. But once we're on the water, things go astray. We just potter from shore to shore, then up to the edge. Nothing of any significance happens. Here is where you should be laying the groundwork for the climax. Here's where you could, for example, talk about the Captain's obsession. His friendship with Silver. What drove the crew to come with him – what gave them confidence in him in the first place, and how he's losing it.
Now, I'm not saying you can't have an obsession. You don't need to fill out “He's obsessed because … ” Maybe the he's simply obsessed and that's it. But that comes with a sort of temperament, a certain personality. It comes with a certain set of relations with other people. And it also raises the question of why the crew were along for the ride in the first place. If you fill out those, you can – hopefully – earn your climax.
Ooh, xenofiction! Again!
And this time it's the longest, most complex story of the round. And it uses that size well. I've complained before about stories feeling incomplete. This doesn't. It gives us a proper intro, a set of character and plot issues, and resolves them together.
On the other hand, perhaps the problem is inverted. We leap so quickly into the story that the beginning itself feels a little threadbare. We're dunked head first into this strange world without warning, and the plot starts to run away with us before we can get our bearings. There are a few handholds here and there, but they don't seem quite enough.
For creativity, I'm not sure whether I'm satisfied or not. The world is fun. Aliens with collective minds, tentacles and pincers, an inaccessible ground, giant trees with glowing beetles living in them. And yet all of this comes with a slightly saccharine “we're not so different” plot. It reads well enough, yes, but I wouldn't have objected to something a bit meatier, a bit more centred around what makes these guys genuinely alien.
And this time it's the longest, most complex story of the round. And it uses that size well. I've complained before about stories feeling incomplete. This doesn't. It gives us a proper intro, a set of character and plot issues, and resolves them together.
On the other hand, perhaps the problem is inverted. We leap so quickly into the story that the beginning itself feels a little threadbare. We're dunked head first into this strange world without warning, and the plot starts to run away with us before we can get our bearings. There are a few handholds here and there, but they don't seem quite enough.
For creativity, I'm not sure whether I'm satisfied or not. The world is fun. Aliens with collective minds, tentacles and pincers, an inaccessible ground, giant trees with glowing beetles living in them. And yet all of this comes with a slightly saccharine “we're not so different” plot. It reads well enough, yes, but I wouldn't have objected to something a bit meatier, a bit more centred around what makes these guys genuinely alien.
This is cute, but rather empty. It ties together the familiar and surreal in a nice way, the banter is fun, the idea is nice, though not really deep. But that's it.
In a way, it feels like the intro to a children's book. That's not a diss, mind –there are many good books for children. I mean that that characters are simple but vivid; and the idea is simple enough, and we're more interested in it for shenanigans than following down the rabbit hole of unheimlich and conceptual complexity.
But the fact that it feels like an intro remains. Casey gets one scene, and she's gone, and that's it. Moira has one talk with the spider. There's a hint about the standard farcical plans and how we're all going to learn something about ourselves in the process. Then –
The curtains drop.
There's skill here, but it's being applied to a novella, not a short story.
In a way, it feels like the intro to a children's book. That's not a diss, mind –there are many good books for children. I mean that that characters are simple but vivid; and the idea is simple enough, and we're more interested in it for shenanigans than following down the rabbit hole of unheimlich and conceptual complexity.
But the fact that it feels like an intro remains. Casey gets one scene, and she's gone, and that's it. Moira has one talk with the spider. There's a hint about the standard farcical plans and how we're all going to learn something about ourselves in the process. Then –
The curtains drop.
There's skill here, but it's being applied to a novella, not a short story.
Paging WIP