Mike M - Know When to Run
I had a stanza in my submission in which I used "patina," but cut it for length. Don't see that word often, and thought the coincidence was novel enough to mention.
You have a charm to your writing that makes it a breeze to read. Your characters behave in consistent and believable ways, and you use this, along with dialogue, to great effect in conveying story. You don't hold things getting us up to speed with background info, which is great. The only time you slip into exposition with this one is the end, explaining the relationship between Matthias and Boyd. A little of it is okay, but a lot of what you state is already obvious from their behavior. Their final exchange ("the bitter end") is a perfect summation of what's come before. That quip is exemplary. A lot more effective than simply telling us about their dynamic. More of that. It's one of your biggest strengths.
Phonetics are solid. I see written dialect criticized a lot. It's one of those creative writing workshop no-nos that gets bandied about everywhere you go. I never got that. If you can write it well (as you can), write it. Your dialogue never gets in the way, and in fact helps establish mood and personality. It immediately provides a sense of place.
If I had to pick a peeve, it's that the situation here is conventional. Your beats are almost ceremonial. We know these people. The sculptor Hap Hagood once said, "Within every block of wood and stone, there dwells a spirit, waiting to be released." This story feels less like releasing a new spirit than finding one discarded and breathing life back into it.
FWIW, your explanation of intent and future plans for these characters sounds really interesting, and is a neat twist to the formula that could keep them engaging.
frekifox7 - The Story Beyond
Nice filigree around your title. Gives the story a professional look. It's something small, but goes a long way toward improving your presentation.
I am with Mike—the forest's folding out being compared to a pop-up book is inspired. It's the perfect image, and immediately evokes a rapid, otherworldly design. Unfortunately, I am also with Mike when it comes to Cara's subdued reaction. But
unlike Mike, I'm not going to suggest you change it (I'm nice like that). I am all for magical realism in stories, and I don't demand characters in a magical realist or fantasy setting recognize the weirdness of this or that. Sometimes it's fine for things to simply
be, and to rely on your audience's acceptance that whatever is, is.
However, in this case, the magical setting is clearly set up as something unusual. It is strange that Cara does not respond to it more inquisitively, or suspiciously. It reminds me a bit of
In the House Upon the Dirt Between the Lake and the Woods, in which similarly strange and marvelous things happen without much of a reaction from the actors. Both stories are tonally aligned. Don't take this as an endorsement of that book, though. I seriously dislike Matt Bell's writing, and think that story is one of his most obnoxious to get through. I bring it up to make the point: you don't have to concede to the wants of your early readers to create something publishable, or worth reading. By denying us the expected reaction, you veneer your story with its own distinct skin.
Cara has a moment late in the story where she remembers feeling Aaron was not of her world. Maybe you can work with that sensation earlier, when the forest appears, to sprinkle some foreshadowing. Scrunch the threads a bit tighter.
You reference shadow a bunch. I didn't always follow. Sometimes it is personified to the point of being its own character (this is most obvious in the line, "Shadow trembled..."). "Shadow" is a squishy word. It outlines all manner of vagaries. You can throw it at anything, but it will rarely cut. If you want to refer to whatever the thing Aaron is, maybe the more traditional
shade would do.
I was unclear on the motivations of both Aaron and the horrible fae-woman. What is it about Cara that drew Aaron to abandon his realm and rule? That's a massive sacrifice. And then what happened between them that allowed him to leave her so easily? Why does the forest appear when it does? This story is about the relationship, but you linger too long on the setting. What does that setting represent? What does it mean for both Cara and Aaron, beyond the superficial netherscape, whole-new-world deal? There is something juicy here, but you don't bite into it.
The fae-woman is schlock. You have two potentially nuanced and complex characters in Cara and Aaron, and then this faceless she-devil comes into play. Her entire purpose is to push that thorn further into Cara, to prick her over and over as if it is Cara's own self-doubt eating away at her. Only it isn't her own self-doubt, it's a totally separate character. There must be more to this fae chick. Right now she is so one-dimensional she's razor-thin.
Don't get me wrong: I think she could be a great addition to what you're cooking. But maybe inspect the produce a little more on a future revision, find something a little more ripe, a little less lumpy.
Lest I end this after dumping a wheelbarrow of criticisms on you, keep in mind that the story was interesting enough to warrant these points of contention. That's a sign of success: I cared about the story enough I want to see it open up. I don't say this often, but what you've written so far is very promising.
Tangent - Love is in the Air
World-weary, waiting withered with wuthering wind, we once went without worry, watching wavey water wreck windrows while wagging wampus waltzed warlike and wild.
That is to say, I think you turned this secondary into a really fun vocabulary and grammar exercise, and it might be worth doing a 3-500 word short in this style every once in a while as a way to work old joints that otherwise would rust. And even more, you gave us a sweet little dip into the steam of consciousness that somehow spruced Steve up. All, finally, folded in flowers.
I tried imitating your commitment to alliteration in my opening sentence of this feedback, and had a hell of a time coming up with anything comprehensible. You do an admirable job delivering something not only readable, but interesting and even poignant. It's a classic dollop of short but sweet, with ambition evident in style instead of length. The content seems guided more by the rhyme than the story at times, but stepping back after reading it's clear all its pieces fit in place.
Cyan - Another Fucking Metal Band
Providing feedback for writers like you and Mike is tough. You both have a strong grasp on style and the mechanics of language, and by aptitude innate or acquired you have a way of imbuing your characters and settings with meaningful detail and charm. A first pass at critiquing your stories is often more admiration than annotation. You make a habit of picking just the right color. For instance, the names you chose—Brent, Cheeve, and Noah—are
perfect for these guys. Little things like that create a strong momentum, and pull us forward into the continuing story.
Onomatopoeia works well here. I'm not always a fan of onomatopoeia in fiction, as sometimes it feels like a grasping at words or concepts that haven't yet arrived to the author, a way of filling those gaps. But here it it's okay. It's a little crunchy, a little rhythmic, and in a story about a metal band it feels right. We get the sound not only from the words, but from the context. In a way, the onomatopoeia provides a corollary to the thematic backbone. It's satisfying to end on that "just right."
You have a strong forward push in the narrative. Something is always happening, and we don't get hung up on asides or exposition. Despite this, I don't think what's going on here is very interesting. Your characters are stereotypes, which might be okay if the conflict was more unique. You do provide a little twist on the "interpersonal metal band clashing" trope with the viral video thing, but it doesn't ever escape the gravity of its lineage. It often seems like your characters here are all derivations of the same mold, which is unusual compared to many of your past entries. It is an easy story to get through, and the very end is satisfyingly final, but when I consider the whole, it doesn't feel like much has changed. Noah has not learned anything, and seems spurred less by a realization or an internal shift than by necessity, like a bag in the wind.
FlowersisBritish - The Man with the Big House
I liked the title. Suitably ambiguous, slightly ominous. It doesn't tell us much, but I think that is a benefit. It's fitting that a story with a title this vague would keep me guessing until the end.
I don't have a lot of things to say about this one (sorry!). The story is tense and interesting. There are minor line-level things that could be touched up here and there. I generally try to avoid critiquing potential line-level edits. I don't believe pointing them out is especially helpful, and since so much of every story is subject to change it is much more important to help shade the color of things than the minutiae. If we're at all to be helpful, we must sweep a light across the vast dark each author is wading into, and hope that something we reveal might be a clue for him on which direction to take.
Elliot's opinion on whiskey is a beautiful line, and encapsulates his inward struggle. It's the perfect dialectical for what's at stake. I think it's probably the most important line in the story, and I know it's the most telling. I'm not sure the idea is completely followed through, though it's clearly meant to be. Elliot arrives at his decision to become a monster after Abraham plays fairly and loses, but since Elliot cheats in the first place he has already committed to villainy. It's the only strained logical point in his growth, but it's so crucial that it sorely sticks out. If we are meant to adhere so closely to Elliot's perspective that the narration is tinted by his worldview, and he believes there is still hope for himself even though there is not, maybe the revelation makes sense... but that does not seem to be the case. The narrator is close to Elliot in space, but separate in soul.
There has been a lot of this conflicted crime lord archetype in media lately. Walter White and Wilson Fisk immediately spring to mind. I think the archetype is interesting. He embodies what I tend to look for in fiction: the conflicted soul, with much at stake, who can do a lot of good but is compelled toward evil. Whenever we see a character like that at the fulcrum of his life, the point at which he must commit to the type of man he will be, we know there is great drama in store for us. It's superb conflict. You do a good job mining the interior life of such a man, at just such a moment in his life.
Ashes - The Ghost in His Machine
Your economical voice is a nice companion to this story. From the first couple of pages yours was my clear favorite this round. I printed and read over it several times. Your world-building is subtle and subdued and the story is better for not calling attention to its more unique attributes. I thought your main character was wonderfully realized, as was the robot Jack. In theatre, actors are taught action is reaction and you utilize that concept well in the exchanges between your characters. Though we are obviously closest to Seiji, we get a good view of all the cast. All are distinct and even idiosyncratic. "You sound like an arsehole" is so perfectly placed I could not imagine a better delivery. Excellent job here with dialogue and behavior.
For the most part this is tightly written, but I could not tie together the threads of Seiji's pity toward the boy, his preference for androids, and his remembrance of the grandfather. He doesn't want to lose himself, his humanity, despite the inhumanity of his job. I understood that, I understood the underlying thrust of that desire his memory of his grandfather. He goes to his granddad's grave when he feels his conscience rising. That is done well. But what is it about the sick boy in particular that causes his conscience to surge in this way? He does not seem sure about this himself. His attraction toward robots is quirky and interesting, but again is not fully explored. It is fine to leave it as a question, but it doesn't seem aligned to anything particular in the story and isn't reflected in his behavior outside of his rejection of the landlady's advances.
Why is the landlady responsible for Jack's debt? It she is simply renting a room to him, what is her culpability in his crimes?
I'd love to see more of this world. It is complex and interesting and your voice suits it so well I kept revisiting it over the course of days. Great job.
Neener - Stakes
Good on you for submitting. I am not sure how to critique this one since, as you admit, it was rushed.
When I was in school, I saw dozens of stories like this. They all follow the same protocol: a main character is split between two worlds, and must complete some dangerous task assigned by a committee, academy, or board, in secret, in a realm apart from the normal world, all while balancing real-world life and responsibilities. Various enigmatic and vaguely supernatural forces are at play, often demons (or daemons), sprites, wizards, werewolves, spirits, etc. Often these forces threaten to encroach on the real world, and the protagonist is thrust into an the role of hero, typically battling evil forces while also uncovering a conspiracy or plot within the association they are working for. I think of it as the Harry Potter model, maybe the Persona model of storytelling. It's extremely, exhaustively popular.
I used to be dismissive of these stories. Maybe that was pretension on my part. I've always been attracted more to literary rather than genre storytelling. I've come around a bit, after seeing their longevity and popularity, trying to find what it is that attracts people to them. Is it a way of living out a vicarious fantasy? Of following a hero, or "chosen one," who allows us to place ourselves in her shoes and escape the real world? I haven't cracked that riddle just yet. It bears further investigating.
What bothers me most is that they almost always play out in the same tired way. Your ending intrigues me for this reason, as it appears to connect your main character to the demon he has slain by revisiting the foul, flowery smell of the dead. I have not seen a take on a story like this in which the main character is the villain, or even villainous in any way. The closest I've seen is Harry Potter's connection to Voldemort, which is one of the most interesting parts of his character. What authors who write derivations on this type of plot frequently miss is that sort of forfeiture or impulsion toward the dark side. Their protagonists are often Mary Sues who act as boring, masturbatory author surrogates. They are vessels, not people in themselves. Characters require some amount of darkness to truly be alive. When you plop a rounded character into a sea of lookalikes, you immediately demand attention. So while your story is short, and the worldbuilding is rushed and clumsy, you hook me by your unconventional ending, and give me hope for what you might offer in the future.
My votes:
1. Ashes
2. Flowers
3. Tangent