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  1. #1
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    Default Reveiw my writing

    Here is the first chapter from a novel I am working on.

    Krekton
    Pro Mihi, Pro tibi, pro omniasque.
    [Chapter 1 {Minimus Homo}]

    Brian steadied his javelin. The five foot long weapon was poised in his hand. He aimed it a black bear. He himself had not eaten for two days.
    The bear he had been hunting was large and powerful. It was beginning to go blind, yet he knew that its other senses more than compensated for that. It was obvious that beneath its fur, there were rippling cords of muscle. Brian observed that even in its weakened state, the beast could fell him like he a fern. Brian was aware that just one mistake and he would be its next territorial marker.
    For two days, he had been stalking his prey. It was an older bear; not too young as to pose a threat, yet not so old as to be infested with diseases. At last it was cornered. The beast was now clawing a tree. He now saw the right moment. All movement had ceased, giving him the perfect moment to strike. Brian lunged forwards, hurling his weapon through the air at the bear. It hit the creasure in the ribs, punching through and embedding in the flesh. The animal gave a roar of pain as it died, crimson blood issuing forth from the hole.
    “I have the meat,” he said. Three strong men came out of the forest. Two of them carried a pole, and the last one, a yoke. They threaded the polls through the yoke and positioned it on the ground. They then heaved the bear onto the makeshift litter and hoisted it up with effort.
    “Good work,” said the leader. “You may return to Grindsloft, Minimus.” The men laughed at him. Brian clenched his jaw. He had already recovered his weapon and was resisting the impulse to kill the three of them on the spot. Such insults infuriated him like no others. He could endure snide innuendo about his sexuality, he could endure rumors that he was deranged. He however, would not tolerate anything that robbed him of his individuality, his strength, or his intelligence. He have normally contested back with his antagonizers. But this time was different. He had been exiled from the village, Grindsloft for the crime of stealing a prize ox from a farmer.
    Brian had already turned away from them and was approaching a brook. He wanted to drink some water, after all, the middle of summer is a dreadful time to play such games of cat and mouse. A slight twinge of annoyance was going through him from the jibe the meat bearers had given him. He thought: If this was not so important, then I would make them pay for that insult. I did not steal that damned ox; someone framed me. Thus it always is with the villagers. I obey their customs, I stay out of their way, unless recruited to help, yet they all hate me. I only go back there because I have nowhere else to go. It’s too far for me to get to a town, and too dangerous to travel alone. They only allow for me to remain because I am good at killing things. Even when I brought down that pine lurker last year, they finally admitted that I was a man. However, they did not even allow me to have such a victory. They started calling me: Minimus Homo. It means: least man.
    I am much more manly than Kaolo. He is even more effeminate than half the girls. I guess that I should not question these thing anyways. I never get an answer for anything.
    He stopped thinking as he stuck his face into the brook. It was shallow and limpid, not to mention exceedingly cold. He held his countenance submerged until it became numb with cold, siphoning water all the while. Brian emerged breathless, numb, and satisfied. He looked up at the sky. The sun was still high in the sky. There was more than enough time to take a rest then to get return before nightfall. Brian removed his camp mat from his pack. It was dirty with the detritus from the forest. Brian bushed it off then laid it across a set of tree roots. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
    Brian woke up three hours later, the sun somewhat lower in the sky. He felt slightly groggy and unwell as he always did whenever he napped during the day. He had a fast remedy to this. He shuffled over to the brook and stuck his face in again. The effect immediately cleared his conscience. Brian withdrew his head and packed his bedroll up. He began walking back towards Grindsloft. Brian now noticed that he did nto recognize this part of the forest. He had been warned, and had seen other people being warned not to stray beyond the Dragon’s Spine. The Dragon’s Spine was a long, rocky ridge that encircled Grindloft. No trees grew on it, and it was made of granite. He put himself onto high alert. People had been killed in this area. It wasn’t be accident either that the foresters had died. They were killed by the rumored inhabitants of the area. The foremost among the pantheon of these arboreal nightmares was the Pine Lurker. It had four legs, arranged in a diamond pattern. Its mouth was like a four armed star. Its legs ended in cupped feet. It sported two lengthy tentacles. These each ended in a mace-like knots that were covered in spines. From the stories, Brian had heard that there were its main weapons. Simply put, they were the dragons of the forest; leviathans of the greenery. Just like the mythical leviathan, they were fierce, large, and dangerous. Fortunately, as the stories also told, they were not very stealthy, and that they were dim witted. Brian kept these attributes in mind as he hastened towards the ridge.
    Brian continued to walk, and he saw the ridge in another hour. It was only two hundred feet tall, yet the only ways through were called stairs. These so-called stairs were really just notches in the rock that you could put your weight into. He continued walking towards the monolith. He became inwardly tenser as he neared it. Brian was tense, partially because he feared a creature attack. That region held the typical forest creatures, like boars, deer, wolves, and bears. However, it also hosted a variety of monsters. These ranged from the elegant Lynet, to the savage Ghoshil. The Lynet was a pirt with beautiful teal and cyan plumage. It stood four feet high, like a heron. Its beak was long and thin like one. However, it was all colored in variations of teal and cyan. This gave it a very ethereal appearance, and made them rare due to hunting. They were very skittish, and getting close to one took years of practice. They were fabled to flee miles just from hearing a single leaf rustle. Then, on the opposite end of the beauty-ugly spectrum came the Ghoshil. The Ghoshil had three legs. They were arranged in a triangular formation, and its body was perched atop this grotesque tripod. It was chitonous and armored in appearance. It had mandibles that looked like a pair of oversized spidr rangs, and six beady little eyes. The body itelf towered straight up, and featured a pair of arms coming out of the back. These ended in scythe-like claws that could topple the most ancient oak. Brian was nearing the edge of ridge, his apprehension fading every second as he approached the promise of safety on the other side. Brian was now at the Dragon’s Spine, when out of the forest, a Pine Lurker Charged Right at him!

    Reveiw.

  2. #2
    ish red no longer *sad* nightning's Avatar
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    You want a comment sort of review or proofreading? Lots need editing for the latter.

    Overall thoughts:
    Sentence structure a tad too repetitive for me. The details weren't really adding to the description. In some ways too stereotypical.

    Some division should be marked for the switch in narrative (third person to 1st and back) Italics could work.

    ---------

    Krekton
    Pro Mihi, Pro tibi, pro omniasque.
    [Chapter 1 {Minimus Homo}]

    Brian steadied his javelin. The five foot long weapon was poised in his hand. He aimed it ata black bear. He himself had not eaten for two days.
    The bear he had been hunting was large and powerful. It was beginning to go blind, yet he knew that its other senses more than compensated for that. It was obvious that beneath its fur, there were rippling cords of muscle. Brian observed that even in its weakened state, the beast could fell him like he a fern. Brian was aware that just one mistake and he would be its next territorial marker.
    For two days, he had been stalking his prey. It was an older bear; not too young as to pose a threat, yet not so old as to be infested with diseases. At last it was cornered. The beast was now clawing a tree. He now saw the right moment. All movement had ceased, giving him the perfect moment to strike. Brian lunged forwards, hurling his weapon through the air at the bear. It hit the creasure (?) in the ribs, punching through and embedding (or embedded?) in the flesh. The animal gave a roar of pain as it died, crimson blood issuing forth from the hole.
    “I have the meat,” he said. Three strong men came out of the forest. Two of them carried a pole, and the last one, a yoke. They threaded the polls through the yoke and positioned it on the ground. They then heaved the bear onto the makeshift litter and hoisted it up with effort.
    “Good work,” said the leader. “You may return to Grindsloft, Minimus.” The men laughed at him. Brian clenched his jaw. He had already recovered his weapon and was resisting the impulse to kill the three of them on the spot. Such insults infuriated him like no others. He could endure snide innuendo about his sexuality, he could endure rumors that he was deranged. He, however, would not tolerate anything that robbed him of his individuality, his strength, or his intelligence. He have normally contested back with his antagonizers. But this time was different. He had been exiled from the village, Grindsloft for the crime of stealing a prize ox from a farmer.
    Brian had already turned away from them and was approaching a brook. He wanted to drink some water, after all, the middle of summer is a dreadful time to play such games of cat and mouse. A slight twinge of annoyance was going through him from the jibe the meat bearers had given him. He thought: If this was not so important, then I would make them pay for that insult. I did not steal that damned ox; someone framed me. Thus it always is with the villagers. I obey their customs, I stay out of their way, unless recruited to help, yet they all hate me. I only go back there because I have nowhere else to go. It’s too far for me to get to a town, and too dangerous to travel alone. They only allow for me to remain because I am good at killing things. Even when I brought down that pine lurker last year, they finally admitted that I was a man. However, they did not even allow me to have such a victory. They started calling me: Minimus Homo. It means: least man.
    I am much more manly than Kaolo. He is even more effeminate than half the girls. I guess that I should not question these thing anyways. I never get an answer for anything.
    He stopped thinking as he stuck his face into the brook. It was shallow and limpid, not to mention exceedingly cold. He held his countenance (funny usage of the word, countenance refers more to facial expression than face) submerged until it became numb with cold, siphoning water all the while (misplaced modifier? that the term for this?). Brian emerged breathless, numb, and satisfied. He looked up at the sky. The sun was still high in the sky. There was more than enough time to take a rest then to get return before nightfall. Brian removed his camp mat from his pack. It was dirty with the detritus from the forest. Brian bushed it off then laid it across a set of tree roots. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
    Brian woke up three hours later, the sun somewhat lower in the sky. He felt slightly groggy and unwell as he always did whenever he napped during the day. He had a fast remedy to this. He shuffled over to the brook and stuck his face in again. The effect immediately cleared his conscience. Brian withdrew his head and packed his bedroll up. He began walking back towards Grindsloft. Brian now noticed that he did not recognize this part of the forest. He had been warned, and had seen other people being warned not to stray beyond the Dragon’s Spine. The Dragon’s Spine was a long, rocky ridge that encircled Grindloft. No trees grew on it, and it was made of granite. He put himself onto high alert. People had been killed in this area. It wasn’t by accident either that the foresters had died. It was rumored that they were killed by the inhabitants of the area. The foremost among the pantheon of these arboreal nightmares was the Pine Lurker. It had four legs, arranged in a diamond pattern. Its mouth was like a four armed star. Its legs ended in cupped feet. It sported two lengthy tentacles. These each ended in a mace-like knots that were covered in spines. From the stories, Brian had heard that these were its main weapons. Simply put, they (they? or it? pick one and stick to it) were the dragons of the forest; leviathans of the greenery. Just like the mythical leviathan, they were fierce, large, and dangerous. Fortunately, as the stories also told, they were not very stealthy, and that they were dim witted. Brian kept these attributes in mind as he hastened towards the ridge.
    Brian continued to walk, and he saw the ridge in another hour. It was only two hundred feet tall, yet the only ways through were called stairs. These so-called stairs were really just notches in the rock that you could put your weight into. He continued walking towards the monolith. He became inwardly tenser as he neared it. Brian was tense, partially because he feared a creature attack. That region held the typical forest creatures, like boars, deer, wolves, and bears. However, it also hosted a variety of monsters. These ranged from the elegant Lynet, to the savage Ghoshil. [sorry, lost interests here] The Lynet was a pirt with beautiful teal and cyan plumage. It stood four feet high, like a heron. Its beak was long and thin like one. However, it was all colored in variations of teal and cyan. This gave it a very ethereal appearance, and made them rare due to hunting. They were very skittish, and getting close to one took years of practice. They were fabled to flee miles just from hearing a single leaf rustle. Then, on the opposite end of the beauty-ugly spectrum came the Ghoshil. The Ghoshil had three legs. They were arranged in a triangular formation, and its body was perched atop this grotesque tripod. It was chitonous and armored in appearance. It had mandibles that looked like a pair of oversized spidr rangs, and six beady little eyes. The body itelf towered straight up, and featured a pair of arms coming out of the back. These ended in scythe-like claws that could topple the most ancient oak. Brian was nearing the edge of ridge, his apprehension fading every second as he approached the promise of safety on the other side. Brian was now at the Dragon’s Spine, when out of the forest, a Pine Lurker Charged Right at him!
    My stuff (design & other junk) lives here: http://nnbox.ca

  3. #3
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    The novel is about an INTP in a medieval-esque world.
    Think a middle earth versin of eureka seven.

  4. #4
    See Right Through Me Bubbles's Avatar
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    Hey, it's very brave of you to stick this up here, and you deserve some feedback.

    First of all: you overdo passive tense. We're talking verbs like "to be" and "seems" and "like": stuff that does nothing. In writing, it's all about active tense. Use verbs that describe actually movements, and let that S flooow.

    Second: Don't be afraid to make your character more human. Get inside his head a bit. Don't overwhelm us, but at least let us in on the thought process of his mind, instead of letting us all stalk him from a distance. Let us connect a bit, maybe have him thinking ordinary thoughts about his day, or remembering his past hunting visit, etc.

    Those are the big things I noticed, but you're doing fine, and it's certainly a nice idea.
    4w3, IEI, so/sx/sp, female, and Cancer sign.

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  5. #5
    Senior Member Tiltyred's Avatar
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    Not a PINE LURKER!

    Then what happened?

    P.S. Are there drawings of the Ghoshil, by any chance?

  6. #6
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    Hey! This is great! Good ideas! You seem fairly young, too, to be writing this cohesively (correct me if I'm wrong about your age) so bravo to that.

    Don't listen to the person who said to get inside the characters head (no offense to that commenter intended at all) because literature can take many forms. Popular fiction did not start "getting inside of character's heads" until about the 1920's with modern fiction and stream-of-consciousness writing. It's perfectly okay to not write that way. It's perfectly okay to do third person narrative with lots of description and action instead of thought processes. That type of novel was extremely popular in the 19th century and is a format of enduring works of literature. Even "The Stranger" - a complex work of philosophical literature written as recently as the mid-twentieth century - did not get inside the character's head. So it's okay either way. Don't let anyone tell you that your style is wrong. In fact, this style could make your story seem realistically more Medieval.

    My suggestion to you is that you don't use so many modifying words like "not to mention" in a work of creative fiction. Work on each sentence and see individual sentences as entities unto themselves. When you write, finish a chapter or a paragraph to get your main ideas down, and then go back and clean up sentences to make your wording more powerful. Keep practicing! You're doing well!

  7. #7
    Senior Member MrME's Avatar
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    Very simply put:

    Work on making your sentences more active, less passive.

    Reduce your adverb count by 99%, and then try to reduce it by one more percent.
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