Jump to content

I am planing on making a book and need some good criticism.

Sign in to follow this  

Recommended Posts

Ok this is my first book ( I'm still in high school ) hear are the first cupel pages 

 

It was a cloudy gray day.  The air smelled sweat, as it dose just before a storm.  The worn paper and scattered trash crunched and crumbled beneath his tattered shoes.    His torn frayed close ruined with sweat and blood ( some his but mostly others ) hung off his gaunt malnourished  form.  The eyes in head were bleak as they gazed at the abandoned bindings.  About half were chard from long ago fires but they all looked as dead as there foamier occupants must be by now.  In the background  he could hear the screaming rower of oncoming horde of these beyond death.  The blood from the bite on his arm flowed down his arm past the mangled pipe he held and on to cracked pavement.  He then turned to the face the battle he knew he could never win.

              He stared at them, the "rejuvenated"  most looked ether dead or well on there way to being the same, but some the first ones looked like beauty in it's purist form. The more excited ones sprinted for him but were torn in half.  The raiser wire he set up could only hold off ten or so of the rejens but it helped to slow them down, they would be distracted by the blood. All was with the blood.  It would only slow them down for but a minuet this was not the flesh they needed.  Using the opportunity he grabbed a bag from off his belt and throw it a deep in to the mass of madness. He hated to think of what they had to do to get this stuff but he couldn't argue with results... At lest not for long.  The rejens swarmed around the smell with savage intent.  This would keep them occupied for 5 minutes, he only had 3 more bags.  20 minutes was all he had left until he was "consumed" and the strangest thing was that he was not scared.  His sacrifice didn't mean much, he was already a dead man walking and in more then one way but at lest he could give the rest an opportunity to live.

 

 

 

So just tell me what you think and tell me how it is on a scale of 1 to 10

non-euclidean fuck machine

Share this post


Link to post

It was a cloudy gray day. The air smelled [of] sweat, as it [does] just before a storm. The worn paper and scattered trash crunched and crumbled beneath his tattered shoes. His torn frayed [clothes] ruined with sweat and blood, some his, but mostly others, hung off his gaunt malnourished form. The eyes in his head were bleak as they gazed at the abandoned bindings. About half were [charred] from long ago fires, but they all looked as dead as there [former] occupants must be by now. In the background he could hear the screaming [roar] of [an] oncoming horde of these beyond death. The blood from the bite on his arm flowed down his arm past the mangled pipe he held and on to cracked pavement. He then turned to the face the battle he knew he could never win.

 

He stared at them; the "rejuvenated", most looked either dead or well on [their] way, but [to] some the first ones looked like beauty in it's [purest] form. The more excited ones sprinted for him but were torn in half. The raiser wire he set up could only hold off ten or so of the rejens but it helped to slow them down, they would be distracted by the blood. All was with the blood. It would only slow them down for but a [minute] this was not the flesh they needed. Using the opportunity he grabbed a bag from off his belt and [threw] it a deep [into] the mass of madness. He hated to think of what they had to do to get this stuff but he couldn't argue with results... At [least] not for long. The rejens swarmed around the smell with savage intent. This would keep them occupied for 5 minutes, he only had 3 more bags. 20 minutes was all he had left until he was [consumed] and the strangest thing was that he was not scared. His sacrifice didn't mean much, he was already a dead man walking [in more ways than one,] but at [least] he could give the rest an opportunity to live.

________________________________________________________________________

i corrected spelling and grammatical mistakes, my corrections are in Brackets.

i rate the story itself a 6/10.

 

your story structure was a bit unoriginal; you went for a dramatic tone, but you carried that a bit too far. some areas you went into too much detail, try to clean it up a bit in your book. overall it's not all that bad. but it could use a bit more work.

 

any questions, feel free to ask.

Share this post


Link to post

It was a gray and cloudy day. The air smelled of sweat, [humid] as if before a storm. The worn paper and scattered trash crunched and crumbled beneath his tattered shoes. Torn frayed clothing, stained with sweat and blood (some of his, some from others) hung off his gaunt malnourished form. The eyes in his head were bleak, as they gazed at the [insert adjective, like "nearby"] abandoned bindings.  About half were chared from long-passed fires, but they all looked as dead as there foamier{?} occupants must be by now . In the background, he could hear the screaming roar of the oncoming horde of those beyond death. The blood from the bite on his arm flowed down the limb, past the mangled pipe he held, dripping down onto the cracked pavement. He then turned to the face the battle he knew he could never win.

He stared at them, the "Rejuvenated"- most looked either dead or well on their way. Some the first ones looked like beauty in it's purest form. The more excited ones sprinted for him, but looked torn in half.  The razor wire he set up could only hold off ten or so of the "Rejens" but it helped to slow them down; they would be distracted by the blood. All was with the blood. It would only buy a minute, it was not the flesh they wanted. ("Needed" is too objective for this scene. It mandates facts, as opposed to personal details from the protagonist's perspective. As such, the absolute of "Need" is out of place.)  Using the opportunity, he grabbed a bag from off his belt and threw it deep in to the mass of madness. He hated to think of what they had to do to get this stuff but he couldn't argue with results. <-- (New line for emphasis)

At lest not for long.

The 'Rejens' swarmed around the smell of the bag with savage intent.  This would keep them occupied for about five minutes, and he only had three more bags.  twenty minutes was all he had left until he would be consumed, and the strangest thing was that he was not scared.  sacrifice didn't mean much, he was already a dead man walking (In more ways than one), but at least he could give the rest an opportunity to live.

Idea is an 8, spelling was a 5.

Small note, a Minute [Minn-utt] is a unit or reference to time (depending on its context), a Minuet [Min-you-eh] is a type of classical music piece written in 3/4 time to accompany the French ballroom dance style of the same name.

This is a nice metric server. No imperial dimensions, please.

Share this post


Link to post

Thanks for the help, I know there is a LOT of spelling mistakes ( I'm dyslexic ) and the story is only 2 days old so it needs a lot more time for it to grow but it is only one of several things I'm writing for. The best one yet is a video game some of my friends and I are creating.

PS BillyLudwick you told me in an other post that you also are a writer. I was wondering what you

Wrote/ wrote for?

PPS thank you blue, you really think the idea is an 8 o_0 wow thanks

non-euclidean fuck machine

Share this post


Link to post

since you ask i write short stories for pleasure. here's a story I've written for a zombie plan thread on this forum..it was originally supposed to be a plan, but it somehow turned into a story..idk it just happened :/

____________________________

 

well first observing the type of zombies and type(s) of infection spread, if it happens to be airborne, but if im(and my friends are) somehow immune? awesome, step two may continue. if the zombies are fast types then i'll prepare a stockpile of fast weapons, easy reload, mostly likely automatic, accuracy is a must too. if they're slow, then shotguns, blunt objects, swords. okay the plan starts with me getting over the fact that this shit is happening, then immediately leave my house, if they're surrounding it, then requisition a propane tank, tie an alarm clock and rig a battery around it, (assuming noise attracts them) then set the alarm for ten minutes, i then find a fragile glass bottle, and duct tape it around the valve opening, making damn sure its airtight, then i dip a rag in kerosene after double checking for propane vapors and tie that around the glass bottle. i proceed to turn on the alarm, open the valve, light the rag, and chuck the rig from my room, the impact should break the bottle, or the pressure build up will, and the vapors will be exposed to the fire causing it to explode(assuming i can detour the fail-safes that ensure the opposite).

 

while the zombies are distracted with being on fire, i make a get away in my car from my side window, the first place i go to is my friends Shane and Cory's house, Shane collects swords and various medieval armaments, and their dad owns a lot of guns (true fact) if either is a zombie, step 1: kill them brutally, step 2: miss them terribly, step 3: loot the damn place. if either is alive, great, decoys! joking, they're coming for the long run. in this scenario Shane and Cory are alive, their dads dead, sorry ken, you tried to eat me.... Shane being damn impressive with sword play he'll handle that, cory and myself, knowing how to shoot a gun, will handle that part. we proceed to ken's garage where he has several items a respectable mechanic should have; including a torch, several car parts, a dog, metal plating, etc. Cory being the prodigy behind mechanics and welding will cover his truck with steel plates, while me and Shane offer words of encouragement, and snickering comments on his plumber's crack.

 

now once thats done, we pile in the truck, and argue about whose plan is most effective, we settle on Shane's cause he'd be paranoid enough to come up with a workable zombie plan i imagine. we just leave out the part on using his brother as food once we eventually do run out of provisions. we then travel to Jake's house, man power...important, decide which gun he isn't too frail to use, and teach him how to use it, after that reason with jake that we should see if his ex(and my good friend), Brandi is alive. step 1: observe that she's alive, step 2: calm her ass down, step 3: make sure she doesn't die (important!!). step4: make way to a grocery store. once we reach there, we smell the faint smell of someones loaded pants as a horde of zombies are covering the front. me, Cory, Brandi, jake (now dressed in borrowed pants), and shane, shoot anything we see(these are the slow types of zombies). groups alive, noones bit, we're lucky thus far. until we get inside, the food has been taken, except for some scraps, that wont last one of us an hour, we begrudgingly take what we can find, and get back on the road.

 

the truck runs out of gas, Cory warned us about this, and we huff it on foot. we walk until a massive horde has appeared in front of a pile up of cars, the infected already turned, the immune, long been cannibalized upon. we kill what we can. the fight takes ten minutes, it ends, all of us standing, we think we're the luckiest sons of bitches on earth. until we notice Shane's arm.

 

hes been bitten, not too deep, but bloods been drawn, and teeth marks are evident. we argue on him coming, staying, or dying. Brandi eventually reasons that there might be a chance it isn't spread through bites. so we take him, and cory keeps a gun on him, transformation can be instant to slow, so we cant be too sure. Shane begins to sweat and he feels really sick. we stop, i attempt to explain whats going to happen, he stops me, he knows, he accepts it. we decide who'll be the one to end him, we eventually decide on me. he sits down, kneeling upright i put his hand in mine, we speak at length about how its been a pleasure, and how sorry i am that it had to've been him, tears form in my eyes, i position my pistol under his chin, he nods his head, he begins to well up some tears also, total silence. a loud explosion is heard, a woman screams, a brother cries in agony, and a good friend is gone.

_______________________________________________________________

yea, i'm not the best, but i don't know i could be better...

Share this post


Link to post

This is actually a good thread idea, for people to critique writing. Because I've been writing this movie script and haven't shown anyone and think it could use some criticism.

 

As for OP, you know how to write a story and describe things, but your spelling needs a ton of work.

R.I.P Stephen "Anti-Social Fatman" Bray

 

"In the meantime, the sun will be rising. You will know all, and I will not feel this dread any longer."

Share this post


Link to post

I'm writing a script for a dark industrial movie called "Sceneman" and I for the life of me do not know what it is even about. Simply put, it's a game of cat and mouse where no one chases eachother.

R.I.P Stephen "Anti-Social Fatman" Bray

 

"In the meantime, the sun will be rising. You will know all, and I will not feel this dread any longer."

Share this post


Link to post

BillyLudwick Wow ... Just wow you are a very good writer I love the comedy scattered in your writing And you have a very strong ending... Maybe we can cowrite something? I know I'm not that good at the writing part of writing but where I shine is in the mane plot/ premiss of the story.

non-euclidean fuck machine

Share this post


Link to post

thank you! means alot man. hey if you wanna lay down a good plot, i'll do what i can. ;)

besides i find writing fun, and really productive.

i like writing comedic stories with a serious tone. it really depends on how i think the story would best flow.

 

oh btw, please call me Bill :D i'm gonna have to change my name. :lol:

Share this post


Link to post

The Hamburglar I like the feel of it and it has good potential but you kept saying the same thing over some times that can be a good thing but I think you over did it I give it a 6.8

non-euclidean fuck machine

Share this post


Link to post

KT that is a very good story I love it, is that all you have because it is so good I would pay for the book when it's done.'

Ps is your avitar the same half animal kid in your story?

Pps I have to say it agen... That was brilliant and at a professional level if it's not done yet then you NEED to FINISH IT I'm allredy hooked. ^_^

non-euclidean fuck machine

Share this post


Link to post

Well, this thread makes me want to put on paper a story I've had running through my head for years. Maybe I'll actually get around to it. XD

 

My imagination is active enough to come up with hours of writing but it's my problem with putting images into words I have to contend with. That takes a bit of thinking for me.

Retired Forum Moderator

Share this post


Link to post

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in the community.

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
Sign in to follow this  


  • Who's Online   0 Members, 0 Anonymous, 140 Guests (See full list)

    • There are no registered users currently online
×
×
  • Create New...

This website uses cookies, as do most websites since the 90s. By using this site, you consent to cookies. We have to say this or we get in trouble. Learn more.