Rip me to shreds!

[Silver_Arrow]

"Hurriedly moved away" feels like an understatement for a panic (which you use twice here). Overall, I think you're overdoing the adjectives and adverbs. At the same time, it feels very passive: where are the screams, the terrified parents calling for their children, that kind of thing?

Isn't this a contradiction?

If you're writing close 3P, it seems odd to describe his outward expression. You're missing a comma after "furrowed" too. And it seems strange, in a panicked crowd, to have to search for threats; and "searching desperately" implies that he *wants* to find them.

A lot of what I write relies on describing outward expressions. It's how my mind pans through a scene I've written. Is it not appropriate to describe facial expressions?

Is Logan thinking that it's visible on his face too? Or otherwise aware of it? Because you're slipping out of close 3P. You have two "somethings" in close proximity. And you use a contraction here after having avoided them in the rest of the snippet.

see above

Referring directly to "you" (in "trying to eat you") comes across as a shortcut. "Eat every living person" or "anyone they encountered" would be more in keeping with the tone. And this seems like an experience, rather than something that's observed (as a witness). You don't need a pluperfect in "should have had to witness to", and the final "to" is superfluous.

I had to google what a pluperfect is. It's hard for my mind to think about when writing, words sort of just come out and I past vs present tense doesn't really come to mind.

(As with all the feedback posted here, please take it in the spirit of the thread: constructive criticism to help writers become more aware of how readers might perceive their work.)

 

[StillStunned]

Isn't this a contradiction?

Is it? All I know is that the words you used didn't evoke a sense of immediacy. It was perhaps like seeing the scene from high above, rather than being there in it.

A lot of what I write relies on describing outward expressions. It's how my mind pans through a scene I've written. Is it not appropriate to describe facial expressions?

If you're using close 3P, you're putting the reader inside your character's head. They see, feel and hear what the character sees, feels and hears. Your character can't see their own expression - they can feel it change, they can imagine what they look like, they might notice another person's reaction to their expression, but they can't see it - so the reader can't see it either.

 

[ElectricBlue]

Is it? All I know is that the words you used didn't evoke a sense of immediacy. It was perhaps like seeing the scene from high above, rather than being there in it.

@Silver_Arrow

That was my reaction too. The whole scene was very passive and low key for a supposed panic. It read more as if they were just hanging around, watching people in a mall on Saturday morning, then deciding which movie to go to.

 

[pink_silk_glove]

@Silver_Arrow

That was my reaction too. The whole scene was very passive and low key for a supposed panic. It read more as if they were just hanging around, watching people in a mall on Saturday morning, then deciding which movie to go to.

Sorry Arrow but count me as three. It was quite confusing to read as I was trying to piece together all of this panic that was happening yet wasn't happening. This was the most low key panic that I can recall ever reading. "Oh well, I guess we better get out of all this dangerous panic and zombie shuffle back to our ship," which turned out to be a thoroughly simple affair of stepping onto a peaceful train ride. I was like "Huh? That's it?"

 

[StillStunned]

Something completely different. This is the opening of one of my numerous works in progress, provisionally called "My Life with Mrs Welch". I'm expecting everyone who's enjoyed my criticism in this thread to take off the kid gloves and repay the favour. (And yes, I like cleavage.)

***
I made my mind up about the room the instant I saw the landlady.

Mrs Welch was older than me – not difficult, seeing as I hadn’t turned 19 yet – but still a few years younger than my parents. She had a pretty face, softened by maturity and dominated by a pair of large eyes and full lips.

My own eyes kept drifting towards her chest as she showed me around. There was a hint of cleavage that kept drawing my attention, even as she explained the set-up.

“Sitting area and kitchenette, with the sleeping area screened off.” Her voice was warm, ever so husky. “The bathroom is on the landing. You’ll have it to yourself. My own room has an ensuite.”

I nodded and fought down a flash fantasy of sharing a bathroom with this gorgeous woman. She continued as she led me back downstairs, across the landing where her room was and to the front room. “The bus outside stops at the campus, and continues to the station.” She smiled. “But I suppose you took the bus here, so you know that already.”

I blushed and nodded. So far my responses had been stammers and mutters. And blushes.

People made me uncomfortable. Girls and women in particular. I never got much practice being around them. From an early age, I’d spent most of my time helping my mother with the housework, and later the cooking. Kids can be cruel to boys who spend all their time with their mother, and so I’d spent as little time as possible talking to anyone else.

But now I was at uni, and things had to change. With classes, coursework and travelling back and forth every day, I didn’t have time to cook for my parents, or do the cleaning.

So I ignored my mother’s protests and went looking for a place to live. Somewhere quiet, not surrounded by other students, but at least in the same time zone as where my uni was.

Mrs Welch’s was the first I visited, and it was ideal. Expensive, but I’d saved some money from my job last summer, and I could find work here. I did some calculations, sighed inwardly, and decided that becoming a vegetarian might be a good idea too.

So I blushed and stammered as Mrs Welch wrote up a contract, smiling at me from time to time, and I signed it and she signed it, and she rose elegantly, and I jumped out of my seat.

“You can move in whenever you want,” she said with another smile. “And just start paying rent next month. It will be lovely to have you around, Tommy.”

She led me to the front door and took a pair of keys from a hook. She held them out to me, but I fumbled and they fell onto the tiles with a clatter. Blushing more than ever, I was about to bend down to pick them up, but Mrs Welch beat me to it.

The cleavage was on full display for an instant. There was a flash of white lace too, then she was on her way up again, keys in hand. This time she pressed them firmly onto my outstretched palm and closed my fingers around them. “Here you are.” She smiled again. I’d never been around a woman who smiled at me so often. My skin tingled where she’d touched it.

I managed to make a polite farewell, promising to be along the next day after class with the first of my things. Then I was outside, feeling the early autumn air soothe my burning cheeks and hoping that my cock would subside before the bus arrived.

 

[shelleycat1]

I liked this. A good picture of the living space, a well drawn image of Mrs W which I can imagine. We know about the main character too now. Obviously his back story could be expanded, but it might not be needed.

Two things struck me. Tommy should have been embarrased and hoping his errection has not been noticed. You could have that starting a while back in the snippet. He is going to be much more worried about Mrs. W noticing than a random stranger. I seriously remember when a perfectly innocent woman st work gave me an eyeful when I was 27 or so. The sudden image of her breasts was both arousing and so, so, embarrasing. I couldn’t react without being creepy but she realised what she had done and looked shocked too.

And the same time zone sounded too well travelled and cynical for a 18 / 19 year old just starting out. He has probably never heard of them. Just close enough to travel on a bus route would do.

I notice that your paragraph linking is very clever. I wish I could get that linking from the end of one para to the next half as good. You could improve the link near the end where Mrs W could bend down, followed by the cleavage in the nexr.

 

[StillStunned]

Tommy should have been embarrased and hoping his errection has not been noticed.

Good catch.

And the same time zone sounded too well travelled and cynical for a 18 / 19 year old just starting out. He has probably never heard of them. Just close enough to travel on a bus route would do.

Remembering how clever I thought I was at that age, it seemed a natural expression. But perhaps something on a smaller scale - or a much bigger one - would be a better fit.

You could improve the link near the end where Mrs W could bend down, followed by the cleavage in the nexr.

I see what you mean. A line about Tommie catching his breath in anticipation, time slowing as she bends forward, her breasts pressing forward against the material of her blouse... Yes, I think that moment deserves to be written in slow motion.

Thanks for your comments!

 

[Gamblnluck]

Not "expect" - like I said, I think it works - but perhaps "willing to be". Usually, my descriptions don't go much beyond "the castle loomed as a silhouette against the setting sun". This story is an attempt to see whether I can write a different style.

Okay, here is your "wiling to be". I found this small piece of a story to be excellent prose. The imagery is there. The nuance. I like what your wrote and how your wrote it. BUT here it is: is there a story to go with the imagery? If there is, go with it. I personally like long stories as long as I can see the story progress. I do not like massive amounts of imagery and very little story. That is the same as a long even detailed sex scene.
From grade school up, I hated the stories where the author went off on tangents of descriptions before he came around to telling his story. I don't want a movie scene in my head of a grandiose sunset, that goes on for a page.
I'm looking for a story with a progression that keeps my attention and one where I am not going to skim through and possibly miss something important to the plot.
But you asked.

 

[ElectricBlue]

Something completely different.

Different for you, maybe, but this one was instantly a cringer for me, because the opening is dime a dozen here on Lit - although, to be fair, it's usually the homecoming, and he's coming back to the small town. At least here there was some novelty, because he's just setting off to university.

This is the opening of one of my numerous works in progress, provisionally called "My Life with Mrs Welch". I'm expecting everyone who's enjoyed my criticism in this thread to take off the kid gloves and repay the favour. (And yes, I like cleavage.)

So do I, often with a small spray of freckles like Japanese cherry blossom, so let's see if StillStunned delivers

***
I made my mind up about the room the instant I saw the landlady.

Mrs Welch was older than me – not difficult, seeing as I hadn’t turned 19 yet –

Cringe. Another not grown up youth in an erotic story? Give me a break, the whole set up is cliché. I'd back-click on that sentence alone. The self-reference didn't work for me at all, that's so clunky. At least he's out of shorts.

but still a few years younger than my parents. She had a pretty face, softened by maturity and dominated by a pair of large eyes and full lips.

And double hammering it in with a reference to his parents. I'm expecting Mom to be there, holding his hand.

My own eyes kept drifting towards her chest as she showed me around. There was a hint of cleavage that kept drawing my attention, even as she explained the set-up.

This penchant Americans have to describe a woman's breasts as her "chest" is so weird to me. Here in Australia, men have chests, women have breasts. It always reads as a (not very coy) euphemism to me. And don't get me started on "passed" - people die, accept it.

Cultural Differences You Might Not Be Aware Of 101.

They're breasts. A chest in a bedroom is what you put your blankets in.

“Sitting area and kitchenette, with the sleeping area screened off.” Her voice was warm, ever so husky. “The bathroom is on the landing. You’ll have it to yourself. My own room has an ensuite.”

I nodded and fought down a flash fantasy of sharing a bathroom with this gorgeous woman. She continued as she led me back downstairs, across the landing where her room was and to the front room. “The bus outside stops at the campus, and continues to the station.” She smiled. “But I suppose you took the bus here, so you know that already.”

I blushed and nodded. So far my responses had been stammers and mutters. And blushes.

People made me uncomfortable. Girls and women in particular. I never got much practice being around them. From an early age, I’d spent most of my time helping my mother with the housework, and later the cooking. Kids can be cruel to boys who spend all their time with their mother, and so I’d spent as little time as possible talking to anyone else.

But now I was at uni, and things had to change. With classes, coursework and travelling back and forth every day, I didn’t have time to cook for my parents, or do the cleaning.

So I ignored my mother’s protests and went looking for a place to live. Somewhere quiet, not surrounded by other students, but at least in the same time zone as where my uni was.

The same planet would be handy. The kid's such an innocent, he wouldn't know a time zone from a kitchen bench, let alone one that her ass can slide on. This story ain't going to be The Postman Always Knocks Twice, that's for sure.

This whole chunk is classic infodump.

Mrs Welch’s was the first I visited, and it was ideal. Expensive, but I’d saved some money from my job last summer, and I could find work here. I did some calculations, sighed inwardly, and decided that becoming a vegetarian might be a good idea too.

Infodump. This is another backclick for me, as soon as I read a little back story like this. If leaving home is so important, start the story with a moving little piece with mum and dad, before he gets on the plane, rather than just going five blocks on a bus.

He won't become a vegetarian, because mom is close enough she'll bring him casserole every Sunday.

These story openings bring out the worst in me because they're so cliché.

So I blushed and stammered as Mrs Welch wrote up a contract, smiling at me from time to time, and I signed it and she signed it, and she rose elegantly, and I jumped out of my seat.

“You can move in whenever you want,” she said with another smile. “And just start paying rent next month. It will be lovely to have you around, Tommy.”

She led me to the front door and took a pair of keys from a hook. She held them out to me, but I fumbled and they fell onto the tiles with a clatter. Blushing more than ever, I was about to bend down to pick them up, but Mrs Welch beat me to it.

I'm dying here. God help me!

The cleavage was on full display for an instant.

This stylistic feature does my head in. It's "her cleavage", not some objectified thing. The image I get here is a carved wooden object floating in the air by itself - it's fallen off the aforementioned chest, obviously. It's as if the narrator can't cope with describing a woman as an entire person, so he breaks her up into parts, thus setting up an Ikea story.

There was a flash of white lace too, then she was on her way up again, keys in hand. This time she pressed them firmly onto my outstretched palm and closed my fingers around them. “Here you are.” She smiled again. I’d never been around a woman who smiled at me so often. My skin tingled where she’d touched it.

Better, much better. A hint of white lace is always good, and for the first time there's a human touch and some intimacy. This little paragraph is the gem within the dross. It says everything the whole preamble has been leading up to, and illustrates perfectly, less is more. Don't spoon feed me with the blah blah blah, give me more paragraphs like this, and I'm into the story.

If I had got this far (probably not, because of the infodump that's already gone before), this paragraph might have been enough to hook me, keep me at least vaguely interested. Possibly because it's about her - I'm not interested in him at all.

I managed to make a polite farewell, promising to be along the next day after class with the first of my things. Then I was outside, feeling the early autumn air soothe my burning cheeks and hoping that my cock would subside before the bus arrived.

Can do without the subsiding cock, such a cliché. The kid has been portrayed as such a dweeb, why would Mrs Welch ever be interested? But of course, he'll be instantly a sexual Adonis, all she's ever wanted.

Still, one pearl of a paragraph, not bad .

 

[pink_silk_glove]

Cringe. Another not grown up youth in an erotic story? Give me a break, the whole set up is cliché. I'd back-click on that sentence alone. The self-reference didn't work for me at all, that's so clunky. At least he's out of shorts.

Certainly cliche, but I have to give him some credit. This is not only a tired trope (cougar pounces young cub) but the dynamic alone (aggressive woman pounces hapless dude) is the most common plot on lit regardless of kink, bar none. However, where I give credit is that this first person narrating character admits that he's hopeless and needs help to get laid. It doesn't make the premise great, but it does elevate the piece (even if slightly) above the common schlock where the male character isn't even a geeky awkward loser dude, he's just a ... dude ... who just happens to luckily get pounced. The dynamic is never even set up. It's just assumed. At least this piece accepts and nurtures that dynamic. Which brings me to this.

The kid has been portrayed as such a dweeb, why would Mrs Welch ever be interested?

This is the great question in all of these stories that these stories never ever answer and the main reason why these stories all fucking suck beyond words. If she's that hot and that confident and that aggressive, she can jump the bones of pretty much anyone that she wants, so why is she banging this pathetic putz, and not the Orlando Bloom look-alike captain of the football team? Well, since the writer has actually bothered to set up and nurture that dynamic, it actually has me semi sorta low key curious to find out why Mrs Welch would want him.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm certainly not impressed by the piece, and yes it is brimming with all sorts of cliche, but I'm not bolting for exits with a vomit bag neither.

 

[alohadave]

This penchant Americans have to describe a woman's breasts as her "chest" is so weird to me. Here in Australia, men have chests, women have breasts. It always reads as a (not very coy) euphemism to me. And don't get me started on "passed" - people die, accept it.

Cultural Differences You Might Not Be Aware Of 101.

What's the point of this rant? AFAIK, StillStunned isn't American.

If it's a cultural difference why is your way acceptable and an American's isn't?

 

[AwkwardlySet]

I have been wondering for a while now if this thread was working as intended. Strange.

 

[pink_silk_glove]

What's the point of this rant? AFAIK, StillStunned isn't American.

If it's a cultural difference why is your way acceptable and an American's isn't?

Because it's a thread to have fun ripping on each other, so he's having fun ripping.

 

[ElectricBlue]

What's the point of this rant? AFAIK, StillStunned isn't American.

If it's a cultural difference why is your way acceptable and an American's isn't?

You're over-reacting. It's not a rant, it's an observation, and its only my personal input - did I not stress that enough? I momentarily forgot @StillStunned is, I believe, a Brit - and where did I say, my way is better? I didn't. It's a way of observing that there are many cultural differences, let alone differences between non-native English writers, that many writers remain oblivious of. That's all it was, not some claim for cultural superiority.

I'm sure StillStunned will take my post in the spirit in which it's intended, which is genuine input from another writer in a good-natured thread, and if you're blind-sided to the nuance, then that's on you, not me. I mean, didn't the emojis drop enough clues that it wasn't hostile?

Not everything you read is an attack. Surely you know that by now?

 

[ElectricBlue]

Because some people don't seem to understand that the aim of this thread is for writers to open their style up for critique, in a "let's see how other writers write" friendly kind of a way, rip this to shreds:


I looked across at them, to finish my appraisal. They were in their late twenties, two healthy looking girls who'd been for a walk in the nearby national park, maybe, which would explain the attire and their faces still flushed from the cold: a fast walk to keep warm. Dark leggings girl wore a colourful knitted jumper that hinted at curves but didn't reveal them, with shoulder length dark hair and dark eyes. On a second look she might have been a few years older than I'd originally thought, early thirties.

Her friend faced away, so all I could see was her tight little bum on the chair, her body hidden in a quilted jacket, and long blonde hair in a high pony tail.

My coffee arrived, brought by Jasmyn who I knew, this being my regular place. We chatted for a moment, and when she laughed, the two women looked towards us, curious perhaps at our happiness. The dark eyed girl saw me watch Jazz walk away, and she grinned, leaning forward to say something to her blonde friend, who turned her head towards me.

At that moment, the other waiter came out with their meals, looking down, looking sideways, as he always did.

"He reminds me of someone," the dark haired girl said when he'd gone, "from a movie."

"Borat," I called over, "that comedy movie," to save them from guessing.

"God yes, he does. Borat. That's right. Do you remember that one?" she asked her friend, touching her arm as she did so. "That daft comedy, a couple of years ago? Five years ago, even."

"I do." The blonde woman looked from her friend back to me, and shifted her chair around, so she no longer looked over her shoulder. I saw she had blue eyes and honey blonde hair and high cheek bones. She could be Scandinavian.

"Yah, I remember it." She wasn't Scandinavian, she was American. From where in America, I didn't know. I can't place all American accents - Californian, New Yoick, the clichéd American south, that was about it.

Wherever she was from, ice was broken, and for the next twenty minutes we chatted as if we were the best of friends. And by the end of it, we were, even though we sat at two tables.

"I'm Emma, and this is Bobbie," the dark girl said, as they stood up.

"David," I replied. "It's been lovely to meet you."

"Yes, you too. We might do it again, one day."

"Why, do you come here often?"

We all laughed, and as we went out to the car park, ladies first, Bobbie turned and touched my arm. "It really was lovely chatting. I liked it."

She looked up at me, and I realised how tiny she was. Barely there, snug in her warm quilted jacket.

 

[SimonDoom]

What's the point of this rant? AFAIK, StillStunned isn't American.

If it's a cultural difference why is your way acceptable and an American's isn't?

Well, he DID get an invitation to rip SS to shreds. EB took him up on it.

Don't forget, too: he's Australian. He's had a long hard day dodging crocodiles and killer spiders, and he's probably had one too many.

 

[alohadave]

You're over-reacting. It's not a rant, it's an observation, and its only my personal input - did I not stress that enough? I momentarily forgot @StillStunned is, I believe, a Brit - and where did I say, my way is better? I didn't. It's a way of observing that there are many cultural differences, let alone differences between non-native English writers, that many writers remain oblivious of. That's all it was, not some claim for cultural superiority.

I'm sure StillStunned will take my post in the spirit in which it's intended, which is genuine input from another writer in a good-natured thread, and if you're blind-sided to the nuance, then that's on you, not me. I mean, didn't the emojis drop enough clues that it wasn't hostile?

Not everything you read is an attack. Surely you know that by now?

Excuse me if it was meant in a light-hearted way.

I'll just say that it didn't read that way, and felt like a pointless attack on a different culture rather than a critique of writing.

 

[ElectricBlue]

Well, he DID get an invitation to rip SS to shreds. EB took him up on it.

Don't forget, too: he's Australian. He's had a long hard day dodging crocodiles and killer spiders, and he's probably had one too many.

Actually, it's Saturday morning, just had my toast and coffee and my usual Litertainment.

Also, I'm more a red wine drinker, and the crocs are much further north. The red-back spiders grow like fucking evil black berries when it gets wetter though, so that's what I look out for when chopping firewood. In summer, it's snakes - browns and red-bellied blacks, both venomous. I live close to rural land, and there's a seasonal creek out the back, and the slithering fuckers like the long grass.

 

[StillStunned]

BUT here it is: is there a story to go with the imagery?

Yes, it does actually go somewhere. No convoluted plot, or profound character development, but this opening scene is quite important to what follows.

Thanks for the feedback.

 

[StillStunned]

Different for you, maybe, but this one was instantly a cringer for me, because the opening is dime a dozen here on Lit - although, to be fair, it's usually the homecoming, and he's coming back to the small town. At least here there was some novelty, because he's just setting off to university.

Sooo.... not the same thing?

This penchant Americans have to describe a woman's breasts as her "chest" is so weird to me. Here in Australia, men have chests, women have breasts. It always reads as a (not very coy) euphemism to me. And don't get me started on "passed" - people die, accept it.

Cultural Differences You Might Not Be Aware Of 101.

They're breasts. A chest in a bedroom is what you put your blankets in.

To me, a woman's chest includes the bit above the boobs. The bit you're likely to see above her blouse. I'd only use "chest" to describe breasts if I was going for sterile language.

The same planet would be handy. The kid's such an innocent, he wouldn't know a time zone from a kitchen bench, let alone one that her ass can slide on. This story ain't going to be The Postman Always Knocks Twice, that's for sure.

This is the second comment about my reference to time zones. Is it really such a big thing? I'd expect Aussies and Americans to be aware of them more than Europeans, but when I was at school you'd have been mocked if you didn't know about them.

This whole chunk is classic infodump.

Infodump. This is another backclick for me, as soon as I read a little back story like this. If leaving home is so important, start the story with a moving little piece with mum and dad, before he gets on the plane, rather than just going five blocks on a bus.

He won't become a vegetarian, because mom is close enough she'll bring him casserole every Sunday.

Again, probably a European thing. A two-hour commute is more than most people are willing to undertake on a long-term basis.

The kid has been portrayed as such a dweeb, why would Mrs Welch ever be interested? But of course, he'll be instantly a sexual Adonis, all she's ever wanted.

This is the great question in all of these stories that these stories never ever answer and the main reason why these stories all fucking suck beyond words. If she's that hot and that confident and that aggressive, she can jump the bones of pretty much anyone that she wants, so why is she banging this pathetic putz, and not the Orlando Bloom look-alike captain of the football team? Well, since the writer has actually bothered to set up and nurture that dynamic, it actually has me semi sorta low key curious to find out why Mrs Welch would want him.

To answer both of you: it's going to be a slowly-growing-together story. She's refinding her confidence after the loss of her husband, he's looking for motherly affection. The vegetarian thing, coupled with a manual job to pay the rent, means that he'll get into better shape. Spending time together brings them out of their respective shells.

But just for EB, I'll move the bit about the lacy bra to the start: "I made my mind up about the room the instant I caught a sight of the landlady's cleavage, with a flash of white lace against pale skin."

 

[StillStunned]

I have been wondering for a while now if this thread was working as intended. Strange.

It seems to be. I think we've seen more honest constructive feedback here than we usually get from each other. As writers we all know how painful it can be when someone criticises our work, so when someone asks for input it can be difficult to go beyond, "I love everything about your writing, except perhaps maybe this one teeny-tiny suggestion...."

Anyone posting a snippet in this thread is inviting criticism. It can still hit hard - I won't deny that I was thrown a bit by EB's comment about infodumping - but that's precisely the point. It helps you to see the flaws in your writing from the reader's perspective. You take it on the chin, set aside your initial defensive reaction, and see whether you agree objectively.

Personally, I've found it all very refreshing and useful, both the receiving and the giving.

 

[ElectricBlue]

But just for EB, I'll move the bit about the lacy bra to the start: "I made my mind up about the room the instant I caught a sight of the landlady's cleavage, with a flash of white lace against pale skin."

Excellent! That would hook me in.

 

[AwkwardlySet]

It seems to be. I think we've seen more honest constructive feedback here than we usually get from each other. As writers we all know how painful it can be when someone criticises our work, so when someone asks for input it can be difficult to go beyond, "I love everything about your writing, except perhaps maybe this one teeny-tiny suggestion...."

Anyone posting a snippet in this thread is inviting criticism. It can still hit hard - I won't deny that I was thrown a bit by EB's comment about infodumping - but that's precisely the point. It helps you to see the flaws in your writing from the reader's perspective. You take it on the chin, set aside your initial defensive reaction, and see whether you agree objectively.

Personally, I've found it all very refreshing and useful, both the receiving and the giving.

That's good to hear. Personally, I see a lot of searching for errors and nitpicking here rather than a balanced critique, but I guess that's okay if that's what you wanted to see. Initially, I thought the title of the thread was meant to be humorous, at least partly, but it seems not

 

[StillStunned]

That's good to hear. Personally, I see a lot of searching for errors and nitpicking here rather than a balanced critique, but I guess that's okay if that's what you wanted to see. Initially, I thought the title of the thread was meant to be humorous, at least partly, but it seems not

The thread itself is meant to bring balance to the Force, as it were. It's a place to let out our Dark Side, and yes, search for errors and pick at nits. The title is perhaps humorous and over the top, but it's a way to draw attention and get people to overcome their inhibitions.

I mean, how many threads do we see where someone says, "I'd love feedback on my story," and people only say nice things? How can you learn from that?

It's not for everyone - both giving and receiving harsh criticism can be difficult - but I think it's a useful exercise for anyone who wants to join in. As long as the criticism is fair, specific and actionable, and no-one becomes defensive or antagonistic. Just writers trying to help each other.


ETA: These are just my thoughts. I'd love to hear how other people who have posted here feel about it.

 

[AwkwardlySet]

The thread itself is meant to bring balance to the Force, as it were. It's a place to let out our Dark Side, and yes, search for errors and pick at nits. The title is perhaps humorous and over the top, but it's a way to draw attention and get people to overcome their inhibitions.

I mean, how many threads do we see where someone says, "I'd love feedback on my story," and people only say nice things? How can you learn from that?

It's not for everyone - both giving and receiving harsh criticism can be difficult - but I think it's a useful exercise for anyone who wants to join in. As long as the criticism is fair, specific and actionable, and no-one becomes defensive or antagonistic. Just writers trying to help each other.

I am with you 100% there. But for the record, good critique isn't just about pointing out stuff that doesn't work and searching for errors, it's also about pointing out what you did well. And I am saying that not because such "praise" would sweeten the "bitter" pill of harsh critique, but to reassure you to keep doing that thing they think you are doing right. I don't think that many people here understand that.