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Official Blatant but Honest Self Promotion Thread


EruditeFool
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4 hours ago, Muwhahaha said:

The conically emanating lacht from the upstairs hallway torch ended, and after a couple of secunds of intermediate darkness it was immediately replaced by that from the two torches in the first square stone chamber in the cellar below. It wouldn’t have mattered either way, to be true; this was because, also much like a felis, Lanuche found that she could see quite well in the dark with only the slightest modicum of difficulty.

When she had passed through the narrow entryway to the smith’s cellar forge, which was no more than a broken gap in the wall,[.]  she found him sitting in a sort of humayne heap on top of a closed black travel chest which was situated under the westmost cellar window and covered in dust.

She stopped about two teythes away, then began to address him. Her thin, blonde hair was sticking up in odd ways due to some latent static electricity on her person. “I don’t mean to intrude here, dath … I can see it’s your special place. It’s just … I’m a little bit confused by all of this … what’s been happening tonacht … “ She stopped then, trail[ed]ing off into a whisper.

After several secunds had passed and he still hadn’t answered her at all, or even started moving for that matter,[.] sShe walked over to him and held out her dainty right hand as if to touch him on his bulky left shoulder. Before she could reach him, however, hH[]e started anxiously; his eyes went wide, he jumped up like a jack-in-the-box, and he danced effortlessly right out of her grasp. Once he found himself clear, he began circling around her in jerky clockwise motions over towards the entryway, pointing ineffectually and spluttering. What little hair he still had on his shining cranium was sticking up in several directions as well.

In the unlikely event that Rychard finally chooses to listen, here's another edit job. To be honest, I'm seeing it more as an intellectual challenge at this point - trying to make this stuff into readable prose.

I do think it's interesting that Rychard cites King as an influence. He's clearly never read King's On Writing, where King says "the road to hell is paved with adverbs" (personally, I'm not dogmatic about it - adverbs are a perfectly legitimate part of prose - but the general principle is valid). 

Edited by Roose Boltons Pet Leech
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8 minutes ago, Roose Boltons Pet Leech said:

In the unlikely event that Rychard finally chooses to listen, here's another edit job. To be honest, I'm seeing it more as an intellectual challenge at this point - trying to make this stuff into readable prose.

I do think it's interesting that Rychard cites King as an influence. He's clearly never read King's On Writing, where King says "the road to hell is paved with adjectives" (personally, I'm not dogmatic about it - adverbs are a perfectly legitimate part of prose - but the general principle is valid).

I'm a fan of adjectives and adverbs myself. But the way he deploys them it's like he's being paid by the word, and he jams so many adjectives and adverbs onto mismatched nouns and verbs that it reads like an overambitious English-as-a-second-language student armed with a thesaurus, trying his best to ape Clockwork Orange.

Edited by DanteGabriel
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Just now, DanteGabriel said:

I'm a fan of adjectives and adverbs myself. But the way he deploys them it's like he's being paid by the word, and he jams so many adjectives and adverbs onto mismatched nouns and verbs that it reads like an overambitious English-as-a-second-language student armed with a thesaurus trying his best to ape Clockwork Orange.

My analogy would be Charles Dickens as written by Jim Theis.

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44 minutes ago, DanteGabriel said:

I'm a fan of adjectives and adverbs myself. But the way he deploys them it's like he's being paid by the word, and he jams so many adjectives and adverbs onto mismatched nouns and verbs that it reads like an overambitious English-as-a-second-language student armed with a thesaurus, trying his best to ape Clockwork Orange.

Fucking spot on.  He's thesaurus crazy, that's for sure.  

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Alright, Roose, If you don't mind, how's this?

 

 

He jerked awake to loud bangs like gunfire.  Confused, he hopped to a crouch and scanned the horizon.  The sun was beginning to peek in the east casting a dim light on an otherwise dark scene.  He looked about unsure whether his dreams were firing guns or something outside of dreamland was attacking.  He ran to the rail and again looked about and again got nothing.  No backlit outlines or dark objects were visible.  

He ran to the lift, flipped the express switch and shot into the air as the pulley yanked him to the flydeck.  He hopped off and before he’d taken two steps, the gunfire sounded again.  This time he could place it.  Hells, he could see it.  

Across the deck he saw Beisa and the Dieso kids standing, each holding a rifle.  Their speech was muffled by distance but he could now see what they were doing.  As he watched, Beisa set and released a skeet shot, sending the clay disk spinning like a frisbee.  All three kids had their rifles up in a blink and in a breath, their shots rang out like morning laughter.

 

 

This is a first draft.  I know it needs some work but I'd like to see what you think and where you think it needs it.

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33 minutes ago, Muwhahaha said:

He jerked awake to loud bangs like gunfire.  Confused, he hopped to a crouch and scanned the horizon.  The sun was beginning to peek in the east casting a dim light on an otherwise dark sceneHe looked about unsure whether his dreams were firing guns or something outside of dreamland was attacking.  H, he ran to the rail and again looked about and again got nothing.  No backlit outlines or dark objects were visible.  

He ran to the lift, [and] flipped the express switch and shot into the air as the pulley yanked him to the flydeck.  He hopped off and before he’d taken two steps, the gunfire sounded again.  This time he could place it.  Hells, he could see it.  

Across the deck he saw Beisa and the Dieso kids standing, each holding a rifle.  Their speech was muffled by distance but he could now see what they were doing.  As he watched, Beisa set and released a skeet shot, sending the clay disk spinning like a frisbee.  All three kids had their rifles up in a blink and in a breath, [.]tTheir shots rang out like morning laughter.

Cut bold.

Edited by Roose Boltons Pet Leech
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17 hours ago, Muwhahaha said:

You can follow the link in his sig to see his stuff for free.  It's worth it.  It made me feel like William fucking Shakespeare.  His writing makes Robert Stanek look like Mark Twain.  

I appreciate the advice, but I lack time to read all the books I want so I definitely won't be wasting it on this guy's "stuff".

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[mod] OK. As entertaining (from the outside) as this interlude has been, it's pretty much derailed the thread. Please take the derail elsewhere. A thread where people voluntarily post their work to be critiqued would not be amiss, although I would draw the line at ridiculing work that was not voluntarily posted for critique. :) And please cease with the personal insults as well. Thank you. [/mod]

Edited by Xray the Enforcer
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On 30/03/2016 at 7:02 AM, Zoë Sumra said:

Blatant and shameless reminder that I am Campbell-eligible this year (and next!) for Sailor to a Siren. :) Goodreads page here. Look-inside available on UK Amazon here (also available on several other Amazon country-specific stores).

Silly question - are you only Campbell-eligible for your first professional work, or can any professional work published in the two year window after your debut count?

(Say in your case you churn out another novel next year - could you be nominated for that, or just Sailor to a Siren?).

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12 hours ago, Roose Boltons Pet Leech said:

Silly question - are you only Campbell-eligible for your first professional work, or can any professional work published in the two year window after your debut count?

(Say in your case you churn out another novel next year - could you be nominated for that, or just Sailor to a Siren?).

I believe the Campbell award is for an author not an individual piece of work.

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