See if the above poster hooked you:

Total posts: [360]
1 ... 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 ... 15

Every time someone doesn't read the first part of this post, Rick Santorum eats a kitten and your post may be frowned upon.

Idea stolen from Critique Circle.

The writer will post no more than the first 500-1000 words of their work (unless you desperately need to finish a sentence, I guess). If it's a script, the first four pages should suffice, since 1000 words is about four pages in most books.

The reader is pretending to be an editor going through the slush pile, and will stop reading the excerpt if they lose interest. The reader will post to say if they stopped reading, why/ why not, and offer suggestions. The critique doesn't have to be detailed, but please at least offer some advice.

Every time someone doesn't follow the second part, Rick Santorum eats five kittens and your post has a 90% chance of being ignored.

FRIENDLY REMINDER: As the title of the thread implies, if someone posted an excerpt before you, please critique it before posting your own. If you skip someone, you lose the right to whine if someone skips over you. People that have been skipped, feel free to post a polite reminder if you're getting concerned. Reading 1000 words and leaving a few comments shouldn't take too long. And look at it this way: if you critique it yourself, you don't risk waiting forever for someone else to do it for you (this thread takes occasional naps) and you don't have to hope the critiquer doesn't have an excerpt of their own to post right after.

A SHORT NOTE: By hook we mean the first thing the reader sees of the story, not necessarily some sort of inciting incident. Your beginning can be slow and steady, but it still counts as the hook because readers can still be interested by something that moves slowly as long as something is there that gives the reader a reason to keep going. So if you have a prologue that meets or surpasses the word limit, don't stick your first chapter underneath it.

DISCLAIMER: This isn't a hardcore critique thread, so don't try to milk a detailed critique for your first chapter. That's why we have the word limits. Just think of this as a preliminary screening process for serious problems so you can get started on making your first impressions sparkly and awesome.

edited 20th Aug '12 7:46:48 PM by SnowyFoxes

[up] I'd recommend italicizing the diary entry, and maybe writing a date or time above it to signify what it's meant to be.

[down] Sorry again. I've been watching this thread for a while and forgot exactly what the OP said. ._.'

edited 5th Jul '12 5:28:27 PM by ChocolateCotton

202 SnowyFoxes5th Jul 2012 05:21:20 PM from Club Room , Relationship Status: I know
Drummer Boy
Seriously, what do I need to do to the OP? Add kitten pictures?
The last battle's curtains will open on stage!
203 MorwenEdhelwen5th Jul 2012 05:31:04 PM from Sydney, Australia
Aussie Tolkien freak
@Chocolate Cotton: Actually, I meant to say that the entire first page is a diary entry. (Sorry if I didn't make that clear enough) Basically, what I'm hoping to do with this is that the narration is spit between the three main teenage characters: the Red Shadow(protagonist)'s chapters are all done as diary entries while the others are letters and straightforward first-person past-tense narration.

edited 5th Jul '12 5:39:43 PM by MorwenEdhelwen

The road goes ever on.
[up] Oh, I get it now. Yeah, that excerpt doesn't quite read as a diary entry, but it would probably be easier to tell within the context of the whole story. I'd still recommend adding something like italics or a date to make it read as a diary entry.
205 MorwenEdhelwen5th Jul 2012 05:45:24 PM from Sydney, Australia
Aussie Tolkien freak
I thought I did add a date. - Monday February 11?

edited 5th Jul '12 5:45:39 PM by MorwenEdhelwen

The road goes ever on.
[up] Aw man, I totally missed that. Yes you did.
207 MorwenEdhelwen5th Jul 2012 06:08:58 PM from Sydney, Australia
Aussie Tolkien freak
Chocolate Cotton: I liked yours a lot. The humour, the fantasy parody aspect. Especially how Catryn said, "This is just a basic contract. I'm here to rescue you, not marry you." And the princess's brattiness. Looking at it I could only see one thing wrong. That semicolon looked out of place. Just IMO.

edited 5th Jul '12 6:10:49 PM by MorwenEdhelwen

The road goes ever on.
[up] Thanks! Er, would you mind pointing out the semicolon you mentioned? I can't seem to find what you're talking about.
209 MorwenEdhelwen5th Jul 2012 06:35:15 PM from Sydney, Australia
Aussie Tolkien freak
Semicolon is after "She knew it was the right one;" in the second line.
The road goes ever on.
210 SnowyFoxes5th Jul 2012 06:37:53 PM from Club Room , Relationship Status: I know
Drummer Boy
Well, it's grammatically correct. I actually think it looks fine.
The last battle's curtains will open on stage!
Oh, okay. Yeah, I find that semicolons generally look weird, and I try not to use them often, but I liked the way it make the sentence flow.
212 Dimanagul6th Jul 2012 06:35:09 AM from Pittsburgh, PA
Library of useless facts
@Snowy Foxes

Kitten pictures would help. Namely kittens feasting on the entrails of posters that ignore the rules, adorable little faces covered in the blood of the non-believers.

Also I accidently posted an alpha version of my prologue on the bottom of page 7

I was wondering it the actually edited version was a decent hook.

edited 6th Jul '12 6:46:46 AM by Dimanagul

All Heroes die. Some just more than others.
213 Lockedbox7th Jul 2012 05:27:46 AM from Australia , Relationship Status: YOU'RE TEARING ME APART LISA
Um, hi again. I left some feedback and my own excerpt in the middle of page seven and was skipped. Is it possible for me to get a bit of feedback, please?
You mean post 164? I'll have a go.

I like the first 2 paragraphs, not very original but still entertaining, even from such limited information I feel a connection to the character.

None of the writing is bad, but I think if you want to keep it hook-y you need to trim out everything unnecessary and make every sentence count, so even though it's supposed to be woozy, there's not much room for dwelling on things in the stream-of-consciousness way it does at the moment, in my opinion. I think it could benefit from going over a few times with a specific eye to condensing it; perhaps you could try and identify the main points of information you need to get across, then see if you can express each point in two sentences or less while still being interesting. That's probably too extreme, but once you've got it down to the bare minimum you can build it back up carefully adding only what you need to and keeping attention on the key points.

There's a risk that brevity could make it too straightforward and lose the hangover-ness, which would be unfortunate. But at the start I think it's important to weigh every word for impact value, so it would be best if you could find a way to make the writing feel sluggish and confused without it actually being so.

The final paragraph is probably OK as it is, I think once you've got to that point most of the initial hooking is done and you can step back and paint more of a picture.

edited 7th Jul '12 6:33:49 AM by Kesteven

215 Lunacorva22nd Jul 2012 10:19:01 AM , Relationship Status: THIS CONCEPT OF 'WUV' CONFUSES AND INFURIATES US!
@Chocolate Cotton

Oh yes! Most Definately hooked! I find your lighthearted style to be both amusing and entertaining and I'm liking how the setting is basically designed around Leaning on the Fourth Wall.

Anyway here's my contribution, the first one thousand words of my Harry Potter Fan Fic Harry Potter and the Mrymex Gate

Note: Sabyn’s name is pronounced Sa-Bihn (Bihn rhymes with line)

Chapter One: The Crossing

The first thing he saw was the grass. It was damp, but Sabyn only knew that because of the glistening drops of dew on the blades. He couldn’t actually feel the wetness, nor was he uncomfortable or itchy, as one usually is when lying on grass, and yet every single nerve in his young body was going haywire, filled to the brim with a sensation that was…..

That was…

That waaaas…

Sabyn stopped trying. Truth be told, he doubted there actually was a word to describe the bizarre sensation. Scowling inwardly, Sabyn went to raise his head and-

He couldn’t move.

He was trapped, helpless. the spasms wracking his body were making it impossible for him to gain any coherency in his muscles as he shuddered uncontrollably on the wet grass. Trying to stay calm he shot furtive glances around the area. It seemed at least, that his eyes were still functioning.

No one was there. He was alone.

Sabyn made a hissing sound that would have been a sigh if his jaw wasn‘t chattering from the muscle spasms. At that point, struggling would just be a waste of his energy. Right then he needed to figure out just what the hell he was doing lying in some clearing in the middle of nowhere.

Okay… let’s see…

Piece by piece, Sabyn searched through his memory, trying to find something that would help him decipher the cause of his current predicament. He remembered running for his life with Exile. He remembered a swarm of Zarvox attacking them in a transportation bay. He remembered an explosion and then thi-

Wait!! Exile!

Sabyn started thrashing on the ground, trying to gain some coherence in his muscles through force of will alone. He focused all his strength into his right arm, desperately trying to stop it from thrashing uncontrollably. He forced his jaw shut, fighting off the spasms as he just managed to curl one finger, then his wrist. Slowly, straining with the effort, he managed to wrench his arm over his chest using the limb as leverage to raise his shoulder off the ground. Finally, with one last snarl of determination, Sabyn rolled over onto his hands and knees.

He crouched there for a minute, heavy gasps issuing from his throat as the last of the spasms slowly faded.

Slowly and carefully, Sabyn raised himself to his feet, taking care that his legs were sturdy enough to support his weight. When he was sure that he wasn’t immediately going to faceplant, he began looking around the clearing, searching for his best friend.

A small flicker of movement, a shape that didn’t belong.


Exile was lying, twitching on the ground about fifteen meters away from Sabyn. It looked as if the sensation was affecting the other boy even more than it had Sabyn and the smaller youth was about to run over when he saw the irritated scowl on Exile’s face. Sighing slightly in relief, and unable to disguise a small smirk of amusement. Sabyn sat down on the grass and calmly waited for his friend to recover.

As his friend continued to thrash on the ground, Sabyn calmly looked around the area. As he had surmised before, they were in a small clearing in what he guessed was some kind of park. The bizarre looking trees around them were far too small and sparse for them to be a forest, which left park as the only viable alternative. That he could think of anyway.

Movement caught his eye, and he turned his head to see Exile slowly getting to his feet, shaking his head in order to clear out the bizarre sensation

“What kind of portal was that?” Exile grumbled

Sabyn was surprised.

“How do you know it was a portal?” he wandered

Exile rolled his eyes.

“We were in a transportation bay. There was an explosion and now we find ourselves in a clearing in the middle of nowhere, experiencing whatever the hell that was just then. What do you think happened?" Exile asked sardonically. "That the desperate fight for our lives turned out to be a game show, which we won and got a free holiday prize? But we got ridiculously drunk on tequila and we’re now too hung-over to remember what happened? Huh? Is that your brilliant theory?”

“Well, that option is possible.” Sabyn pointed out.

Exile just stared at him.

“You know, normally I’d wonder if going through that portal gave you brain damage, but when it comes to your IQ this is actually an improvement."

“Up yours!” Sabyn scowled, though he couldn’t quite manage to keep the grin off his face.

Exile turned away in order to get a good look at the area.

“Don’t even think about it,” he snapped.

“What?” Sabyn asked, puzzled.

“If you even think about asking a question as stupid as ‘Where are we?’ I will brutally murder you.”

“Actually,” Sabyn started mildly. “I was going to use a Resonance Spell to see if I can find any people around here.”

“Huh… Good idea.”

Sabyn walked out into the middle of the clearing as he loosely shook his fingers, The Resonance spell was one of the first tricks he had learnt at his old club. By generating a field of energy that reacted to the bioelectric signals of living creatures such as their brainwaves, heart rate ect. The Resonance spell gave the user supernatural awareness of all sentient life in the vicinity. At least, that was the idea.

Something was wrong.

He felt… normal. There was no other way to describe it, the tension, the strange buzzing of the flesh that charged his system whenever he used magic was inexplicably absent. He felt suddenly numb. Like a child trying to lift a rock with his mind. It wasn’t simply that the spell wasn’t working, that he would be able to deal with. No, the true horror that breathed helplessness into his veins was far more insidious.

There was no magic.

It was gone, absent, the very air was devoid of its presence, barren and empty.

“Exile!” Sabyn called out, panic briefly coating his voice. Exile jerked his head in Sabyn's direction, wordlessly asking, 'What?'."

“My magic’s not working!”

Exile froze. He stood there for a minute, his head tilting from side to side as he seemed to be considering something. Then he walked over to a nearby rock and punched it as hard as he could. The stone’s rough surface tore the skin from his knuckles.

Exile examined his bloody hand for a minute before turning back to Sabyn.

“My healing magic won’t work either.”

“Crap!” Sabyn swore, now truly scared. “Do you think going through that portal made us lose our magic?”

We clenched his fists, silently praying that he was wrong. Cold dread was creeping into his system, his magic was his one true weapon and the loss of it made him feel helpless and vulnerable. Exile immediately shook his head “Not possible. Our magic is an ingrained part of our minds. If we lost it, we’d go insane.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why we can’t use our magic,” he said.

Exile snorted. “You just answered your own question.”

A smile of relief quickly spread across Sabyn’s face as he realised what his friend meant. “So, we still have access to our magic, we just can't use it?"

Exile nodded.


“But how? An anti-magic field?”

“A portal that leads to an anti-magic field?” Exile asked, a heavy sense of irony in his voice.

“Not all portals rely on magic these days. Some use technology,” Sabyn replied evenly.

“Good point.”

Sabyn looked around, groaning slightly as the pain from their fight in the transportation bay slowly replaced the spasms from before.

Still, he knew he was lucky to be alive.

We must have been teleported out of range before the explosion could do any serious damage. He surmised.

“So now what?” Sabyn asked.

Now that was a good question. Without the use of a resonance spell to help them scout the area, they still had no idea where they were. Still, standing in the clearing certainly wouldn’t get them any answers. So, checking to see if there were any people hiding in the bushes, they left the small area.

They established a sweep pattern immediately, Sabyn flanked right, while Exile took the left, both of them keeping low and staying in cover. Sabyn was on edge as they moved across the land. Although the large amounts of hills, trees and bushes provided excellent cover, they also made the hills perfect for an ambush. Not only that, but without any long range weapons they would be forced to engage the target in melee, and while he was confident in his own melee combat skills (and more than confident in Exile’s), getting into melee without being riddled with bullets could prove to be problematic.

Still, eventually the steady rhythm of moving to cover, checking the area in front, then moving to the next cover began to relax Sabyn’s paranoid mind as he allowed his thoughts to wander.

Their biggest problem would be trying to fit in. They had absolutely no idea about the laws or cultures of the people in the area, if such things even existed. They had spotted a river flowing south awhile ago, and had decided to follow it, going by the old wisdom of settlements being built near sources of running water.

Eventually their gambit paid off. Reaching the top of a particularly large hill, Sabyn and Exile looked down to see an enormous city sprawling across the landscape. With a quick glance at Exile, who was eyeing the city carefully, Sabyn took off down the hill.

edited 22nd Jul '12 10:20:16 AM by Lunacorva

[up] Thanks! ^_^

As for yours, I thought it was quite good. The characters and conflict are interesting, and I'd probably keep reading at the very least to find out how this connects to Harry Potter. (It seems like you're referencing another work too, but I'm not entirely sure?) It looks like the set-up to an interesting story.

One thing- I think you wanted to say that Sabyn wondered instead of wandered.
217 Lunacorva25th Jul 2012 04:03:44 PM , Relationship Status: THIS CONCEPT OF 'WUV' CONFUSES AND INFURIATES US!
Thanks a lot! Oh and the other work is an unwritten original story of mine called Darkor I was curious about what would happen if the characters found themselves in the Harry Potter universe
218 Wolf106626th Jul 2012 02:55:33 PM from New Zealand , Relationship Status: In my bunk
Typin' strangely

I definitely feel that I want to read more of it and find out more about the characters and the world(s) they're in.

It's tantalised with its references to portals, magic and technology and put in a nice couple of mysteries about where they are and how they got there, leaving me wanting to find out the answers.

It also shows the kind of relationship that Sabyn and Exile have.

Mine's the first couple of pages of my Fantasy Kitchen Sink story:

Chapter One:

One of the traits of our kind is that we do not show our true age or our hardships.

A normal human of around thirty years of age, who has survived even a small number of battles, carries the scars of old wounds to serve to remind others that this is not one to be taken lightly and even a labourer or farmer would carry the marks of a life of toil.

By sixty, a normal human is visibly an elder of the family; respected by the younger members and treated, on sight, as an equal by other elders.

We, on the other hand, do not merely heal; we heal completely, leaving no scars at all, and even the oldest of us looks no older than somewhere in the mid-twenties.

The man who sat across the table from me was a hero, a legend – Tacitus had even mentioned him by name in his Annales – a veteran of many hundreds of battles and over seven hundred years old, but he appeared as unsullied as any young man who had never once known the hardships of war.

Amongst experienced mortal warriors, his apparent youth and completely unscathed appearance marked him as different – respected, and sometimes feared, by those who recognised what he was; underestimated and thought an inexperienced youngster by those who did not.

But despite his misleading appearance, he was obviously a warrior – his skin, where visible, was tanned from spending most of his time outdoors, his build and bearing were those of a seasoned fighter and his clear blue eyes were alert and watchful.

In the old tradition of his tribe, he wore his naturally pale hair long, bleached with lime wash and swept back from his brow and his thick moustache hung down both sides of his mouth to below his jaw.

His tunic and trews were made of linen cloth woven from different-coloured threads and his shoes were supple brown leather – all in good condition and only lightly soiled from the day’s travels. About his neck was a gold torc – not even as elaborate as mine, just three coils twisted together and capped at the ends with plain balls.

His long-bladed sword, worn on his right hip in the traditional manner of our people, had an old-fashioned hilt in the form of a stylised human figure, its head and curved arms forming the pommel, the torso forming the grip and the curved legs forming short quillons. It was obviously his original sword from when he first took up arms, centuries before. No doubt the blade had been replaced a number of times and perhaps even the hilt, worn down from years of handling, had needed to be replaced, but it was the same sword.

He signalled for a couple of beers.

The innkeeper, a Mercian, scurried to bring them then left quickly, obviously eager to distance himself from us – and well he might, for the ancient wolf warrior's description and reputation were well known and feared even here.

I was not well known, but my clothing, long hair and distinctive style of beard marked me as “westwealu” – and even this far from the border, that fact alone was enough of a reputation. The added fact that I was in the company of a notorious wolf warrior would lead people to make assumptions about me, not all of which would be inaccurate.

The innkeeper continued to watch us warily from the safety of the bar, as if worried that we might make trouble.

I was certainly not looking for trouble and I was hoping that the ancient warrior opposite me was not planning on any but I wasn't sure of his intentions or plans.

In truth, I had spent the entire journey justifiably concerned about why he had sent for me, as the recent rumours were disturbing. I had heard tales that he had tired of slaying Saxons, trolls, orcs and other mortals and had taken to killing other wolf warriors.

I hoped that the rumours were unfounded or, if based in part on truth, that there were reasons for any killings – such as matters of honour or personal conflict.

Despite the rumours, I came when summoned – no one could accuse me of cowardice – and was hopeful that he had no quarrel with me, the grandson of one of his friends.

He took a mouthful of beer to wet his throat and settled back against the wall.

“I was twenty years old, only just learning to control the change, when Claudius began his invasion,” he began. He spoke in British, confident that the innkeeper and the inn’s only other customers at the time, a troll and a dwarf, would not be able to understand.

As he had the air of a man about to embark on telling his life’s tale, I took up my tobacco pouch and pipe and began filling the pipe’s bowl as he spoke.
Dangerously Genre Savvy since ages ago...
219 MorwenEdhelwen26th Jul 2012 08:03:34 PM from Sydney, Australia
Aussie Tolkien freak
@Wolf 1066. Fairly interesting. I definitely want to know more of what's going on. Such as what is the narrator's race? I'm intrigued.

Here's part (first one-and-a half pages) of a Cuban-set alternate history YA I wrote. It's 16 pages so far.

Cuba Libre: the diary of Che Guevara the second

By Anne Ching

Monday May 7

Today the radio in the kitchen was turned to National Radio Havana, one of the government’s official news shows on RHC-Cadena Azul station. Seńora Valverde listens to it to know the government’s opinions. Celia listens to it when there’s nothing else. The TV in the living room was turned to PLAN (Pan Latin American News). The sound floated out of the living room and echoed down the corridor to our quarters at the back of the house. “Private mercenaries working for casino owners have been deployed alongside government troops and contracted enforcers to Vedado in order to deal with last week’s street disturbance. A presidential address is planned for near the end of this month.” The newscaster was a norteamericano.

Right now I’m writing in this journal because Fidel’s gone out and Celia and I have finished cleaning up the leftover food. There was arroz con frijoles, beans and rice, for lunch, and arroz con pollo, chicken and rice, for dinner. Celia and Fidel will talk about the broadcast tonight. Celia’s already looking worried and tense. Today’s Seńora Valverde’s birthday. She’s twenty-four. She got extra fanmail because she’s a famous actress and model with wavy dyed blonde hair, light brown skin, and brown eyes. I’ll take my satchel off the counter and keep this book in it. Then I’m going out to the courtyard. I’ve been waiting to practice my pitching all week. I couldn’t because it’s the rainy season.

“Ay, muchacho, I need you in the kitchen.“ I pulled the blanket up over my head and shut my eyes, ignoring the street sellers outside selling food and waiting for Celia to leave. No luck. “Che. Come on.” A yell. “Che Segundo Guevara Llosa!” Full name. Like bullets. “Get dressed now and get out of there!”

Better get up now, Che. I dragged myself over to the cupboard and took out a shirt, underwear and pants. Then I pulled the shirt over my head and pulled the underwear and pants up slowly. The pants reached down to my knees. They were a bit longer so I won’t feel cold. Then I followed her into the main kitchen, where everyone except us and the other servants eat. She’s the cook and housekeeper. I’m the kitchen boy. Walked- almost ran- with a limp because of my club foot. “Don’t run, mi vida. You’ll fall.” She squeezed my shoulder.

We made pastelitos for the Valverdes’ breakfast and some for ourselves. I lit the oven fire myself and mixed the flour and water for the pastry crust, shaped it and added the fillings Celia made. There was enough wood to last a week. I was hungry and my right foot hurt like hell. I wiped my hands on a towel. Finally after a few hours we went back down the corridor to our quarters with the food.

edited 26th Jul '12 8:12:23 PM by MorwenEdhelwen

The road goes ever on.
220 SlendidSuit27th Jul 2012 12:03:28 AM from Probably a Pub
Freelance Worrywart
[up] I like the premise here, it's interesting and I haven't really seen it before.
But I think the whole Diary format doesn't quite work here, why would the character spend time giving descriptions and summaries of these characters? He already knows them.
Other than that there are some nice lines in this and I am intrigued.

Can I have a go? Here's a thing:

It appeared that they’d accidentally summoned an ancient horror again.
Cyrus was fast growing tired of this.
He slid easily to the side as a yellow appendage slammed into the ground, sending stinging chips of\\ concrete and mortar into the air. He’d have returned fire by now but chances were this was another case where Bullets Couldn’t Stop This Thing. Which he was also fed up of.
Oh sure, maybe this time the bloody creature might actually get around to ending the world, but it obviously wasn’t going to.

They never do. But for some reason, Cyrus always ended up fighting them anyway. And it wasn’t even his job.

With a sigh of resignation he turned and faced the inconceivable horror yawning behind him. He felt tired. He eyed the creature lazily and started to count its mouths whilst he tried to think of a plan.
When it started to lumber forward he gave up and shot it, just on the off chance.
Nothing. Ah well, he hadn’t expected it to work.
This time it connected and Cyrus was tossed across the room like a ragdoll. He clanged against a pillar and felt his arms splay unpleasantly. The monster howled, or perhaps sang an unearthly choir, and began to eat him.

The hungry ones were probably his least favourite.
As mouths suckered and chewed at his clothes, Cyrus fell around in his back pockets for the small plastic vial of ranch dressing he usually kept there.
His fingers closed and he allowed himself a smile. As his clothes began to tear around the Thing’s teeth he popped the cap and emptied the dressing into its face. A resounding scream of pain filled the chamber and Cyrus managed to slip free of the immobile creature’s grip. He landed on his feet and righted his trilby, which had slipped down over his eyes. He lit himself a cigar, held it between a thumb and forefinger and stared up at the Thing they’d awoken. There still didn’t seem to be a typical weakness bizarrely. Maybe he’d actually have to puzzle this one out.

And then the creature stopped screaming and he had to start running again.

edited 27th Jul '12 12:06:08 AM by SlendidSuit

Gimme yer lunch money, dweeb.
221 MorwenEdhelwen27th Jul 2012 02:21:20 AM from Sydney, Australia
Aussie Tolkien freak
@Slendid Suit: Would you please critique the pages in the story's critique thread?
The road goes ever on.
222 SlendidSuit27th Jul 2012 02:22:46 AM from Probably a Pub
Freelance Worrywart
@Morwen: Sorry, I'll do that soon as. just as a warning, I'm not really all that good at this critic business.
Gimme yer lunch money, dweeb.
223 nrjxll27th Jul 2012 02:53:56 AM , Relationship Status: Not war
Am I the only person on here who just fundamentally disagrees with the idea of this thread?
224 MorwenEdhelwen27th Jul 2012 02:55:15 AM from Sydney, Australia
Aussie Tolkien freak
@Slendid Suit: Don't worry about that. I'm not that good as a critic either. I mean I know what I don't like in a story, I just can't go into detailed specifics about it. :(.

edited 27th Jul '12 2:56:04 AM by MorwenEdhelwen

The road goes ever on.
225 Wolf106627th Jul 2012 03:17:06 AM from New Zealand , Relationship Status: In my bunk
Typin' strangely
[up][up]I like the idea of somewhere you can post something and at least see if one crucial part of the story - the opening hook - does as it's intended and has the reader wanting to continue reading.
Dangerously Genre Savvy since ages ago...

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