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Author Topic: Write Your Weather  (Read 7672 times)
Alflor
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« Reply #45 on: January 17, 2011, 01:14:41 AM »

Whoops, forgot to say what I really liked about your piece, by the way. The way you used the flashback to show how much the weather had changed was really cool!
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"The only people who write bad fiction are writers."
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Reiter
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« Reply #46 on: January 20, 2011, 10:28:36 PM »

Thanks for the comments, Alflor. Smiley Not posting anything yet; just want to clarify a little detail before I go to bed.

Quote
Now, since the character here has been waiting for so long, his first reaction is to greet his boyfriend, and only then to see what time it is.
I'm not talking about him checking the time per se, I'm talking about how you *depict* him checking the time. You wrote your action as part of a dialogue tag - this means that the character is performing the action *while* speaking (e.g. 'he said, measuring the spices in his paw, then dumping them all together in the broth.' --> character is talking while measuring spices). What I think you want is to have him check the time *after* he greets his friend or *before*, in w/c case you use an action tag (e.g. '"Blablabla?" He measured the spices in his paw....'). It may look minor, but it makes a big difference - the difference, for example, between "sneering" a line and expressing one's distaste for another in an intelligible and physically feasible manner.

WRT your crit, I found it amusing how you and another reviewer both thought that "Rain" was the name of the character. That's not a normal train of thought for me, but I suppose in this age of fantasy novels and flower-children's children, weird names have become the norm.

Quote
Dammit, now he remembered -
This seems a tad personal, compared to the rest of the narration.
I agree with you there. I've seen it used to great effect by a few people, though (most recently Lev Grossman in "The Magicians"), so I thought I'd try it out. Takes practice, but I think it's a neat device if you want to personalize an inherently impersonal tone of voice.
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Alflor
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« Reply #47 on: February 23, 2011, 06:45:24 PM »

Don't mind me, I'm just gonna dust some of these cobwebs off.
*Dusts cobwebs off with his paw*
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"The only people who write bad fiction are writers."
-Alex Vance

"People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use." -Soren Kierkgard

alflor.com <-- You should go there. You should go there now.
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« Reply #48 on: February 26, 2011, 09:54:39 AM »

Allo, Alflor. Careful with those dust mites. *sneezes*

Thought I'd go with something a bit different for now. Hope you don't hemorrhage to death enjoy. Wink

----

It was a bright and sunny morning. Jenkins startled awake in his bed. He looked outside. It was bright. It was sunny. It was morning.

Sleepily, he blinked at his reflection in the TV screen, unaware of the negative Feng Shui its placement was even now exerting on his waking form. No, he was too focused on his Herculean figure, mirrored darkly in the glass as his soul was through an obscure but incisive letter written centuries ago by a man he'd never met. That man had said things about love he (Jenkins) would never have thought of - things like, "Love your neighbor as you love yourself," or "Love is like a pumpkin - sweet, wet, and orange. Scratch that, Claudia, that didn't sound right." Jenkins agreed. He loved his neighfurs tremendously, but only because he loved himself (all that 6'2", 85 kg, #8B4513-eyed #F4A460-haired male goodness) with a love that would put Narcissus to shame. Every first of spring, he religiously exorcised those good looks by loving his neighfur's wife with a love so pure, it put the saints to shame.

Was this finally the day? He finally fumbled his figure off the bed, footpaws slipping into footslippers. Trepidatedly, he shuffled to the front door, opened it wide.

Sunlight and crisp 8-degree Celsius (46.4F/281.15K) air hit him in the face. So did the front door.

"Ow!" Jenkins vociferated painfully. A bloody tooth tumbled out of the cavern that was his muzzle. Resting on the doormat.

So much for good looks. (and whether)

----

Dedicated to Quinn. Wink
« Last Edit: February 26, 2011, 10:03:16 AM by Reiter » Logged

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Jacky
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« Reply #49 on: February 26, 2011, 10:53:47 PM »

*haemorrhages to death*
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Alflor
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« Reply #50 on: February 27, 2011, 02:41:27 AM »

Allo, Alflor. Careful with those dust mites. *sneezes*

Thought I'd go with something a bit different for now. Hope you don't hemorrhage to death enjoy. Wink

----

It was a bright and sunny morning. Jenkins startled awake in his bed. He looked outside. It was bright. It was sunny. It was morning.

Sleepily, he blinked at his reflection in the TV screen, unaware of the negative Feng Shui its placement was even now exerting on his waking form. No, he was too focused on his Herculean figure, mirrored darkly in the glass as his soul was through an obscure but incisive letter written centuries ago by a man he'd never met. That man had said things about love he (Jenkins) would never have thought of - things like, "Love your neighbor as you love yourself," or "Love is like a pumpkin - sweet, wet, and orange. Scratch that, Claudia, that didn't sound right." Jenkins agreed. He loved his neighfurs tremendously, but only because he loved himself (all that 6'2", 85 kg, #8B4513-eyed #F4A460-haired male goodness) with a love that would put Narcissus to shame. Every first of spring, he religiously exorcised those good looks by loving his neighfur's wife with a love so pure, it put the saints to shame.

Was this finally the day? He finally fumbled his figure off the bed, footpaws slipping into footslippers. Trepidatedly, he shuffled to the front door, opened it wide.

Sunlight and crisp 8-degree Celsius (46.4F/281.15K) air hit him in the face. So did the front door.

"Ow!" Jenkins vociferated painfully. A bloody tooth tumbled out of the cavern that was his muzzle. Resting on the doormat.

So much for good looks. (and whether)

----

Dedicated to Quinn. Wink

Oo! Infraction! You forgot to critique the previous story (mine). Just sayin'. =P
Good news, though, I didn't hemorrhage to death. =)
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"The only people who write bad fiction are writers."
-Alex Vance

"People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use." -Soren Kierkgard

alflor.com <-- You should go there. You should go there now.
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« Reply #51 on: March 03, 2011, 01:00:29 AM »

This post brought to you by a resident of the Northern Plains that is very thoroughly sick of winter.

Just managed to fit it under the 250 word limit too!  Grin


Snowdrifts curl like crooked fingers across road and sidewalk, whipped into curious shapes by a cruel northwest wind. The blade of my shovel grates against concrete as I bend forward in battle against the encroaching tide of white. My face turns into the teeth of the wind as I turn to sling the latest load of snow on top of the windrow along the walk. I can feel the whiskers in my beard freezing together with each exhaled breath. Snowflakes whirl and dance away from the top of the windrow as the wind fights back against my hard work.

I pause for a moment and lean against my shovel, flexing gloved fingers numbed by the cold. Crazy weather for March, I mutter to the wind. Twenty degrees below freezing without the wind hounding me and a chill of close to forty below when exposed to the brunt of it. The thought comes to me that winter will not go easily this year, but I know it will go eventually. The weather will grow warm and green will eventually replace the seas of white. A brief touch of warmth courses through my body when I close my eyes and think of the heat of the summer sun upon my face, but the bitter sting of wind driven snow against my cheeks quickly drives the feeling away. A frown on my face, I lean forward and return to my work. This damned winter can't be over soon enough.

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The Ghost Tigress
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« Reply #52 on: March 23, 2011, 12:48:49 AM »

Beautiful piece there Jona.  I have such a soft heart for metaphors and similes, and having spent nine years in the mountains, well, this brought a smile to my face.

The first few lines in the second section break up the poetry of the piece in a not so pleasant way, though I of all people understand how difficult it can be the slip in the facts you want with the poetry you wish for.  Really though, that's my only complaint.  Something about it makes me want to see it written third person rather than first, but it might just be my kink of the month XD

So in exchange for you lovely piece, here's one to warm your day with....

Khepri sprawled on the mottled rug, her long tuft tail flicking.  Winter had been long this year.  It still fought and struggled against the incoming Spring, cutting through warm sunlight with bites of cold winds.  Spring seemed to laugh at it, seeing the fight as a dance that would inevitably end as it did every year; the moment Summer finally chose to claim its throne once more.  Khepri was able to savor the sunlight that filtered through her window, safe inside of her apartment from Winter's icy breath- or would it be whips...?  She opened her eyes, and a smile spread on her lips at the sight of a rich blue sky streaked in stark white clouds.  A rumbling purr vibrated through her body, her fur soaking in the spot of sunlight she had found.  She still had many things she had to do, yet for this moment, if only for this moment, she would take the time to pretend that summer was already here.  Funny how a pane of glass could make the difference between a bitter cold morning and a promise of the warmth to come.

Okay, not my best >.<  Headache doesn't help.  It was lovely though, focusing on what I actually did just moments ago.  Seriously, the only difference is the name and the mottled carpet XP
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