Paragraph Review Four - Untitled by Monica

First, the paragraph (or page, really) without commentary:






 Have you ever had the feeling that something was about to happen? You’re not sure if it’s good or bad, but all the same, you know its coming. What if there was something that you had to do, some mystical mission that you just had to accomplish? Do you think you would know what it would be? Would you even know where to look?

   Well, let me tell you, things are not what they seem. The signs that are trying to lead you in the right direction can only be ignored up until a point. That’s where I am now. At the point of no return, the point where I am standing at the other end of a pistol while some guy yells at me in Spanish about how I stole from him. I keep telling him that he has the wrong person, but he doesn’t listen. My face is void of expression as I plan my line of attack.

    After ten years of being a mercenary for higher you learn how to keep your cool under pressure. It felt like it was a whole other lifetime ago. It’s moments like these when you know God is testing you. I try to live a good clean life, you know. No more killing. No more drinking. Well, not as much drinking, but I think God knows my heart is in the right place. Most of the time I can ignore the fuck faces who try to start shit. But right now, this motherfucker is getting on my last nerve.

And now, with thoughts:

   Have you ever had the feeling that something was about to happen? You’re not sure if it’s good or bad, but all the same, you know its coming. What if there was something that you had to do, some mystical mission that you just had to accomplish? Do you think you would know what it would be? Would you even know where to look?

(Have you ever had the feeling you were being drowned in rhetorical questions?  There's a reason you don't start queries with one, let alone five.  The same for a book.

Save for the 'mystical mission' question, this feels like someone's left a Watchtower pamphlet on my doorstep.  I haven't the vaguest idea what this book could possibly be about - nor is there any motivation here for me to care.  It could be anything from signing up for the right car insurance, to local computer repair - but mostly it makes me think of late night evangelism on the public access channel.  Trying to get me to buy something, but not doing a very good job of it.

I'd dump this entire paragraph.)

   Well, let me tell you, things are not what they seem.

(Good, because I'm perfectly happy with my current phone company.)

 The signs that are trying to lead you in the right direction can only be ignored up until a point.

(All signs right now are pointing to 'stop reading', so there'd better be a different one soon.  So far there's been half a page of nothing.  I'm guessing that this book is supposed to be in the vein of Christian or 'inspirational', but at this point I'm completely guessing based on the repetition of 'signs' and 'right paths'.  Beyond that,  I couldn't tell you if this is supposed to be a memoir, how-to, fiction, etc.

I won't go into the sophomoric sentence structure at this point because there are so many other issues.  Were I reading for pleasure or information, I'd have passed by sentence one.)

 That’s where I am now.

(On the highway?  Because seriously, I have no idea what's going on.)

 At the point of no return, the point where I am standing at the other end of a pistol while some guy yells at me in Spanish about how I stole from him.

(Ok, I lied - this sentence is an awkward mess.  I'm not sure whether this is the start of the story, or another extended metaphor either.)

 I keep telling him that he has the wrong person, but he doesn’t listen.

(The beginning of the story.  First person present is a tough nut to pull off well, and this writer isn't doing it very much justice.  We have an unknown protagonist, in an unknown place, possibly speaking Spanish, who may or may not have stolen, um, something.)

 My face is void of expression as I plan my line of attack.

(A protagonist who can look at themselves from the outside, apparently. I've got nothin'.  There are absolutely no emotional cues, no visuals, no input whatsoever to connect with the reader.)

    After ten years of being a mercenary for higher you learn how to keep your cool under pressure.

(Unless this mercenary has wings, it's for 'hire'.  A flub this basic and obvious, combined with the missing comma in this sentence, says the writer has a long road ahead.  We've also jumped voices, and the character is now speaking directly to the reader, another trick that's hard to do well, and not working here at all.)

 It felt like it was a whole other lifetime ago.

(What 'it'?  Being held at gunpoint? Stealing something?  We've jumped completely out of the scene, before ever being in it.)

 It’s moments like these when you know God is testing you.

(Aha! This is supposed to be Christian or Inspirational.  Beyond that, I still haven't the vaguest idea what I'm reading.)

 I try to live a good clean life, you know.

(Like mercenaries are known to...

I can't figure out if the writer is trying to tell a story, or make me take that Watchtower pamphlet.)

 No more killing.

(Ok, so what does this hired gun DO, then?)

 No more drinking. Well, not as much drinking, but I think God knows my heart is in the right place.

(This is an awful lot of explaining unnecessary crap to the reader while the character is presumably being held at gunpoint.  It's called an 'info dump' and needs to be edited out.)

 Most of the time I can ignore the fuck faces who try to start shit.

(The profanity here feels really forced and out of place, and is still more of an aside to the reader than the thoughts of the character.)

 But right now, this motherfucker is getting on my last nerve.

(This is the first sentence where I've felt the presence of the character, rather than the author.)

This has a LOT of problems, the two biggest ones being the info dump and the author insert.

For readers unfamiliar with the terms:

An info-dump is pretty self explanatory - it's a whole bunch of information or asides that have absolutely nothing to do with what's currently happening, and that the reader doesn't need to know at that point in the story.  It most often appears in high fantasy, where the writer is so proud of every bit of world building that they have to share every single note with you;  or in historical fiction, where the writer tortured themselves learning every small detail regarding a time period and wish to subject the reader to the same.  

If your name is Neal Stephenson, you can get away with it.  Otherwise, knock it off.

An author insert is where the author emotes on a topic or situation, rather than the character.  It pulls the reader out of the story, changes the voice, and is generally considered one of those 'things that shall not be done'.  

In fiction, one important thing to remember is that people are reading to be entertained.  If they happen to learn something on the way, cool.  They're generally not reading fiction to learn one writer's personal views on anything, read political manifestos, or to be preached at.  If the writer happens to be good enough to get a message in there somewhere, cool. (Terry Pratchett is a wizard at this. He is also an extraordinary writer.)

This would be a hard pass with zero qualms - there's just too much wrong.  The writing feels stilted and unnatural - like reading a high school essay - it feels like the writer isn't yet comfortable with the basic rules of writing in English.  (I do not know if English is the writer's native language.)

I give props for attempting a couple of very difficult gags, even though none of them worked.

What I would advise, is not to worry so much about trying to send a message.  Worry about crafting an interesting story full of well rounded characters.

Thank you, Monica, and best on your writing journey.

Paragraph Review- 'Proper Questions' Nick Anthony

This is from a fantasy WIP by writer Nick Anthony.  (A WIP trilogy!  A man with a greater attention span than I have.)

The paragraph:

Above the towering Oakenwood trees an early winter storm raged.  A light dusting of snow and sleet filtered through the late autumn foliage.  Nathin had ridden through snow storms before, but something about this storm bothered him. 

A stronger gust of wind rattled the tree limbs above him. A clump of snow landed a few paces from where he lay.  He opened his eyes and sat up, drawing his sleeping furs with him.

Nothing moved beyond the light his small campfire provided.  No leering eyes or sinister movement in the underbrush.  Perhaps he was just overly tired from his long journey home.  Even his mount Dusty showed no signs of concern.

Additional moments of quiet observation passed before he lay back down, drawing his sleeping furs about him to recapture the warmth.

No more than a dozen flickers of the candle passed before a fragile beckon of power touched him.  He was sure it was not his imagination this time. 

He bolted from his furs and held his staff before him, whispering a minor word of power, “leoht.”

 

My thoughts and inserts, for whatever he takes from them:

Above the towering Oakenwood trees an early winter storm raged.

(My first 'meh' is right here - this opener feels like the fantasy version of 'a dark and stormy night'.  Fantasy and horror are 'my' genres, in that they're what I write, and primarily what I read, so I'm going to be a lot harder on these sorts of pieces.  What the capitalized 'Oakenwood' does do for us, is reveals the genre right off the bat - I'd be very surprised if this weren't sword and sorcery in a medieval flavored setting.)

  A light dusting of snow and sleet filtered through the late autumn foliage.

(A light dusting from a raging storm?  Contradictory, and we're not really getting any new information, save that these large oaks still have leaves in late autumn.  Not very interesting.)

  Nathin had ridden through snow storms before, but something about this storm bothered him. 

(Grrrr.  Okay, here's what's making me nuts.  This is total tell, rather than show.  If there were some action or insight from Nathin's point of view directly afterward, it would be more forgivable.  As is, I'm bored within three sentences.  I don't really know anything interesting about Nathin from this, and that's really what stories are about - characters.)

A stronger gust of wind rattled the tree limbs above him.

(Wait - a perfect set up to talk about the character, what he thinks is weird about the storm, and we're right back into that setup?  Argh.  Your reader wants to know about the character, not that a winter storm has wind.  They KNOW that.  And stronger than what? We haven't had any previous gusts of wind to compare it to.  Unless this snow is technicolor, get to the story.)

 A clump of snow landed a few paces from where he lay.  He opened his eyes and sat up, drawing his sleeping furs with him.

(I'm having a bit of a logic disconnect here - highly suspect snowstorm, and our character was asleep?  Don't get me wrong, characters need to sleep.  But you can start a narrative anywhere - and the writer chooses to start with the character waking up?  This isn't the best idea for any genre, and tends to be a trope of new writers who aren't quite sure where they're going in a narrative sense.  I've seen it done well, in a WIP from someone where the world built was so unique that the act of waking and having breakfast was interesting.  The average world building isn't so involved - and this isn't interesting.) 

Nothing moved beyond the light his small campfire provided.  No leering eyes or sinister movement in the underbrush. 

(This is trying to set some tension - the problem is that there isn't any.  And the world building before isn't evocative enough to be drawn into the scene on the strength of that alone, so we have two more sentences of nothing going on.

I keep thinking of Robert Frosts'  'Passing by Woods on a Snowy Evening', and comparing that set of visuals to this.)

 Perhaps he was just overly tired from his long journey home.

(The writer needs some 'show' in the worst way.  We're told this guy is tired - well, he did just wake up after all.  Give the reader something to grab onto, to identify with.  Most people in the modern age have been tired, and have been on long journeys.  Show us some aching muscles, grainy eyes, muddled thoughts - anything.  Or ignore the issue and get to some action. Ever had that bone-tired black sleep with glued-shut eyes that you were tempted to destroy whomever woke you up from - especially without coffee?  Ever been so tired that you see ghosts and shadows that aren't really there?  Or even those little sparkles at the corner of your eyes?  I bet you have.  Showing is about making the reader feel what the character feels.  I'm not  connecting with this guy, the setting, or his situation - and there's nothing going on.)

  Even his mount Dusty showed no signs of concern.

(I'm gonna say it - showshowshowshowshowshowshowshowshowshowshow!  Without being given a description of Dusty,  the brain is going to think 'horse'.  The writer can change that if needed, which is a different issue all together.  The real issue here, is the 'show' again.  Animals have more developed senses than we do, so show the reader what the horsey is or isn't doing - is it sleeping?  Digging through the snow for grass?  How do we know that the horse isn't worried about anything?)

Additional moments of quiet observation passed before he lay back down, drawing his sleeping furs about him to recapture the warmth.

(Wait?  He's gone back to sleep?  After being woken by who knows what on a long, tiring journey?  ARGH.  HE WENT BACK TO SLEEP?  BORING. And we know nothing new about this character, except that he hasn't actually done much wilderness traveling, particularly in bad weather.  One, he appears to just be camping on the side of the road in a snowstorm.  Two, that warmth is quick to leave and slow to arrive - you either get up, or there's little short of a nuclear explosion that's going to get you into the cold.)

No more than a dozen flickers of the candle passed before a fragile beckon of power touched him.

(Candle?  What candle?  Who has a campfire and a candle?  What traveler is going to waste candle wax, tallow, whatever, when there's a frigging campfire next to them?  What candle is going to sit there flickering in a snowstorm with huge gusts of wind?  Not to mention, the character was just touched by an adverb.  We're almost at the bottom of the page before anything of interest happens.- far too little, far too late.)

  He was sure it was not his imagination this time. 

(I didn't realize he was he'd been wondering, but at this point, I don't care.)

He bolted from his furs and held his staff before him, whispering a minor word of power, “leoht.”

 (Too late,  I've passed.)

If this submission had appeared in the early 1980's, it would have had a better chance - the passive style was still running though submissions, and there wasn't as much fantasy to choose from.  Currently it feels like a throwback, and there's just too much engaging and interesting fantasy out there for this to stand a ghost of a chance.  The world and the plot could be the best thing since sliced bread, but the dated, flat method of storytelling has it dead in the water - this needs a serious rewrite and some study of the more modern methods of storytelling.

Best to Nick, and thank you for letting your hard work be used in this project!

Second Paragraph Review: Untitled by Robbie Manson

A first paragraph from something by Mr. Robbie Manson.  Again, the first paragraph without commentary:

The lights of the tunnel whipped by, lighting up the cabin like a flickering strobe. Kane closed his eyes and rested his head on the window behind him, enveloped in air-conditioned cool. The throb of the train was lolling him to sleep. Forget the theatre. She’d understand. He‘d ride the subway to the end of the line, to Brighton Beach and back again, dozing to the rhythm of wheels clattering on tracks.

But Alison wouldn’t understand.

She’d be sore if he didn’t show. In any case, he knew he wouldn’t sleep.

The train shuddered to a halt with a squeal of brakes. As the doors opened, the hot crowd heaved inside, polluting the cabin like a gust of stale breath. Through the window Kane could make out the last few people trying desperately to squeeze inside before the doors lurched closed. Poor suckers. No wonder subway suicides were so high. You could suffocate in these underground stations. They were dug too deep, too close to the core. The reception halls of Hell.

The doors closed and they lurched forward like an overloaded cattle train. Kane could no longer doze. For the rest of the trip he sat there gritting his teeth, jostled by passengers, trying not to breathe in the reek that seemed to grow stronger with every passing station. He made it to Brooklyn and got out at Atlantic Avenue, relieved at last to escape. But there was no relief above ground. The air shimmered with heat and the street rang with the noise of traffic snarling down Flatbush. He felt his headache returning.




With commentary:

The lights of the tunnel whipped by, lighting up the cabin like a flickering strobe.

(I love this - to me, it immediately set the scene in a train.)

 Kane closed his eyes and rested his head on the window behind him, enveloped in air-conditioned cool.

(I could be really nit picky here, and say the 'cool' is gratuitous after 'air-conditioned', but I honestly don't mind it from a stylistic perspective.  Were we talking poetry I'd be fussier, as each word holds more individual weight in a shorter piece.  For a novel, each sentence doesn't have to be world's most carefully crafted glass flower - get the mood right, and you'll keep the reader happy.)

 The throb of the train was lolling him to sleep.

(This is a word choice issue for me - I suspect that 'lulling' would be a more desirable verb than 'lolling'.  The first is to soothe into a relaxed state, while 'lolling' is to hang in a loose or lazy manner, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense in this context.)

 Forget the theatre. She’d understand. He‘d ride the subway to the end of the line, to Brighton Beach and back again, dozing to the rhythm of wheels clattering on tracks.

(No issues here - without spelling it out, we know where Kane is, why he's there, what his conflict is.  Nice.  Plus, the writer has further established location -a subway - and if you've a little more information, what city he's in - New York - without resorting to an info-dump.)

But Alison wouldn’t understand.

(Nice way to introduce the name of the other character, easy and subtle.)

She’d be sore if he didn’t show. In any case, he knew he wouldn’t sleep.

(The use of 'sore' here is quite a bit dated, which pulled me out a touch.  In the time period which 'sore', 'gee whiz' and the like would be common vernacular, the subway wasn't air-conditioned.  I'm not sure which is the anachronism.  So far, it's niggly, but not a total deal breaker.

The second sentence is a touch ambivalent - will he not sleep in the theater, or on the train now that he's thinking about Alison?  This alone isn't a deal breaker either, but pile enough 'almosts' into the first paragraph, and I'll put the book down and look for something else.)

The train shuddered to a halt with a squeal of brakes. As the doors opened, the hot crowd heaved inside, polluting the cabin like a gust of stale breath.

(While the first metaphor felt smooth, this one feels a little obtuse and forced.  How much metaphor can you get away with on the first page?  Depends totally on the writer.  Personally, I'd drop this one as the hot, heaving crowd is a nice clear visual without the addition.)

 Through the window Kane could make out the last few people trying desperately to squeeze inside before the doors lurched closed. Poor suckers. No wonder subway suicides were so high. You could suffocate in these underground stations. They were dug too deep, too close to the core. The reception halls of Hell.

(Nicely inside Kane's head without any author insert, which is good.  It seems like Kane is subject to a bit of melodrama, but his voice is consistent.  I do wonder if it would become overmuch in a novel-length piece, but I honestly can't tell from the excerpt.  So far, so good.)

The doors closed and they lurched forward like an overloaded cattle train.

(About now, that 'not deal breaker' has become a deal breaker.  The metaphor that broke the cattle train?  Anyhow, I'd like to see this writer using some more visual cues to lead the reader to this conclusion, rather than yet another metaphor.  This one adds no depth, and feels like a lazy answer, rather than adding visual information to provide an emotional cue.

As you can see, the writing doesn't have to be bad to get a pass - it would completely depend upon what else crossed my desk that day.  Were I reading for submission, I'd ask for more pages to see if the problems compiled or resolved themselves.)

 Kane could no longer doze. For the rest of the trip he sat there gritting his teeth, jostled by passengers, trying not to breathe in the reek that seemed to grow stronger with every passing station.

(This last sentence feels just a little bit awkward.  I suspect that either breaking up the sentence into two or adding a semi-colon would give the needed mental breathing room.)

 He made it to Brooklyn and got out at Atlantic Avenue, relieved at last to escape. But there was no relief above ground. The air shimmered with heat and the street rang with the noise of traffic snarling down Flatbush.

(I'm not a big fan of 'but there was no relief', because he's relieved in the sentence before.  Contradictory.  If the reader was allowed to follow him emotionally - rushing toward the surface in anticipation, only to be disappointed, for instance - then there'd be a space of time, and the feelings would be both clearer and make more sense.

The air shimmered with heat - eh, I'd like to see a slightly less overused wording; same with 'rang with noise'.  I've yet to hear traffic ring, either - blare, snarl, cacophony - sure.  Ringing makes me think of phones, bells, clear voices echoing; but doesn't really make me think of the total noise of traffic.  This is my opinion, your mileage may vary.)

 He felt his headache returning.

(?  This is the first the reader's heard of it - is it chronic?)

Were I reading for submission, this would probably be a pass, but just barely.  And that stuff is highly subjective, another reader might absolutely love it as is.

Were I browsing a bookstore, if this were on the markdown shelf or the used bookstore, I'd give it a whirl.  Doubt if I'd pay full price.  Again, this is just my taste.

Thanks, Robbie, for putting your work on the chopping block, and much success in your future!

First Paragraph Review: Mid of Evil by Allen Taylor

First, the paragraph, as sent to me - before thoughts, remarks, etc, and in the format sent:

He unsheved his sword his breath was with him nor did his heart beat fast. He was as calm as if he was at his cottage sitting by the fire. The night was dark and moonless the air was cool and had the stench of blood in it. His eyes focused and his hearing keen he dismounted from his horse and waited only muddling the words “come you bastards I haven’t got all night”. Just then from behind the trees a shadow leaped out, with one smooth swipe of his sword ashes lit up the dark then another leaped out and again he swiped his sword as if it was apart of him and turned the creature into ash. As he stepped back a man appeared stepping out of the darkness, He wore an old knight’s garment and appeared to have been a kings guard. The swordsman sheved his weapon and knew he would have to draw it again, for he could smell the death and blood on the knight and knew he was no longer a man. “You have killed my squires’ swordsman I guess you will have to take their place”. He said with a grin that showed two enlarged sharp teeth. “I will be no ones slave and especially not to a night demon, your time in this world has come to an end” the demon pulled from his side a sword and raised it halfway into the sky.” I will not kill you swordsman but you will feel much pain as I slice you up a little; I might even cut off a few of your fingers after all you killed two and only offer yourself as one, you need to be taught a lesson”. Ok.  Here's the paragraph again, with the line by line underneath each sentence, as promised: He unsheved his sword his breath was with him nor did his heart beat fast.  (Unsheved?  While I suspect this is a misspelling of 'unsheathed', it brought to mind languishing crops. The grammar here is a mess.  While I do tend to over-use commas, using none at all is not a good compromise. I'm not quite sure who 'he' is, or why his breath being with him is significant - does it go on holiday by itself? Why choose the overly verbose 'nor did his heart beat fast' over 'steady hearbeat' or 'calm'?) He was as calm as if he was at his cottage sitting by the fire. (I still have no idea who 'he' is, where he is, or what he's doing there.  But he's apparently relaxed about it, as we've gotten the same information twice in the first two sentences, at the expense of learning anything about the situation.  It should be 'were', not 'was'.)  The night was dark and moonless the air was cool and had the stench of blood in it. (This piece needs a copy editor(at the very least) in the worst way.  Out of three sentences, we have two run ons.  In the first paragraph.  Which is unfortunate - I don't mind the simplicity of the tone.  When used properly, a simple, matter-of-fact voice could be quite compelling.  At least we start to have some clue about where this mysterious 'he' is.)  His eyes focused and his hearing keen he dismounted from his horse and waited only muddling the words “come you bastards I haven’t got all night”.  (Wait, what?  Ok, I suspect he's outside at this point - but the horse was kind of a surprise.  From the first two sentences, it appeared that 'he' was lying in wait for something.  Apparently, he was doing that on horseback? We have another run on sentence - three out of four. 'Muddling' the words?  Maybe he has a lisp. and yes, the dialogue is shoved in the middle of the paragraph, and without capitalization. This is also a very strong example of telling, rather than showing about the situation - we're flat out told that this guy has good eyesight and hearing, without any stimulus to indicate as such, we still don't really know where he is, have zero idea of what kind of world he occupies, and have no idea what the situation could be.) Just then from behind the trees a shadow leaped out, with one smooth swipe of his sword ashes lit up the dark then another leaped out and again he swiped his sword as if it was apart of him and turned the creature into ash. (More run on sentences!  Writing exciting action scenes can be tricky even for a writer with a full arsenal of mental tools at his or her finger tips. This is just really, really awkward, particularly the 'smooth swipe of the sword ashes lit up' bit.  On first read, it implies (vaguely) a glowing sword that trails ashes.  But it somehow appears that attacking shadows turns them into flashes of ash, or that the shadows are really creatures of some sort of...oh heck, I'm confused.)  As he stepped back a man appeared stepping out of the darkness, He wore an old knight’s garment and appeared to have been a kings guard.  (Yikes.  I'll stop mentioning the run-on sentence issue, as it appears that the majority of lines in this sampling have that problem. It's samples like this that created the new writer guideline 'show, don't tell'.) The swordsman sheved his weapon and knew he would have to draw it again, for he could smell the death and blood on the knight and knew he was no longer a man. ('Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves...'  Sorry, that's one of the only hymns that I know, and I'm stuck thinking about sharecroppers again. How did he know he'd have to draw it again?  If he knew, why on earth would he bother sheathing his weapon at this time? Further confusion - so this dude was just attacked by shadows, but meeting a knight (at least so far as we've been told) that smells like blood, right after battling monsters, means that he's a bad guy?  How?  I was under the impression that people that fight all the time often get a bit bloody. Is that the only indication that there is?  If so, how accurate could it possibly be? Seems pretty far fetched.  Again, we have no physical description of this knight other than he wears a 'garment'.)  “You have killed my squires’ swordsman I guess you will have to take their place”. He said with a grin that showed two enlarged sharp teeth.  (Killed who?  So far, we've seen shadows and creatures, and been told nothing about them.  Was this knight a past transgression? Research Fail:  Squire's are the apprentices of knights - they don't have swordsmen of their own.   Their place?  From the dialogue, our hero only killed one guy.  From the action, two shadow creatures.  I'm guessing this is more of a writing problem than a story continuity issue. Other thought - this hero must have supernatural vision himself, as the  story seems to imply he's roaming around on horseback in pitch blackness, the only light given by exploding shadow creatures.  Yet he can see the detail in some guy's mouth without any other source of light.) “I will be no ones slave and especially not to a night demon, your time in this world has come to an end” the demon pulled from his side a sword and raised it halfway into the sky. (The dialogue tags indicates that it's the demon, not our hero who is saying this.  I'm ignoring some of the grammar stuff in this line-by-line, as there are just so many problems in this piece(in case you're wondering). Halfway to into the sky?  This dude must be really, really tall.  Like the size of an apartment building.  The writing also implies that the sword was in the actual flesh of the demon, though I suspect the intent was that the sword was hanging from his side, rather than embedded into his side... The 'night demon' thing is annoying, just because this is the first paragraph of a first book - there's no frame of reference.  The writer may know very well what this creature is in his head, but it's not being shared with the reader. The other thing that's making no sense - two people stop mid battle, put away their weapons, engage in some not so witty reparte, and start fighting again?  This is illogical, captain.) ” I will not kill you swordsman but you will feel much pain as I slice you up a little; I might even cut off a few of your fingers after all you killed two and only offer yourself as one, you need to be taught a lesson”. (Ok, I'm going to say it here.  Every single bit of dialogue in this piece is a mess - stilted, overwrought, awkward, and unrealistic.) Overall review: This is just a mess.  Just - everything.  I'd usually point out one or two specific things to work on, but there are too many problems in here. For the writer, I highly recommend getting copies of Eats, Shoots, and Leaves; Self Editing for Fiction Writers, and The First Five Pages. I cannot, in good conscience, recommend this book to anyone; but if you're that sympathetic, this book is an offering from Publish America, $25.00 plus shipping for 136 pages. Thank you to Mr. Taylor for sending me this paragraph, and sincere well wishes on your writing journey.