Hi! (First time using this) Was pondering if someone would mind reviewing my writing?

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Graythorn Nation
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Discorded I juddered awake from my coma, feeling as if all humanity had suddenly been relieved. I am slowly dying within myself. Unable to see a glimpse of hope among the almost tangible darkness that swirls and coils in my supposed place of rest. Atrocities of war had left any remnants of my past life shreds of what they once were along with slashing and tearing my skin beyond comprehension. My face. I couldn’t even see what was left of my face. But being able to run my leather stripped fingers through each gash lead to a blisteringly visible pain, more so a spark of imagination as to what sort of a disfigured mess of a human thing I had become. Oh how my final wish could have been spent to grant me with a simple death.

My throat convulsed with a shrill screech beginning to rise from the depths of my starved soul. Bouncing around the cold catacombs of a coffin long since sealed shut with ear splitting agony, ravaging the musty air that has been rationed out for what should have been another man's desolate tomb. Yet this can only be in my mind. My personal angel of death won't let my decaying soul claim it's desperation in fear that I may wake from this nightmare. Wake before the devil can be fed by another crippled plaything to manipulate beyond the impound of madness.

The shriek may be unheard, but a deep emotion began to stir from within my beast. Flesh, wood, bone they are all the same. Clawing away at one another in a flurry of attacks and a desperate attempt to escape. Trying to break free before the bell chimes for the husk of a man I had devolved into. My bony appendages tearing away at the blanket of earth's flesh that never ends, the infinite weight of the situation pressing down like a planet and claiming a new monarch to the kingdom of the suffering. Dried wood splintering and cracking under my nails, not even a faint, scratch. Scratch. Scratch can be heard from the heaven that lays in the outside world. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; death and life are becoming one of the same agonies to endure.

When I had woken, the inside of the box was decaying. Yet still held value in contrast to the earth encasing it. A damned swirl of grey wood grain and drab bleached mud that had forced its way through the crevices between the forged nail chains that keep me trapped. All form of critters intruded my dying space. Worms. Writhing, malign, hungry. Starved and malformed by the harsh nutrition-less dirt, their skin slick with the mucus that covered their ravenous mass. Carnivorous beady black spots that search for anything to consume constantly stalking the confines of my limitless hell. Afterwards, almost following like disciples, spiders had began to assemble in preparation to explore this new space that they could soon call a home. An arachnophobes worst nightmare had become real whilst they crept over my scarred face; their jagged teeth clicking impatiently amidst the deafening silence that boiled all over and around me. Eight tiny legs covered in silky hair, itching my face, creeping into every available orifice. Surrounding my eyes and nose, burrowing their way into my skull to fill their stomachs with my bodily tissues as they scavenged for survival. Who knew such a tiny thing could cause this much pain?

The icy catacombs continued to grope my senses, burning, bleeding, dying. Cancer overwhelming each nerve of my existence as a cause my body being been broken down to even the molecular level. A disease that cannot be stopped. Rampaging within my body with no restraints. Intruding every organ and unleashing it's hell upon whatever it deems unworthy. If i were to be even considered alive doctors would ‘try and fix it’. Try to pry it out with the empty promise of survival only to pump chemicals into my body. Truly filling me with helpful poisons and terrible toxins that drag me from the ones I hold dear. Greying hairs would begin to fall out in massive clumps of dead matter, with vomiting becoming rife and coughing fits frequent. After throwing up, when I run out of material to eject then the gagging starts. Choking on nothing, unable to grasp a breath, Satan grabbing my airway as he drags my closer to his what seems like his embrace.

But there is always a development to be made. White light that pierces through the gloom, a beam of hope; there is always a chance for retribution. The harsh crunch of the soil excavated up above is a solace to what I have endured, extracting a tingling from my weary limbs. Saved. Coming back miraculously only to ask for sweet euthanasia. Maybe they have not forgotten, the faces that lead me through life only in mourning coming back for me. The hope of human interaction bringing the partial relinquish of all my fear. Years beginning to fall off my skin, I'm off to a different paradise now. Whatever this new existence will bring I'll remember my time in that blasted hole, because one thing I learned with only my own terrified thoughts as company. There's nothing to do but hold onto nothing in the end…
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Tolgash
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Tootles An actual author did this for an opening to one of my pieces and schooled me in the art of creative writing, despite the fact that I actually got full marks in the creative writing section last summer lol. I am sure that he can fix a few faults that he may find.
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Graythorn Nation
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that would be great if he could do the same for my writing here, although this was purely meant to be descriptive as a part of some homework i got carried away with but i doubt i could ever make a story from it haha
(Original post by Tolgarda)
Tootles An actual author did this for an opening to one of my pieces and schooled me in the art of creative writing, despite the fact that I actually got full marks in the creative writing section last summer lol. I am sure that he can fix a few faults that he may find.
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Tootles
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(Original post by Tolgarda)
Tootles An actual author did this for an opening to one of my pieces and schooled me in the art of creative writing, despite the fact that I actually got full marks in the creative writing section last summer lol. I am sure that he can fix a few faults that he may find.
Not sure if sarcastic. You can have your marks if they mean that much to you. My point is that there's a big difference between what would get you good marks and what would have people actually read your work. If you want to write, which is more important to you?
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Tootles
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(Original post by Graythorn Nation)
that would be great if he could do the same for my writing here, although this was purely meant to be descriptive as a part of some homework i got carried away with but i doubt i could ever make a story from it haha
If you actually want me to, I'll give it a pass in the morning. I'm going to bed in a few minutes.
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Tolgash
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(Original post by Tootles)
Not sure if sarcastic. You can have your marks if they mean that much to you. My point is that there's a big difference between what would get you good marks and what would have people actually read your work. If you want to write, which is more important to you?
Not sarcastic. Sorry if it came across that way. You just showed me how I probably should write instead of how I did write. I also mentioned that you're an actual author because I think that's pretty cool and also quite relevant.
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Graythorn Nation
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That would actually be great if you wouldn't mind, I'm just curious on how other people would view something I honestly developed out of sheer boredom and a desire to see how dark I could make a descriptive piece.
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Tootles
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(Original post by Tolgarda)
Not sarcastic. Sorry if it came across that way. You just showed me how I probably should write instead of how I did write. I also mentioned that you're an actual author because I think that's pretty cool and also quite relevant.
Ah OK. Didn't meant to come across rude. People sometimes take it the wrong way, like I'm being condescending or something.
(Original post by Graythorn Nation)
That would actually be great if you wouldn't mind, I'm just curious on how other people would view something I honestly developed out of sheer boredom and a desire to see how dark I could make a descriptive piece.
OK, I've got it in a Word document and will do some editing/commenting in the morning. I'm pretty brutal though; please don't take any WTFs or I need a drink nows personally.
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Graythorn Nation
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Hey I mean I can't argue, a comment is a comment in my eyes and it's all things I can build on.






(Original post by Tootles)
Ah OK. Didn't meant to come across rude. People sometimes take it the wrong way, like I'm being condescending or something.

OK, I've got it in a Word document and will do some editing/commenting in the morning. I'm pretty brutal though; please don't take any WTFs or I need a drink nows personally.
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Tootles
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(Original post by Graythorn Nation)
Hey I mean I can't argue, a comment is a comment in my eyes and it's all things I can build on.
Feel free to take this with a pinch of salt - I'm one writer, with one set of tastes. My opinion is (more or less) a professional one, but it is entirely my own and thus doesn't represent writers/editors or readers as a whole.

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ra3v4ju24o...rded.docx?dl=0
Last edited by Tootles; 2 years ago
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Graythorn Nation
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Honestly I appreciate the reply either way, all notes I can take for next time to improve so thank yoy
(Original post by Tootles)
Feel free to take this with a pinch of salt - I'm one writer, with one set of tastes. My opinion is (more or less) a professional one, but it is entirely my own and thus doesn't represent writers/editors or readers as a whole.

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ra3v4ju24o...rded.docx?dl=0
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turquoise_badger
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I can certainly tell that you've put a lot of effort into this piece. Your descriptive writing is absolutely brilliant.

Only noticeable problem is that whatever narrative you are writing, whatever story you are trying to tell is completely lost in the mountains and mountains of wonderful descriptive writing. Don't get me wrong, your description of pain, death and suffering are very well done, but I feel as though you have lost track of the story. This piece of writing is all description and no story. But this is still really good.
Other than that, I think it's just a matter of streamlining what you've already written.

Hope this helped
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Graythorn Nation
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Definitely did thank you, narrative is definitely one of my weak points looking back on it now so I'll improve that next time
Thank you yet again it was a really good help
(Original post by turquoise_badger)
I can certainly tell that you've put a lot of effort into this piece. Your descriptive writing is absolutely brilliant.

Only noticeable problem is that whatever narrative you are writing, whatever story you are trying to tell is completely lost in the mountains and mountains of wonderful descriptive writing. Don't get me wrong, your description of pain, death and suffering are very well done, but I feel as though you have lost track of the story. This piece of writing is all description and no story. But this is still really good.
Other than that, I think it's just a matter of streamlining what you've already written.

Hope this helped
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lyalucy
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Wow I love this! Only thing I would say is be careful with your tenses.
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AndrewBellasis
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(Original post by Graythorn Nation)
Discorded I juddered awake from my coma, feeling as if all humanity had suddenly been relieved. I am slowly dying within myself. Unable to see a glimpse of hope among the almost tangible darkness that swirls and coils in my supposed place of rest. Atrocities of war had left any remnants of my past life shreds of what they once were along with slashing and tearing my skin beyond comprehension. My face. I couldn’t even see what was left of my face. But being able to run my leather stripped fingers through each gash lead to a blisteringly visible pain, more so a spark of imagination as to what sort of a disfigured mess of a human thing I had become. Oh how my final wish could have been spent to grant me with a simple death.

My throat convulsed with a shrill screech beginning to rise from the depths of my starved soul. Bouncing around the cold catacombs of a coffin long since sealed shut with ear splitting agony, ravaging the musty air that has been rationed out for what should have been another man's desolate tomb. Yet this can only be in my mind. My personal angel of death won't let my decaying soul claim it's desperation in fear that I may wake from this nightmare. Wake before the devil can be fed by another crippled plaything to manipulate beyond the impound of madness.

The shriek may be unheard, but a deep emotion began to stir from within my beast. Flesh, wood, bone they are all the same. Clawing away at one another in a flurry of attacks and a desperate attempt to escape. Trying to break free before the bell chimes for the husk of a man I had devolved into. My bony appendages tearing away at the blanket of earth's flesh that never ends, the infinite weight of the situation pressing down like a planet and claiming a new monarch to the kingdom of the suffering. Dried wood splintering and cracking under my nails, not even a faint, scratch. Scratch. Scratch can be heard from the heaven that lays in the outside world. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; death and life are becoming one of the same agonies to endure.

When I had woken, the inside of the box was decaying. Yet still held value in contrast to the earth encasing it. A damned swirl of grey wood grain and drab bleached mud that had forced its way through the crevices between the forged nail chains that keep me trapped. All form of critters intruded my dying space. Worms. Writhing, malign, hungry. Starved and malformed by the harsh nutrition-less dirt, their skin slick with the mucus that covered their ravenous mass. Carnivorous beady black spots that search for anything to consume constantly stalking the confines of my limitless hell. Afterwards, almost following like disciples, spiders had began to assemble in preparation to explore this new space that they could soon call a home. An arachnophobes worst nightmare had become real whilst they crept over my scarred face; their jagged teeth clicking impatiently amidst the deafening silence that boiled all over and around me. Eight tiny legs covered in silky hair, itching my face, creeping into every available orifice. Surrounding my eyes and nose, burrowing their way into my skull to fill their stomachs with my bodily tissues as they scavenged for survival. Who knew such a tiny thing could cause this much pain?

The icy catacombs continued to grope my senses, burning, bleeding, dying. Cancer overwhelming each nerve of my existence as a cause my body being been broken down to even the molecular level. A disease that cannot be stopped. Rampaging within my body with no restraints. Intruding every organ and unleashing it's hell upon whatever it deems unworthy. If i were to be even considered alive doctors would ‘try and fix it’. Try to pry it out with the empty promise of survival only to pump chemicals into my body. Truly filling me with helpful poisons and terrible toxins that drag me from the ones I hold dear. Greying hairs would begin to fall out in massive clumps of dead matter, with vomiting becoming rife and coughing fits frequent. After throwing up, when I run out of material to eject then the gagging starts. Choking on nothing, unable to grasp a breath, Satan grabbing my airway as he drags my closer to his what seems like his embrace.

But there is always a development to be made. White light that pierces through the gloom, a beam of hope; there is always a chance for retribution. The harsh crunch of the soil excavated up above is a solace to what I have endured, extracting a tingling from my weary limbs. Saved. Coming back miraculously only to ask for sweet euthanasia. Maybe they have not forgotten, the faces that lead me through life only in mourning coming back for me. The hope of human interaction bringing the partial relinquish of all my fear. Years beginning to fall off my skin, I'm off to a different paradise now. Whatever this new existence will bring I'll remember my time in that blasted hole, because one thing I learned with only my own terrified thoughts as company. There's nothing to do but hold onto nothing in the end…
This is an excellent essay, I think it is written at a very high level. The main thing to check for errors.
Last edited by AndrewBellasis; 2 years ago
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