Critique My Writing (I think it's horrible)

[Sargon the Kassadian]

I was inspired by the Eberron Writing Contest (whatever it's called) Thread and decided to post some of my writing. Please give me a score from one to ten (ala Olympics ). I think its pretty awful from an honest standpoint and you may or will too, but keep in mind that I'm only fifteen years old.
Allright, here goes:

#1 David Messier, dressed in his usual brown flannel suit, was relaxing at the bar sipping his martini. As he glanced around casually he noticed a brown-haired young man wearing a sweat-stained maroon shirt, who met his stare with cold anger. The man, who David supposed was some sort of street trash, looked to poor for this place.
His wallet hung on a chain and he wore punk band patches all over his pants. While the punk walked slowly towards him, Messier twirled his wine glass between his fingers "I've been waiting all my life for this, dad", said the kid with an accusing glare. "What!?" "What the hell are you talking abou-", spluttered Messier, whose protests met with the sharp end of a heavy crowbar.
The upwards swing carved a bloody path across Dave's face, destroying his chin in a splatter of bone chips and gore. The swing continued, ripping through the left eye, neatly halving it. As the crowbar thrust out of the top of his head like an angry mole, Messier flew over the bartop to land with a sickening crunch against an expensive wine cabinet...
The police found the body ten days later inside a coffin, the lid covered with the ashes of hundreds of fathers' day cards.

#2 The door blew off its hinges, flying through the air and pinning a rebel against the far wall. the first government troops were diving through the door and the room lit up. Shredder (needs a better name) rounds, spinning clouds of acid, ripped clean through the terrorists' bodies. The machine guns' noise and power shook the room even as the bullets riddled the enemy with holes. Terrorists in the other rooms ran madly out the back way, only to discover, too late, that it was a trap.
Anti-personnel mines blasted concrete and bodies into the air and mortar fire rained down on those fortunate enough to have escaped the mines. Helicopter gunships circled the building, waiting for the all-clear. Private Kirkpatrick, hearing noise upstairs, requested the helis to level the place. The choppers let loose a salvo of rockets, clothing the building in an inferno as the troops took cover outside. It was all over in just three minutes. The most dangerous insurgents in the American Conglomerate had been eleminated.

#3 The lightning flashed, the rain poured down. The soldiers, illuminated for brief moments stuck in time, hacked, slashed, stabbed, hewed and thrust and fell in piles. The blood and mud and water churned with the thrashings of the mad beast of war.
flash Gritted teeth, cloven shields, crippled mounts, and gore-soaked mail. Throwing his head back, Hundal let out a howl as these images burned themselves into his mind. Hefting his axhammer with one hand and taking a large drink of firespirits with the other, he waded into the vortex of soldiers (not sure how to end this sentence). His weapon swung in broad sweeps, with each flinging men and weapons alike out of its path. The enemy fell in twisted piles of limbs and bodies in front of him.
Then Huldar felt it come upon him. The rest of the battle was a whirlwind of pain and death and ruin until the eventual descent into blackness...
His eyes snapped open and he glanced around. His gaze fell upon the wispy clouds and the sun high above, and then on the burnt buildings and stacks of bodies littering the ground, as he thought of the men who had died. It was as if the gods had used them for playthings and being careless, broke them, leaving them behind without so much as a tear. A few moved on the field, groaning or stirring in attempts to stand. An inspection of his own wounds revealed nothing more than a gash along his leg. He pulled a rag out of his backpack, wiped the blood off his thigh, and bound the wound with it.

I need more to finish #3 and #2, both of which I need to make into full-fledged stories/books, but right now all I'm looking for is advice and critiques from the fine writing/creative folks here at EN World...

 

[Turanil]

These are Sweeeeet tales!

I just hope the first one is not an autobiographical phantasm!

Well, I don't see faults with the writing style, but I must admit that English is not my native language. Lets say that I could read and understand. IMO, a truly horrible style is when you abandon reading before the end because it's incomprehensible and boring. Obviously this isn't the case with your texts. I notice that your phrases aren't too long which is a good point (normally, too long phrases are a major fault that needs be avoided). On the bad side, I think the tales are a little "cliché".

Just my 2 cp.

 

[Sargon the Kassadian]

Thanks!

Yeah, I noticed how cliche it was too. Thanks for the input

 

[sir_ollibolli]

My native language is German, but I will try to put into words what I have noticed while reading these short fragments.

Your style is very graphic, very fast, and lets the reader i.e. me picture the action before my mind's eye.

One thing that caught my fancy is the repeated use of "The" at the begining of each sentence of the first paragraph of the last story. (Try to find out, if the use of such repititions brings additional impact, or if it is better to leave the article out of it...).

One tip that my father gave me: The first and the last sentence of the story are the most difficult. (Try to compare the first sentences or paragraphs of Ludlum, Clancy, Ruff, Tom Robbins, Harold Robbins and others) The beginning lets the mind enter into the vision you prepared for the reader, and the end resonates within him as he views back on his experiences and feelings reading the story.

practice, practice, practice (write dialogue, monologue, action sequences, description of rooms, weather, feelings, pure dialogue, dialogue with guestures and facial expressions, making a decision, try to be playful or direct, try to elicit a laugh from a reader, try to make him cry...)

 

[Edward Kann@StoryART]

Great advice Sir Ollibolli.

In addition I will point again to writing dialogue. At the center of most good writing are the characters themselves. Also feel free to ask for a critique or writing advice without putting yourself down. There is no need to build yourself up or to put yourself down as an artist. Work hard and practice and let your art speak for itself. Be willing to listen to comments and try to learn from them but never let them slow down your passion for writing and creating.

 

[Clint]

Because you asked, and I'm between writing groups.

Your images are strong, and you clearly know what story you want to tell, so let's focus on the mechanics. I'll take one sentence from each scene.

"What the hell are you talking abou-", spluttered Messier, whose protests (were) met with the sharp end of a heavy crowbar.

Which verb describes the moment of impact? I ask this because being hit in the face with a crowbar is grisly and violent, and a great choice of image for such an angry character. The verb is the most important way to describe the action and the tone. If there is a strong action, it should dominate the sentence it is presented in, and shouldn't be hidden in a subordinate clause unless you're deliberately downplaying it. In general, don't count on future sentences to make past actions clear.

Anti-personnel mines blasted concrete and bodies into the air and mortar fire rained down on those fortunate enough to have escaped the mines.

Clauses such as this are difficult to understand on the first read. Sure, you get it by the end of the sentence, but there's a second in the middle where the reader is lost. The reader doesn't know that the 'and' between air and mortar joins two clauses. Make sure you help the reader see that: "fire and mortar..." -> "fire, while mortar...".

Then Huldar felt it come upon him. The rest of the battle was a whirlwind of pain and death and ruin until the eventual descent into blackness...

Indirect pronouns should be resolved immediately. In the first sentence, we don't know what 'it' is. What came upon him? Bloodlust, but this is never laid out for us.

I don't think your writing is at all horrible. Like I said, you have strong visuals, and you have imagination. You just need practice. Fiction writing is both craft and imagination, so keep writing and practice the mechanics of language. In time, you'll not only get better, but you won't need someone to tell you that you are better.

Hope this helps.

-Clint

 

[Piratecat]

I'll zoom this up to the off topic forum.

 

[jmucchiello]

I'll zoom this up to the off topic forum.

Where it will never be critiqued again. Or not...

As visceral as the first passage is, it lost me when the eye was "neatly" cut in half. By a crowbar? Hard to picture for me.

The shredder rounds sentence in the second passage is hard to understand on first read. As Clint said, you shouldn't rely on later sentences to make earlier passages make sense.

#3 starts with rain and lightning. That is a huge cliche. May as well write It was a dark and stormy night. (Okay, it wasn't as bad as the link, still...) The rest of 3 I find hard to judge. The transitions are too abrupt (and too plentiful for the length). And there are a few too many ands in it.

The best way to improve your writing is to write more. Keep at it.

 

[Berandor]

You need to keep an eye out for Ceramic DM, and join the tournament. It'll help your writing, and I will enjoy reading your stories, judging from the above

 

[Berandor]

#1 David Messier, dressed in his usual brown flannel suit, was relaxing at the bar sipping his martini. As he glanced around casually he noticed a brown-haired young man wearing a sweat-stained maroon shirt, who met his stare with cold anger. The man, who David supposed was some sort of street trash, looked to poor for this place.
His wallet hung on a chain and he wore punk band patches all over his pants. While the punk walked slowly towards him, Messier twirled his wine glass between his fingers "I've been waiting all my life for this, dad", said the kid with an accusing glare. "What!?" "What the hell are you talking abou-", spluttered Messier, whose protests met with the sharp end of a heavy crowbar.
The upwards swing carved a bloody path across Dave's face, destroying his chin in a splatter of bone chips and gore. The swing continued, ripping through the left eye, neatly halving it. As the crowbar thrust out of the top of his head like an angry mole, Messier flew over the bartop to land with a sickening crunch against an expensive wine cabinet...
The police found the body ten days later inside a coffin, the lid covered with the ashes of hundreds of fathers' day cards.

Always start speech in a new line. Once you do, figure out the situations you don't have to do that
Try to avoid colorful verbs like "spluttered".
As has been said before, highlight the crowbar swing instead of hiding it.
Try to liven up your sentences somehow, especially your final sentences.
"His wallet..." Whose wallet? It's not really clear for the first moment.
"As the crowbar..., Messier flew..." The use of "as" suggests "at the same moment when". But I'd rather say the crowbar comes out of his head, then he is jettisoned over the barkeep.
I also agree that halving the eyeball with a crowbar is a neat feat.

#2 The door blew off its hinges, flying through the air and pinning a rebel against the far wall. the first government troops were diving through the door and the room lit up. Shredder (needs a better name) rounds, spinning clouds of acid, ripped clean through the terrorists' bodies. The machine guns' noise and power shook the room even as the bullets riddled the enemy with holes. Terrorists in the other rooms ran madly out the back way, only to discover, too late, that it was a trap.
Anti-personnel mines blasted concrete and bodies into the air and mortar fire rained down on those fortunate enough to have escaped the mines. Helicopter gunships circled the building, waiting for the all-clear. Private Kirkpatrick, hearing noise upstairs, requested the helis to level the place. The choppers let loose a salvo of rockets, clothing the building in an inferno as the troops took cover outside. It was all over in just three minutes. The most dangerous insurgents in the American Conglomerate had been eleminated.

Question: Why not shoot rockets into the house from the beginning? The soldiers don't want to salvage anything, nor are they looking for hostages et al.
"Anti-personnel mines blasted concrete and bodies into the air and mortar fire rained down on those fortunate enough to have escaped the mines" needs to be at least
"Anti-personnel mines blasted concrete and bodies into the air, and mortar fire rained down on those fortunate enough to have escaped the mines"
but I'd like it better in short sentences like
"Anti-personnel mines blasted concrete and bodies into the air. Mortar fire rained down on those fortunate enough to have escaped the mines."

#3 The lightning flashed, the rain poured down. The soldiers, illuminated for brief moments stuck in time, hacked, slashed, stabbed, hewed and thrust and fell in piles. The blood and mud and water churned with the thrashings of the mad beast of war.
flash Gritted teeth, cloven shields, crippled mounts, and gore-soaked mail. Throwing his head back, Hundal let out a howl as these images burned themselves into his mind. Hefting his axhammer with one hand and taking a large drink of firespirits with the other, he waded into the vortex of soldiers (not sure how to end this sentence). His weapon swung in broad sweeps, with each flinging men and weapons alike out of its path. The enemy fell in twisted piles of limbs and bodies in front of him.
Then Huldar felt it come upon him. The rest of the battle was a whirlwind of pain and death and ruin until the eventual descent into blackness...
His eyes snapped open and he glanced around. His gaze fell upon the wispy clouds and the sun high above, and then on the burnt buildings and stacks of bodies littering the ground, as he thought of the men who had died. It was as if the gods had used them for playthings and being careless, broke them, leaving them behind without so much as a tear. A few moved on the field, groaning or stirring in attempts to stand. An inspection of his own wounds revealed nothing more than a gash along his leg. He pulled a rag out of his backpack, wiped the blood off his thigh, and bound the wound with it.

O.K., aside from the beginning
Don't hold yourself back. If you get the idea of using flashes between images, go all out.
"flash Gritted teeth in a bloody face flashcloven shields in lifeless grasps flash crippled mounts whinnowing for death to come flash gore-soaked mail weighing its wearer down."

O.K., when all is said, you're using strong imagery. The texts you've provided are fairly genre-typical, if not cliché. You need to think of something unusual happening in your tales, something unique. Or, failing that, try to find a new way of telling us about it.
Plus, I repeat that you mustn't be afraid of really going all out on your story. Let us feel either the punk's hate or the victim's pain. Show us the Private Kirkpatrick's stress. Huldar's bloodlust.

You've got talent. Cultivate it.