English Short Story
Knowing that SYM houses some excellent writers, I was wondering if anyone would mind giving their opinion (criticism is accepted), on the start of this story that I'm using in school. SPAM is accepted too, and if you feel like talking about whatever, feel free to do so.
(No Title Yet)
Mordred glared at the portal, and swore, cursing the amount of snares and traps leading to the cavern.
"By Moradin's hammer, I'm almost driven to magic in order to defeat these silent foes laid by those demon-spawned wizards. And I shall shear my beard before I use the tools of Tan'ari. Bah!" This was not uttered before he realized the stupidity of his muttering. Every mage used the magic at his disposal, and those who didn't ended up dead, often at the hands of wizard slayers such as himself. Though warriors who didn't wield what few rare weapons they found or purchased-or even aquired through various means, were often at a disadvantage, those who managed to live noteworthy battles with such foes as the drow or Red Wizards of Thay, without the aid of magic and magical items became all the stronger. But more often than not, those who challenged the above parties without a group or spell casting of some sorts ended up dead, fallen by the hand of a clearly superior foe.
Still, somehow the crusty dwarf had survived through all the dangers he'd seen. Somehow Mordred Ironfist had lived through all the close calls with magic to fight another day. Yet, every mage he had killed could not quench his unbearable thirst for vengeance. Even though his brother's muderer, a sorcerer with a grudge against the stout folk, had been slain, with his blood plastered upon the walls of a brothel near Arastonia, Mordred could not contain his sense of rage at all those who used magic. A hatred that was already honed by the natural dwarven mistrust of mages. Who were they to kill with a flick of the wrist, and utter an encantation that could burn all the trees in an Elven Vale to the ground? More importantly, who were they to assume that because they're a scholar, they have a right to disobey the laws and use their powerful spells at will? If the law couldn't hunt down these fools, then someone should, Mordred reasoned. He was that man. His grudge was deeper than the underdark. And the dwarf would not rest until death came to him. Many mages had already died in his crusade. And Mordred was certain that one more would be added to the death toll.
"The only good wizard is a dead one," he said, reassuring himself that his quest was not in vain. As if to punctuate his point he spat upon the rocks, and readied his war axe. He could feel the electric aura radiating from the portal, alerting him to the presence of strong magics at work. But he showed no fear and ventured through the portal, bracing himself for the onslaught of fire, ice, and whatever else the sorcerer would heave at him.
"Another wizard will be returned to the abyss....where he belongs...."
English Assignment
English Assignment
"It's not whether you get knocked down, it's if you get back up."
Awesome beginning dude, I like it.
One sort of notice though:
One sort of notice though:
This sentance, while good, seems to be... too long. I personally think you need to break it up a bit, or change the structure:"By Moradin's hammer, why does it seem I require magic all the time to forsee traps made by those demon-spawned wizards without setting loose a torrent of fire."
*Ahem*, or something along those lines anyway..."By Moradin's hammer, I'm almost driven to magic to forsee the traps made by those demon-spawned wizards.
Perverteer Paladin
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fable
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"By Moradin's hammer, I'm almost driven to magic to forsee the traps made by those demon-spawned wizards."
With respect, I don't think this sentence is too long. The sequence of dependent phrases make it too complicated, though. You want something that flows better, or is more striking, or more amusing, for your first sentence.
More importantly, I don't think it makes the kind of sense you want. It says, "I'm almost forced to use magic to prophecise where those wizards will be placing their traps." Is that what you meant? That there's magic at the speaker's disposal to see where the traps will eventually be placed? Or did you mean to say that your character could use magic to sense the traps? Foresee isn't the same as see.
This was not uttered before he realized the stupidity of his muttering. Every mage uses the magic at his disposal, and those who didn't...
Mixed tense. Used and didn't, uses and don't.
ended up dead, often at the hands of wizard slayers such as himself. Though warriors who didn't use what few rare and unique weapons they found or purchased were often at a disadvantage,
You just had "used" in your last sentence. Frankly, it's a very generic word; fine for occasional, well, use, but since you've just applied it, try something a little more specific for both variety and focus. Maybe: "Though warriors who didn't wield those few rare weapons they found or purchased--or acquired, through theft and assassination--were often at a disadvantage."
With respect, I don't think this sentence is too long. The sequence of dependent phrases make it too complicated, though. You want something that flows better, or is more striking, or more amusing, for your first sentence.
More importantly, I don't think it makes the kind of sense you want. It says, "I'm almost forced to use magic to prophecise where those wizards will be placing their traps." Is that what you meant? That there's magic at the speaker's disposal to see where the traps will eventually be placed? Or did you mean to say that your character could use magic to sense the traps? Foresee isn't the same as see.
This was not uttered before he realized the stupidity of his muttering. Every mage uses the magic at his disposal, and those who didn't...
Mixed tense. Used and didn't, uses and don't.
ended up dead, often at the hands of wizard slayers such as himself. Though warriors who didn't use what few rare and unique weapons they found or purchased were often at a disadvantage,
You just had "used" in your last sentence. Frankly, it's a very generic word; fine for occasional, well, use, but since you've just applied it, try something a little more specific for both variety and focus. Maybe: "Though warriors who didn't wield those few rare weapons they found or purchased--or acquired, through theft and assassination--were often at a disadvantage."
To the Righteous belong the fruits of violent victory. The rest of us will have to settle for warm friends, warm lovers, and a wink from a quietly supportive universe.
Or did you mean to say that your character could use magic to sense the traps?
Er....that's what I really meant....kind of tried to use bigger words, but they aren't exactly synonymous huh.....
Mixed tense. Used and didn't, uses and don't.
Right....I have a tendancy to do that
You just had "used" in your last sentence. Frankly, it's a very generic word; fine for occasional, well, use, but since you've just applied it, try something a little more specific for both variety and focus. Maybe: "Though warriors who didn't wield those few rare weapons they found or purchased--or acquired, through theft and assassination--were often at a disadvantage."
Makes sense....I'll give it an edit
Once again, thanks for the advice Aegis, and Fable.
"It's not whether you get knocked down, it's if you get back up."
Originally posted by Nippy
You didn't have to listen to me. Most people don't, cos they think I'm wrong, but I'll show 'em. I'll show 'em real good... Muwahahaha*cough*hack*splutter*.
It was good The Z, real good man. Are you going to add more onto it? It deserves a second edition.
Yep, but I'm still thinking about the next part. I couldn't hand just the intro to my teacher anyways
"It's not whether you get knocked down, it's if you get back up."
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fable
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For what it's worth, and without meaning in any way to demean you, I offer up one of two sections from Mark Twain's Rules for Writing. As a writer for several decades, I've frankly found them invaluable, and still use 'em. (The other section is more amusing than insightful, though still very good.)
An author should:
1. Say what he is proposing to say, not merely come near it.
2. Use the right word, not its second cousin.
3. Eschew surplusage.
4. Not omit necessary details.
5. Avoid slovenliness of form.
6. Use good grammar.
7. Employ a simple, straightforward style.
Note, it is acceptable to violate any of these rules as a special effect, and to violate rules 6 and 7 upon stylistic grounds. (Ring Lardner, for example, wrote some wonderful short stories that are deliberately told in early 20th century New York dialect, that violate rule 6. Several authors, such as Joyce and Cabell, ignore rule 7.) But all in all, these are very good rules to keep in mind.
An author should:
1. Say what he is proposing to say, not merely come near it.
2. Use the right word, not its second cousin.
3. Eschew surplusage.
4. Not omit necessary details.
5. Avoid slovenliness of form.
6. Use good grammar.
7. Employ a simple, straightforward style.
Note, it is acceptable to violate any of these rules as a special effect, and to violate rules 6 and 7 upon stylistic grounds. (Ring Lardner, for example, wrote some wonderful short stories that are deliberately told in early 20th century New York dialect, that violate rule 6. Several authors, such as Joyce and Cabell, ignore rule 7.) But all in all, these are very good rules to keep in mind.
To the Righteous belong the fruits of violent victory. The rest of us will have to settle for warm friends, warm lovers, and a wink from a quietly supportive universe.
Part 2
As Mordred reached the other side of the portal, a stray arrow slammed into his helmet. Momentarily stunned, his conscious mind faded, and instinct took over. Grabbing a throwing axe from his belt, Mordred whirled towards his attacker only to see his mark fall prey to another's arrow.
Pressing his back to a nearby wall, he surveyed the scene, his mind once again in control. The chamber appeared to be an underground hall, not unlike the ones in a dwarven kingdom. Majestic pillars jutted from the ground and pressed against the ceiling far above where Mordred's eyes could see. It was a vast expanse of stone and iron, and abandoned weapons lay upon the floor, tainting the ominous beauty that symbolized the workmanship of the Dwarven Golden age. The once solid floor was cracked, and a few skeletons littered the hall. This place was nothing but a tomb. One of the fallen dwarf strongholds.
A small band of orcs, in all their splendid filthiness, prowled about, now with their backs facing the dwarf. The beasts were attempting to overcome a party of elves, who were sheltered behind a barricade of junk. The elves had piled loose stones and spare wood to form a makeshift barricade, but it had collapsed under the orcs' latest charge. The elves fell back around one of their number who was cloaked with dark robes and had no visible weapon. Mordred sneered, recognizing the characteristics of a wizard. This was his target. If he had to, Mordred would slay all of the elves and orcs to reach the mage. The sight of magic missiles shooting around the hall only heightened his will to kill.
The dwarf gave a roar of hatred and plunged into the skirmish, crushing the skull of a nearby orc with the flat of his axe blade. The sounds of battle dulled the sound of anything that died, so the orcs continued to plow forward, oblivious to the warrior who cleaved them from head to toe. Mordred grinned, and revelled in the blood being shed. No emotion, in the dwarf's mind, could beat the mix of adrenaline and rage that one had while fighting. Battle was a frenzy, a dance of death, where all senses were heightened; a place where power was born--and power was one thing Mordred seeked.
The grin rose to a gleeful laugh, an insane cry that alerted the orcs to a crazed fighter that was hacking the back rows of their ranks into sinew. As another one of their number was decapitated by this strange sight, a barrage of arrows ripped into the orcs. Using one of the fallen green ones as a shield Mordred blocked any incoming missiles with the body, and tossed it aside, oblivious to the arrows that now portruded from the plates on his shoulders. Onwards he charged and was near the centerpoint of the battle when he caught a fleeting glimpse of the wizard calling upon his magic with mystical words and special hand motions. The dwarf immediately recognized the words, and though he did not understand them, the results of that certain encantation were clear in his mind. The elf was evoking a fireball that would have no trouble decimating the orcs--and Mordred. He quickly retreated towards the back line, where only three of the attackers remained. They snarled and grunted determined not to let the wizard slayer live. Unfortunately they were not quick enough to dodge the two throwing axes Mordred had pulled from his shoulder strap. While the victims of his original assault flailed in agony, Mordred rushed the remaining orc, and once again, took out his war axe. By then though, it was too late. Flames erupted, stirring gusts of wind that roared above the agonizing cries of the wounded and the banter of steel.. Acting quickly, the dwarf dove behind one of pillars, hoping that the explosion would occur on the other side of it. The orc had also picked up on what was happening and sprinted for cover, only to be scorched to ashes by the raging flames that erupted from where the fireball had exploded. The fire screamed past the pillar, in fury, unable to penetrate the stone workmanship of the dwarves. Still, the searing heat was nearly unbearable for the sturdy warrior. And flames licked at him, unable to fully envelope another victim.
After patting out the fire on his beard, Mordred stared into the haze. Smoke obstructed his view, and while elven vision was much keener than that of the dwarf, the elves would be hindered by the smoky veil as well. The hall was now silent. With his limited vision, Mordred could see the shapes of orcs strewn everywhere, and the stench of burnt flesh drifted about. To his surprise, an elf emerged from the fog with his bow drawn, and his blue eyes peeled.
"Hold fast, dwarf, you are encroaching upon the territory of Arch-Magus Elzix Vanyar. Remove your weapons and leave this place, or suffer nothing less but death."
Mordred glared and replied by spitting near the elf. The dwarf strutted forward, seemingly unaware of the danger.
"I shall not leave, fool, your bow does not scare me, nor do your hollow threats, nor any arrogant, half-witted elf for that matter. "
"Haughtily said. So be it. May the Gods have mercy upon your pathetic soul for daring to interfere with business beyond your limited scope of thought. Truly, you are the fool. Die stout one. "
The arrow flew from the bow and hurtled toward Mordred's neck, only to be knocked aside by the dwarf's gauntleted hand. A wicked smile appeared on the dwarf's face as he drew his axe.
"Perhaps you should be wishing for the Gods to have mercy on your soul elfling."
The elf was shocked. No dwarf was that fast. It was impossible. Yet, here stood a dwarf who was nearly as fast as an elf! Preposterous. Only momentarily phased by the Mordred's speed, the long sword at the elf's belt slid from the sheath and a strike was already upon Mordred. Not even flinching, the dwarf charged forward and rolled under the hurried swipe bringing him towards the elf's exposed stomach. This time it was Mordred's cut that missed the mark, as his foe danced backwards and twisted away from the axe whirling into a spinning attack that nearly got the better of the old warrior. Unfortunately for the elf, his last spin had left the dwarf with an exposed arm which Mordred all too willingly brought his axe upon. The blade tore the limb from the core of the body and a stream of blood flowed from the wound, soaking the elf's tunic and leather armor. Before the elf could even scream in agony, the axe was brought down on his chest, splitting the victim open, and a crimson river erupted into a waterfall of gore upon the ground. A quick gasp was the last thing that escaped the elf's mouth, and the last thing he saw was Mordred standing over him, chuckling as if he had been given the key to The Phoenix King's vault.
"All too easy," Mordred said, obviously unimpressed with the encounter. And with that, he strode to the shadows and began his hunt for this arch-magus.
As Mordred reached the other side of the portal, a stray arrow slammed into his helmet. Momentarily stunned, his conscious mind faded, and instinct took over. Grabbing a throwing axe from his belt, Mordred whirled towards his attacker only to see his mark fall prey to another's arrow.
Pressing his back to a nearby wall, he surveyed the scene, his mind once again in control. The chamber appeared to be an underground hall, not unlike the ones in a dwarven kingdom. Majestic pillars jutted from the ground and pressed against the ceiling far above where Mordred's eyes could see. It was a vast expanse of stone and iron, and abandoned weapons lay upon the floor, tainting the ominous beauty that symbolized the workmanship of the Dwarven Golden age. The once solid floor was cracked, and a few skeletons littered the hall. This place was nothing but a tomb. One of the fallen dwarf strongholds.
A small band of orcs, in all their splendid filthiness, prowled about, now with their backs facing the dwarf. The beasts were attempting to overcome a party of elves, who were sheltered behind a barricade of junk. The elves had piled loose stones and spare wood to form a makeshift barricade, but it had collapsed under the orcs' latest charge. The elves fell back around one of their number who was cloaked with dark robes and had no visible weapon. Mordred sneered, recognizing the characteristics of a wizard. This was his target. If he had to, Mordred would slay all of the elves and orcs to reach the mage. The sight of magic missiles shooting around the hall only heightened his will to kill.
The dwarf gave a roar of hatred and plunged into the skirmish, crushing the skull of a nearby orc with the flat of his axe blade. The sounds of battle dulled the sound of anything that died, so the orcs continued to plow forward, oblivious to the warrior who cleaved them from head to toe. Mordred grinned, and revelled in the blood being shed. No emotion, in the dwarf's mind, could beat the mix of adrenaline and rage that one had while fighting. Battle was a frenzy, a dance of death, where all senses were heightened; a place where power was born--and power was one thing Mordred seeked.
The grin rose to a gleeful laugh, an insane cry that alerted the orcs to a crazed fighter that was hacking the back rows of their ranks into sinew. As another one of their number was decapitated by this strange sight, a barrage of arrows ripped into the orcs. Using one of the fallen green ones as a shield Mordred blocked any incoming missiles with the body, and tossed it aside, oblivious to the arrows that now portruded from the plates on his shoulders. Onwards he charged and was near the centerpoint of the battle when he caught a fleeting glimpse of the wizard calling upon his magic with mystical words and special hand motions. The dwarf immediately recognized the words, and though he did not understand them, the results of that certain encantation were clear in his mind. The elf was evoking a fireball that would have no trouble decimating the orcs--and Mordred. He quickly retreated towards the back line, where only three of the attackers remained. They snarled and grunted determined not to let the wizard slayer live. Unfortunately they were not quick enough to dodge the two throwing axes Mordred had pulled from his shoulder strap. While the victims of his original assault flailed in agony, Mordred rushed the remaining orc, and once again, took out his war axe. By then though, it was too late. Flames erupted, stirring gusts of wind that roared above the agonizing cries of the wounded and the banter of steel.. Acting quickly, the dwarf dove behind one of pillars, hoping that the explosion would occur on the other side of it. The orc had also picked up on what was happening and sprinted for cover, only to be scorched to ashes by the raging flames that erupted from where the fireball had exploded. The fire screamed past the pillar, in fury, unable to penetrate the stone workmanship of the dwarves. Still, the searing heat was nearly unbearable for the sturdy warrior. And flames licked at him, unable to fully envelope another victim.
After patting out the fire on his beard, Mordred stared into the haze. Smoke obstructed his view, and while elven vision was much keener than that of the dwarf, the elves would be hindered by the smoky veil as well. The hall was now silent. With his limited vision, Mordred could see the shapes of orcs strewn everywhere, and the stench of burnt flesh drifted about. To his surprise, an elf emerged from the fog with his bow drawn, and his blue eyes peeled.
"Hold fast, dwarf, you are encroaching upon the territory of Arch-Magus Elzix Vanyar. Remove your weapons and leave this place, or suffer nothing less but death."
Mordred glared and replied by spitting near the elf. The dwarf strutted forward, seemingly unaware of the danger.
"I shall not leave, fool, your bow does not scare me, nor do your hollow threats, nor any arrogant, half-witted elf for that matter. "
"Haughtily said. So be it. May the Gods have mercy upon your pathetic soul for daring to interfere with business beyond your limited scope of thought. Truly, you are the fool. Die stout one. "
The arrow flew from the bow and hurtled toward Mordred's neck, only to be knocked aside by the dwarf's gauntleted hand. A wicked smile appeared on the dwarf's face as he drew his axe.
"Perhaps you should be wishing for the Gods to have mercy on your soul elfling."
The elf was shocked. No dwarf was that fast. It was impossible. Yet, here stood a dwarf who was nearly as fast as an elf! Preposterous. Only momentarily phased by the Mordred's speed, the long sword at the elf's belt slid from the sheath and a strike was already upon Mordred. Not even flinching, the dwarf charged forward and rolled under the hurried swipe bringing him towards the elf's exposed stomach. This time it was Mordred's cut that missed the mark, as his foe danced backwards and twisted away from the axe whirling into a spinning attack that nearly got the better of the old warrior. Unfortunately for the elf, his last spin had left the dwarf with an exposed arm which Mordred all too willingly brought his axe upon. The blade tore the limb from the core of the body and a stream of blood flowed from the wound, soaking the elf's tunic and leather armor. Before the elf could even scream in agony, the axe was brought down on his chest, splitting the victim open, and a crimson river erupted into a waterfall of gore upon the ground. A quick gasp was the last thing that escaped the elf's mouth, and the last thing he saw was Mordred standing over him, chuckling as if he had been given the key to The Phoenix King's vault.
"All too easy," Mordred said, obviously unimpressed with the encounter. And with that, he strode to the shadows and began his hunt for this arch-magus.
"It's not whether you get knocked down, it's if you get back up."
Excellent pointers @Fable...I would do well to keep those in mind as I write.
@Z: It has been my experience that we all seem to reflect the idiosynchrasies of our conversational speech when we write. This becomes more apparent as you look over things you have written in the past. LOL, what I enjoyed writing three months ago horrifies me to no end now...
Word usage is perhaps one of the biggest obstacles in your way when engaging in creative writing. Our mind and thoughts are shaped by our environment and experiences...when you write creatively, you are seeking to transport the reader to the locale you are striving to shape. Words are your building blocks, and in a very real way, are the paint brush of the imagination. A vocabulary rich in synonyms is the palette from which you will color your paint brush...
My suggestions:
1. Enlarge your vocabulary. Focus on replacing the ordinary with the unusual. For example, instead of using "ghost", use "spectre" (British spelling , or "apparition." I feel the word "kill" is a rather bland and blunt verb. I employ "slay" in its place. That carries a power of it's own. Seek out such words, and use them in your writing.
2. Become the characters in your story. Lose yourself in your setting, allowing the world to fade around you as you seek to impose your imagination upon reality. This may sound strange, but I suggest, as you go about your day, looking at the world through the eyes of one of your characters. This can be very amusing, especially if that character is a crusty old dwarf...
Be careful, however, not to answer your friends while in "crusty dwarf" mode...
These things may sound somewhat abstract, but they will help you immensely as your construct the sentences in your story. "Replacing" the trappings of your real-life existence with those of your fantasy milieu essentially equips you with a fresh outlook that can escape your usual habits. I have no doubt that you are fully equipped with excellent grammatical skills and an ample imagination...now you must practice overcoming the usual pitfalls your mind places before you in your quest to build the perfect sentence.
Here's what I would do with the following sentences from your story:
"Mordred cast his gaze towards the shimmering portal and swore, dismayed by the plethora of traps arrayed before him in the passage leading to the cavern.
"By Moradin's Hammer! Must I use magic in order to best the blasted snares of these demon-spawn wizards? Bah! Rue the day!"
Your opening sentence indicates Mordred sees the traps before him. Therefore, any resulting action or dialogue from this character should reflect his reaction to what he has seen. I split the sentence up for effect only, as dialogue best serves to shed light (and thus give life) on your character, offering a glimpse into his thoughts, and quirks. I added the exclamations at the end to do just that...heh, a disgruntled dwarf always complains loudly when things don't go his way.
As a rule, I don't concern myself with grammar (and even spelling) when I am indulging in dialogue. This further breathes life into your character, for the quirks you utilize in their speech helps a reader to connect, and sometimes even identify, with him (or her). The quirkier the character, the more fun I have writing their dialogue.
Anyway, I hope this helps. Great story so far.
@Z: It has been my experience that we all seem to reflect the idiosynchrasies of our conversational speech when we write. This becomes more apparent as you look over things you have written in the past. LOL, what I enjoyed writing three months ago horrifies me to no end now...
Word usage is perhaps one of the biggest obstacles in your way when engaging in creative writing. Our mind and thoughts are shaped by our environment and experiences...when you write creatively, you are seeking to transport the reader to the locale you are striving to shape. Words are your building blocks, and in a very real way, are the paint brush of the imagination. A vocabulary rich in synonyms is the palette from which you will color your paint brush...
My suggestions:
1. Enlarge your vocabulary. Focus on replacing the ordinary with the unusual. For example, instead of using "ghost", use "spectre" (British spelling
, or "apparition." I feel the word "kill" is a rather bland and blunt verb. I employ "slay" in its place. That carries a power of it's own. Seek out such words, and use them in your writing. 2. Become the characters in your story. Lose yourself in your setting, allowing the world to fade around you as you seek to impose your imagination upon reality. This may sound strange, but I suggest, as you go about your day, looking at the world through the eyes of one of your characters. This can be very amusing, especially if that character is a crusty old dwarf...
Be careful, however, not to answer your friends while in "crusty dwarf" mode...
These things may sound somewhat abstract, but they will help you immensely as your construct the sentences in your story. "Replacing" the trappings of your real-life existence with those of your fantasy milieu essentially equips you with a fresh outlook that can escape your usual habits. I have no doubt that you are fully equipped with excellent grammatical skills and an ample imagination...now you must practice overcoming the usual pitfalls your mind places before you in your quest to build the perfect sentence.
Here's what I would do with the following sentences from your story:
Originally posted by The Z
Mordred cast a glance at the shimmering blue portal and swore, suprised at the amount of snares and traps leading to the cavern.
"By Moradin's hammer, I'm almost driven to magic in order to find the traps laid by those demon-spawned wizards."
"Mordred cast his gaze towards the shimmering portal and swore, dismayed by the plethora of traps arrayed before him in the passage leading to the cavern.
"By Moradin's Hammer! Must I use magic in order to best the blasted snares of these demon-spawn wizards? Bah! Rue the day!"
Your opening sentence indicates Mordred sees the traps before him. Therefore, any resulting action or dialogue from this character should reflect his reaction to what he has seen. I split the sentence up for effect only, as dialogue best serves to shed light (and thus give life) on your character, offering a glimpse into his thoughts, and quirks. I added the exclamations at the end to do just that...heh, a disgruntled dwarf always complains loudly when things don't go his way.
As a rule, I don't concern myself with grammar (and even spelling) when I am indulging in dialogue. This further breathes life into your character, for the quirks you utilize in their speech helps a reader to connect, and sometimes even identify, with him (or her). The quirkier the character, the more fun I have writing their dialogue.
Anyway, I hope this helps. Great story so far.
CYNIC, n.:
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
Thank you for your suggestions. Especially the one about not answering my friends while being in "crusty dwarf" mode I have noticed myself repeating bland words over and over as well (I've got to learn some more colourful synonyms), and in some cases a lack of "unique" vocabulary.
BTW - It's "spectre" in Canada too
I have noticed myself repeating bland words over and over as well (I've got to learn some more colourful synonyms), and in some cases a lack of "unique" vocabulary. BTW - It's "spectre" in Canada too
"It's not whether you get knocked down, it's if you get back up."
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dragon wench
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Great story
Having marked numerous first year univeristy papers I would add the following caveat in regard to employing a more varied vocabulary: When using a thesaurus *never *pick a word without first looking it up in a dictionary unless you are absolutely familiar with its usage
Having marked numerous first year univeristy papers I would add the following caveat in regard to employing a more varied vocabulary: When using a thesaurus *never *pick a word without first looking it up in a dictionary unless you are absolutely familiar with its usage
Spoiler
testingtest12
Spoiler
testingtest12
Originally posted by The Z
Thank you for your suggestions. Especially the one about not answering my friends while being in "crusty dwarf" mode
BTW - It's "spectre" in Canada too
This is where poetry finds a place in story writing. A fine example of a writer who employs "power words" (those nice synonyms) is J.R.R. Tolkien. Fantasy writing seems to respond best to the "epic" style of writing, which is essentially poetry in story format.
Once in a while I forget to disengage from character mode when interacting with others...the results are always interesting.
Ah, yes...you all use the Queen's English up there. I use it liberally in my own writing for effect. I like throwing in the occasional British spelling just to break the monotony.
CYNIC, n.:
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
Originally posted by Chanak
This is where poetry finds a place in story writing. A fine example of a writer who employs "power words" (those nice synonyms) is J.R.R. Tolkien. Fantasy writing seems to respond best to the "epic" style of writing, which is essentially poetry in story format.
Once in a while I forget to disengage from character mode when interacting with others...the results are always interesting.
Ah, yes...you all use the Queen's English up there. I use it liberally in my own writing for effect. I like throwing in the occasional British spelling just to break the monotony.
Ah, so that's what they call it. Most good fantasy books have a certain indescribable feel to them.
I shudder to think what would happen if I lipped off like a crusty dwarf to my brother
Yep...the mother tongue
"It's not whether you get knocked down, it's if you get back up."
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fable
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As Mordred reached the other side of the portal, a stray arrow slammed into his helmet. Momentarily stunned, his conscious mind faded, and instinct overcame him.[/quote]
Instinct doesn't swamp or overrun somebody (the meaning of "overcame') from the outside. It's simply there, in the background, and rises to the occasion. You want "instinct took over."
Grabbing a throwing axe from his belt, he whirled towards his would be attacker...
Would be? He was already attacked by this person at least once. Definitely an attacker, no would be about it.
Instinct doesn't swamp or overrun somebody (the meaning of "overcame') from the outside. It's simply there, in the background, and rises to the occasion. You want "instinct took over."
Grabbing a throwing axe from his belt, he whirled towards his would be attacker...
Would be? He was already attacked by this person at least once. Definitely an attacker, no would be about it.
To the Righteous belong the fruits of violent victory. The rest of us will have to settle for warm friends, warm lovers, and a wink from a quietly supportive universe.