It seems I misplaced a digit. Was thinking 17 million instead of 1.7 million square miles, and that would've been bigger (because idunno, mercator or something, point is I was wrong). His area of influence was much bigger than the actual territory, but then, I guess you could say the same about Genghis -- but I mean, when you can raze Delhi, your empire does, in all practicality, include all of India. He did the same to the Ottomans, and enjoyed total control over most neighbors.
My point being this dude was the man. One of the best killers in history (singlehandedly exterminated 5% of the world's population, if you buy the estimates), and there's some x-files-level creepy supernatural shit surrounding his life and death.
My favorite historical figure isn't what you might call "Admirable," but it's the best bit of history you'll ever read... Tamerlane, the Mongol general who built an empire larger than Genghis Khan all by himself. Absolutely brutal to his enemies, beloved by his men, genius in his tactics, effective in strategy. He never lost a battle, and died enroute to China where he meant to re-establish the Golden Khanate (having subjugated and/or slaughtered civilizations in his wake). He was buried with the words "Who ever opens my tomb, shall unleash an invader more terrible than I." A Soviet archaeologist exhumed him in 1941, on the exact same day that Adolf Hitler commenced his invasion into Russia.
I wrote a kickass story about his victory at Delhi, but can't find it just now :/
edit: found it
Northern India, 1398
I saw him only once, before the battle. My family had just been claimed by Mirzha Raheem, and we were yet in the grips of terror. The prince would snarl, and shake his scimitar, and we cowered with every dark word. His tongue was foreign and I did not know the words that fell from it, but when he set his eyes upon my mother, I knew that meaning well enough. There my courage found me, and it should have been a most wretched end, had he not arrived. The Mirzha was the last to see him approach. All around us, men put up their swords. My shepherd’s crook fell to the ground – I would not doom my family by raising a weapon against Timur himself. When I bowed, the Mirzha turned, and shouted in protest. I knew from his anger that we were safe. The general had no time for us, no time for the futile struggle I had made. He pointed to me and spoke a word, and let the rest of my family go. Then he was gone. He had been brusque, but kind, and I understood at once that this was not a mercy. I would earn my family’s lives.
I was taken by a man who spoke Tamil, who acknowledged my fortunes and spoke to me plainly. “God is with you, camel herder,” he said. “The Mirzha is cruel.”
“And Timur?” I asked. He threw up a hand, as if to say, ‘Who knows?’ We had heard storied of Timur the Lame for months, but none agreed on his mood or his appearance – all I knew for certain was that he was the mightiest warrior in all the world. “What must I do?” I asked the Tamil.
“You will be with us for a while,” he said, “And then you may return. Your camels, tch!” he raised his hand again in the same manner. I understood. “Dead men never come home. You must be brave now and do as you’re told. Only this will save you.”
Such was my service to the great Timur. I was told when and how to worship his god, and so I did. I was told when to wake, and where to walk, and I was not too proud to obey. I suppose I was a slave, but there were no chains, no whips. There were many like me, and while I would not call any ‘friend,’ we were comrades for a short time. Some, who had been in service long, seemed to love their master. ‘Timur is the sword of God,’ said one. Said another, ‘Never mind his god, Timur is the greatest man I have seen.’ Others bore him nothing but hatred. Once we crossed a pillar of white smoke, and a boy fell to his knees in tears. He screamed that it was his home that was burning. We had no comfort for him; the next morning, when we broke camp, the boy’s head was on a pike. They said he was trying to escape; I think he was trying to die.
Much happened in those weeks, and most of it supremely boring. I will not trouble to tell you how many tents I raised, nor how much dung I cleaned. Only know that we never stopped. The soldiers, the animals, the princes, all these must be rested. But I required no rest. Before the sun rose, we broke down any tent that was empty. While the army roused and ate, we took their barracks and beds. We marched ahead of them, and stopped when we were told to set up camp again. There was no time for the soldiers to abuse us. In fact we barely saw them. Once I pulled down the canvas on a tent to find a soldier naked inside, fast asleep, his cheeks in the air. We were too afraid to wake him, so we ran away, leaving butt and bits exposed for all to see. This was my experience with war.
After so many days we woke and were given rice instead of orders. I did not understand at first. The others tried to explain the strategy of it, as though they knew any better than I. After all our guesses were exhausted, we could only agree that we would wait here a while, and a battle was coming soon. I was afraid that Timur would make us fight, but they only laughed. “Timur has men,” said one, “he has no need for shepherd boys.” The waiting was simpler work for us, but without moving, the camp became uneasy. Once I saw the Mirzha and his men beating some servants with sticks. I hid my face and scurried off, certain that he had seen me, and that I would be next. It was foolish. “One Tamil looks just like another,” said one. “He will not remember you.”
We did our best to stay out of the soldiers’ way. The simple fact was that there remained very little for us to do. We ran out of stories after two days, and after that we were mostly silent, morose. When work finally came we counted ourselves lucky for it – anything to break up the monotony. Our task, it seemed, was as pointless as the waiting – but it didn't matter, so long as we kept busy. Each morning, we walked to an empty field, an hour from camp, with a handful of armed men. We ate, and then we dug. We were told to dig long, deep, wide trenches. “How deep shall I dig, sir?” I asked one of the soldiers. “As deep as you can,” was his reply. “How wide shall I dig, sir?” He shrugged and sauntered off. I still had questions. We worked at it for three days without understanding the purpose. We were well into the fourth day when it finally happened.
I was digging my mystery trench when a stranger fell in beside me. He pulled me down, not roughly, but not gentle either, and held a finger over his mouth. I cannot tell you what I was thinking at that moment – my mind was blank. The stranger would peek out to the south, and duck back in with me, wordless. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing, and simply observed his strange behavior. He seemed to be counting. Whenever I tried to move he would pull me back down. Of course I understand now that he was simply trying to hide me from the enemy’s scouts, but at the time I couldn't make sense of anything. He put a hand on my shoulder and whispered, “Wait here, don’t move.” Then he was gone.
I did as I was told, of course. I didn't move a muscle. I could feel insects on my skin, but I didn't swat them. The sun was hot and the shade was cool, and since only half of my body was in the shade, I was most uncomfortable – but I didn't move, for what felt like hours. Finally, hearing noises above, I dared to look up and down the trench. I was alone. There were dozens of us earlier, but everyone – my comrades, our escorts, even the flies had disappeared. My first thought was that I had done something wrong. I was told to do many things, but never was I told to be alone. I must have made a mistake. My second though came soon after – that the Mirzha would punish me for my error, whatever that error was. I didn't have time to think again. There was a sound from outside like a horn, and for reasons I can’t explain, I peered over the lip of my trench to see what was happening.
It was no horn. Arrayed to the south, across the field, was an army of incomprehensible size. Timur’s camp seemed a paltry dozen by contrast. At the front stood mighty elephants, covered in armor, their tusks wrapped in spikes. I feel stupid now, of course, knowing that two hundred war elephants snuck up on me as I sunned myself, but truthfully, I had heard nothing, and had no idea what stood waiting for me outside of my hole. Timur’s arrival was not so quiet. His men came up shouting, drumming, banging weapons. I heard many familiar sounds – the hooves of camels, the footsteps of the whole host, sounds I had heard every night when they made camp. Never had I heard them by myself. I felt at that time smaller than you can imagine – a tiny grain, caught between two giants. I prayed to every god I knew, and hid myself at the bottom of my hole.
I did not look up again until the clamor reached a fever pitch. The armies had spent some time positioning themselves, I suppose, or they were simply waiting for one or the other to make the first move. When it happened there was such a shout from all around that I could feel my courage crawling back into me. If I stood on my toes I could just see over the lip of the trench, and thus I observed the greatest spectacle that any man has ever seen. The elephants came first, trembling the earth, a great grey wave of iron and poison and flesh.
“Fire!” cried a terrible voice. “Fire, fire!!” When I turned my head, I saw Timur a second time, dressed for battle, astride a fierce dark camel. The dread figure whirled his great sword overhead, and bellowed with such authority that all around him began to echo the cry, “Fire!!” Then, when all were shouting, he leaped down from his creature’s back. Not for nothing is he called Timur the Lame; his leg gave him trouble, but he took no help. All his cavalry climbed down at once. Timur himself was the first to carry out his own order. With a bodyguard’s torch, he set his saddle aflame, and struck his camel with the sharp edge of his sword. It cried out in pain, and hurdled forwards, leaping the trench with an alien agility that only herders like myself could understand. All around him, Timur’s men did the same, setting fire to their camels and jabbing at them with spears and rods and swords, prodding them towards the enemy, shrieking with fatal pain.
Imagine, if you can, the sight of it! A thousand shrieking, burning creatures, bolting towards an unstoppable wall of death! All around me, man and beast were shouting at the top of their lungs, a terrible cry of war! And then, all at once, the cry turned to exultation. The elephants fled! So fearful was the sight, that the great gray beasts threw their riders and turned, rather than face it. The fury of their charge was thrown back completely. Wild with fear, the beasts began to trample their own army. I knew, the men knew, everybody knew at that moment, the battle was already won. His closest men already congratulated Timur. The army chanted his name as they surged forwards, crossing the trench that I and my comrades had dug for them. The few who noticed me saw a frightened and utterly confused Indian boy, and moved on without pausing. Only when I had watched them all go did I finally feel the fear leave me – that I had faced death again, armed this time with a shovel, and for a second time, Timur had saved me.
When the infantry was passed, I climbed out to the north and made my way back towards camp. I did not want to be nearby when the captives were counted, for my dark savior certainly would not rescue me thrice. The camp, when I found it, was mostly empty, and I decided to keep going. No one tried to stop me. If they had, I don’t know what I would have told them. I simply walked away, free, without a thought, without a word.
It was easy to find my way north, and much simpler to walk by myself without having to carry an army on my shoulders – and strange as it may sound, that is how I felt at that moment. That I had been more a conqueror than a slave, that the victory was mine, if not in whole then certainly in part. The feeling did not last. I slept alone beneath the stars, and woke in the night, shaking and crying. The rest of my journey was sad and quiet, and I didn't know why. Perhaps I still don’t know why.
I came home only a little more than a month after I was swept away to war – few are so lucky as that. To my father, I apologized that I could not bring back a camel, which made him smile. To my mother and my sisters I said only ‘Hello.’ As much as I had felt alone in their absence, they had been incomplete without me, and, reunited, we all fell to pieces. I suppose we were happy after that, but we all felt a lingering sadness as well, perhaps myself most of all. I have lived a good life. Violence never found me again, but I will always carry with me the things I have seen. In my heart, I know that I would never have lived those few weeks, but for the cruel mercies of the man they now call Tamerlane.
Timur the Lame, also called Tamerlane, the self-styled Sword of Islam, was an inexorable conqueror. His men were ferociously loyal, and his enemies shook with fear. At the end of the 14th century, he sacked the Indian capital of Delhi. There is no estimation of the dead. After his victory in the field over the sultans, Timur plundered the city, and it fell into bloody chaos. Decades would pass before they had finally recovered from the slaughter. This is but one of the countless conquests of the Timurid Empire. Tamerlane met his end in snow and ice while marching on Ming China. His tomb is said to read, “When I rise from the dead, the world shall tremble.”
… Reminds me of that one entry which I had that ended pretty much the same way, but I at least had built up the atmosphere… mdk, did you ever give me that review? I’m trying to recall… XD
What was it about? I'm *terribad* at remembering who wrote what, but I vaguely remember someone dying at the close, and I just can't remember what the surrounding details were.
First-ish batch (I did Never Forget already, but I’m getting to the others as well). I figured I’d start from the bottom and work my way up, just to be different, so that’s the order I’m going in – the rest of the crew is working on comments as well. AS PER USUAL remember these are comments from an internet moron who’s just trying to help – take them only for what they’re worth, and if anything sounds too disparaging (or if you just disagree), ignore at will. Also just for the record (though I’m sure it doesn’t need to be said) these comments have nothing at all to do with the voting or staff picks or any other remotely official anything – I’ve been leaving critiques since ancient old-guild contests, these are no different. Whew. Okay, hope these help (if I didn’t get to you yet, I will – hopefully in the next day or two)
I really like this one. It’s obviously *super*-heavily drawn from the song, but you add a lot to it as well. I will say that it’s maybe just a bit more reliant on Reba’s storyline than I’d like, which makes it hard to talk much about the pacing and the plot and all that…. But that’s kind of the point of the entry, and it’s not just fine, it’s really well-executed. It’s partly because it’s just a really good, emotional song choice, sure, but you carried that emotion further and tied it to a really strong story. The only thing I can think to improve it is to adopt a little more of Reba’s dialect as you’re writing – the “Gotta’s” and the “gonna’s” and whatnot contrast a bit with your natural writing voice. Normally I’d say do what comes naturally, but in this kind of piece, you sort of want to Reba-ize yourself, I think. Anyway it’s really good, and it’s a homerun on the contest theme, so all in all, very well done.
LOVE the story! I don’t know if it’s just my reading speed or if it was all deliberate – I assume the latter mostly – but this lined up pretty much perfectly with the music as I read. I assume (like most music) that the song is meant for a romantic interest, and your choice to make it about a mother instead is incredibly poignant. THAT SAID – we can work on the writing style just a bit, because this is really rife with passive language (like every writer ever has always done at some point, don’t feel bad). In the flashback portions it’s fine – memories are things that ‘have happened,’ and that’s appropriate. But for instance, storm clouds aren’t things that should ‘be rushed forward,’ they should simply ‘rush forwards’ (or the wind should ‘rush them forwards,’ or however you prefer to say it). I don’t want to cherry-pick them all, but it’s such an easy trap to fall into – you almost want to do a dedicated proofreading just for passive voice, because for pretty much any author, it’s there, somewhere, hiding, in just about every first draft you’ll ever write. Okay, enough about that. The pacing worked really well I think in part because of the music – in the future I’d worry a little about spending quite so much time on the beach before coming into the bar for so short a time, but for this entry and for this contest, it was perfect, I think. Great job. This reads almost like it could be a script for a music video – it totally captures the music and takes it somewhere spiritually where the song didn’t go on its own. A really strong addition.
Straight up – I was put off at first glance by the setting, because I know nothing at all about it. Didn’t matter. This turned into an exciting story – action, romance, deception, tragedy. A great arc, pulled off flawlessly. In short – your story was great! So when I’m looking for things to work on, I turn to the writing style. You’ve got your own, and it’s robust – we get a nice mix of dialogue, internal thoughts, and action, in a variety of settings, and it holds up pretty well in all of them. The one thing I’ll say is that the action sequences, at times, drag – and here’s why. Move-by-move swordfighting is incredibly hard to write – way harder than people realize, and I think that’s why a lot of writers just plain don’t do it (me included, if I can help it). The pacing is hopeless when you have to explain “a vertical slash, block, a horizontal slash, dodge, another vertical slash, dodge, thrust, parry, thrust, thrust, dodge, dodge, block, kick, slash, slash, slash, slash, slash….” Everything about the heart-pumping battle you’re seeing in your head is exciting, but then when you’re forced to chain it down on paper, it slows everything down to like chemistry-textbook levels of adrenaline. Brutal. One trick I use is to skip *everything* that isn’t mind-blowingly cool – so the scene might go something like “They fought, trading blows, until Dirk did a sweet somersault into an exploding helicopter and stabbed the fire in its heart, absorbing its energy.” ….okay, not like that. But what I mean is, there’s a line somewhere between describing a visceral fight and blocking out movements for a dance recital. The line is hard to find, but good news, all it takes is loads and loads of practice. But if you want to skip all that, you can (pretty much everybody famous already does!) and just fall back on your characters and plot-arcs and twists. The blow-by-blow stuff is just a decoration on a ship that could sail just fine without it. Overall your story is fantastic – I don’t know if I said it already three times, but this is a picture-perfect plot arc. Almost makes me want to figure out what a monster girl is! Oh and since I didn’t bring it up – the music adds like a whole level of irony to the story that just puts it on a whole other level (plus I love that song). Nice work.
Okay so, what this entry does is sort of establish a cool setting. It’s laying the groundwork for what (I think) could be a really gritty action story – but in just three weeks, I don’t think you really had time to get to the story. Which is a shame, because the world you’re setting up has loads of potential, and the players are actually pretty interesting, despite the brevity. The trouble is, the scope of what you’re trying to do here (honestly this looks like it could be the opening scene of a 2-hour action flick) – it’s just too wide. This is normal. Imaginations are big and deadlines have very small windows – it’s hard to fit everything through them. Stories like (I think) the one you’re trying to do here simply need waaaay more time and attention than we were able to give. Moving on – the style needs some cleaning up (which, once again, is normal and everybody needs to hear it at some point). Some of the formatting stuff, like the paragraph breaks, is only a problem because of the forum style – don’t sweat that stuff. Instead think about things like how to better showcase the equipment – it’s onething to have the tech guy explain “This is a PTD, these two guns have to be close to one another or they don’t shoot, this pen explodes if you click it three times,” etc. To a reader, none of that stuff makes sense until we see it in practice – does someone grab one of Jack’s pistols and try to shoot him with it? Ha – it doesn’t work from there! Now that’s a relevant detail to the story. Does he click on the PTD and then start running, and Headquarters can track his movements and compliment how good he is at parkour? Now it’s relevant. There’s not many hard-and-fast rules about how to write effectively, but one that might help you out is called Chekhov’s gun. Once you understand the rule, and why it’s a rule, it’s totally okay to break the rules. That’s what makes writing so fun. Still, they’re there for a reason. Anyway, look, it’s not the best stand-alone story (in no small part because the story was way too big to even really get started), but the next one is going to be better, and the next one, and the next one. Keep at it! If I could give one suggestion just for contest purposes, it does help to focus a little more tightly on just one or two really strong scenes – the whole ‘part of a larger narrative’ element is a really awesome thing in general, but with contest constraints and a diverse, busy crowd of voters, it just doesn’t do as well here. I was really stubborn about that during WOTM, but learning how to focus on small pictures helps a lot when you go on to write bigger things later.
Sort of a weird song choice for diner cops, but I’ll take your word for it. The story is fun (in a sick sort of way) and miserably dark and ironic, and I freaking love it. From the hateful banter to the crash ticket, I really like it. What’s unique and interesting here is that, even though the guys in the diner are the only people we meet, it’s really not a story about them at all – they’re just an elaborate framing device for LA bitch and crashbro. I think you could potentially do more with that – pacing-wise, plot-wise, we don’t really hit the stride until like halfway through. Which, I mean, realistically speaking that’s sort of how conversations like this work, but for reading purposes you could probably tighten up on the bitch’s story a little more. Marcus’s reactions and mockeries add a ton to the narrative – like, seriously, he’s such a fantastic mouthpiece for all this, I can’t stress that enough – could we maybe break up that big monologue with some more Marcus-isms? I figure the more of him we see, snark and all, the better (and the other guys too, we don’t get much out of them). There’s some syntax stuff that could be cleaner, too, but it honestly doesn’t detract much from the whole thing. On the whole this is one hell of a clever way to tell a story, and I think you made it work perfectly. Hats freaking off.
Delightful. Absolutely delightful. It’s childish and whimsical and downright perfect, on its own or with the song (but especially with the song). The way everything is written feels just like I’m the little boy at the fair. THAT SAID – for as much as I love everything about this story (I actually beamed the whole time I was reading and I’m not sure why), there’s a teensie-tiny but recurring problem with sentence structure. For I think the first time ever I think I want more commas – in spots like ‘the man was gone, comma, and the woman stood straight and tall.’ Or ‘each pin tumbled over, comma, as if they had been waiting their whole existence…’ It’s not so much that you’re doing anything wrong per se, but periodically as I’m reading (and grinning like an idiot at a carnival), I hit a sentence that just isn’t doing everything it can (in what’s otherwise a well-oiled magic machine), and it stood out as probably the only thing I could possibly criticize. It’s a small mark on a supremely positive review – this is gold right here. Blew me away.
Near as I can tell, ‘Kataigida’ means ‘Storm,’ which, I mean, duh, I really shouldn’t have had to google that, but sometimes I’m slow. Fits great with the score. If you wanted – and I’m not saying you should – you could almost add in some line breaks to the poem, to indicate to the readers when they’re supposed to hold up for a minute and let the music catch up (but that’s not necessary or probably even smart, I’m just saying you COULD). The word choice is magnificent (I think that’s the right word!) throughout, with one minor grammatical exception (I would argue that ‘The atmosphere choked’ is more powerful than ‘the atmosphere IS choked’). The only other hangup I’ve got is ‘Faster than probability,’ which seems like it needs an explanation but it’s gone in a flash. Back to generalities – this is powerful language in a fittingly compact and haphazard form, paired with excellent music and holy crap how about the artwork too?! You’re really hitting on all cylinders. What else is there to say? This is excellent. Majestic even.
--round two--
Love the descriptions of things and people -- they're detailed, but in interesting and clever ways (like "sunburst yellow flamingo pink, midday blue..."). Some incomplete thoughts like "If there was somebody I never wanted to see me like this..." Why not? Rhys is an interesting character -- the trouble is that she doesn't so much grow or develop over the course of the story -- we just find out more things about her, slowly, as the narrative goes on. It could be better if, for example, she wasn't sure whether or not she ought to run away at the beginning, but gradually talks herself into it -- or perhaps if Meldie wasn't actually an old friend, but reminded her of her old consort, and she came to love him the same way. It sort of just.... stands there, as it is, this is a situation that exists in a cool setting with great mood and lots of potential in the characters, but it's not going very far as a plot (though to be fair, a lot of that is because you're following the song lyrics very closely -- but the added plot elements aren't adding quite enough). Okay, that's plenty mean... You don't deserve such a negative tone, this was brilliant writing. Great style. We get to see your writing voice both in first person and third, and it's very strong. Maybe it could do with a deeper plot, but plots are easy to fix -- you're doing the hard stuff very well. Also in the spirit of the contest theme, this does perfectly capture the song. A fine entry.
Glowing reviews all around, and you deserve them! This was beautiful. I listened to the music as I read and it's hard to imagine a more perfect fit. You're not just carrying the message and the feeling, you're creating a response -- and a great one, too. If I have to find one complaint, it's that -- every once in a while, but more than once -- your natural style is taking over and overriding her voice. Lines like 'the icy numbness' or 'the turbulent seas' -- they're great images but they feel abnormal for the narrator to be saying. Mind you, that's a pretty good problem to have -- you're essentially writing too well for the speaker, and fixing that means.... well, not deliberately 'writing worse,' but you have to sort of make an effort to really stay inside her head, and resist the perfect images if they're not images she would say right at that moment. Then again maybe they ARE things she would say, and I'm mistaking what's natural. In that case it's pretty much on me, but you can help me out by using that sort of imagery even more often. Anyway. When I can nit-pick something that advanced, it means you're in really good shape, as if I even had to say it.... this is an exceptional story, and it hits a grand-slam on the contest theme. Remarkable.
It's brutal, it's dark, it's exciting, and the music suits it nicely. I think the style could be a little more.... deliberate, I guess? There's lots of extra stuff thrown in for flavor, and it tastes good, but it's not adding much to the whole piece. For example, the framing device -- the interrogation/interview parts -- are cool because they look forwards a bit, but it's nothing that you couldn't have done just by finishing the slaughter and thinking about the future. Adding the leaders into the mix just slows down the pacing, which is already a little slower than it needs to be -- the conflict is boxed into just a handful of lines, and then when it finally happens, it's being explained like a conversation instead of staying visceral and bloody and brutal like you want. The short version is, you sorta need to cook off some of the fat here.... there's enough extraneous elements jammed in there that it's really getting in the way of the story. Still -- you did a great job of expressing the mood and riling up the bloodlust for a very satisfying kill. It's good, it's just not polished is all.
It's hard to decide what the conflict is in this poem, and that's... not super. You're using interesting imagery, especially with 'sticking the webs back together' and all that, but it's.... I don't know, missing something. Poetry has to really, really hang together cohesively, and this doesn't really do that. That could be done cleverly in a poem about unraveling, if for instance your words and sentences gradually got more scatterbained and bizarre as it went on. Instead it's all these different emotions like confusion and fear and paranoia that never really came together in the first place, and they sort of have to do that. I think it would work better if you really focused on one potent thing and hammered it hard and explored it fully. It's..... ugh, I hate leaving the review like this, but it's the danger you run with poetry. I can't talk much about pacing or characters or anything like that.... it's just sort of exposed and vulnerable because it's so short, and when something like this doesn't come together well, there's just not enough else to talk about. Sorry! Hang in there though, poetry is brutal, don't feel bad.
--short break for March Madness purposes, I'll finish up the rest momentarily! --
3/31 batch
My feelings about this story changed dramatically as it went on, for the (significantly) better. It's a bit of a diamond-in-the-rough, I think, which is good and bad -- I mean diamonds are fantastic, but why rough, you know? It feels like three different pieces stapled together by a loose narrative, and I'm not crazy about that except that they all sort of build on one another, and deconstruct one another, and like.... when it's all said and done, everything DOES matter, everything IS relevant to the story, but just not in a way that's clear as you're going along. And that's..... that's kind of a diamond, and kind of rough too, I guess. It's hard to nail down my feelings.
Let's start with the first phase of the story, in the apartment -- when I'm reading that it seems like everything is entirely too poetic in style. I mean it's one thing for Aily to be out of place in her home, but it reads like "Oh, this is just another author showing off author-stuff." But it's not that. It's not that at all. You're actually setting the stage for this gradual departure into, frankly, free-verse poetry in the third section.... and it's so damn cool that you can do that. But if I'm honest, when I started the story the feeling wasn't positive, because it wasn't clear where you were going, because you were being subtle and artistic. I don't want to say "Be less subtle and artistic," that's not a good rule to follow. But the flowery language in the dull setting is a little grating and I'm not sure what I'd do about that, because by the end, I'm glad this section is here. I.... I want to give advice on how to make this better for readers but I can't. Maybe just stating the impression will help you think of something? I hope so.
Second section (in the elevator) is where I started to grasp where the story was going, and I fell in love right away. This is where, it felt like to me, you were hitting your natural writing style. It's not dressed up anymore, it's just raw and frank and still strangely poetic. GREAT! I feel physically assaulted by the other elevator passengers, just like Aily. There's stuff I would write differently but that's only because I'm not YOU -- this section is all you, and it's working for me.
Third section is where you blew my socks off, and where the other parts came together. A wild Aily appears, observe it in its natural environment, see how it behaves, how it thinks. Damn the paragraph, damn the narrative, you're in a brain now, witness synapses. This is so cool. Part of me wishes that section three was all you did -- and the bigger part of me says no, it unifies the rest of the story, and the rest of the story adds important context.
So this review got long. I'll wrap it up like this -- your story here is pretty one-of-a-kind. Writing that way is dangerous and bold, and you should continue doing it as often as possible, knowing that sometimes it won't make sense to readers. That said, in the interest of development and growth, you should also try writing...... well I don't want to say "More commercial" fiction, but "more conventional" perhaps, because that's easier to share and appreciate. I like your voice in the elevator segment best, in terms of average-every-day storytelling, and I like your voice in the last segment as poetry. The first is a strange juxtaposition and I'm not crazy about it, even though it serves a purpose in this story. Overall -- it's definitely a diamond here, I'm sure about that much, and even though I'm not positive that I know how to polish it, it does feel a bit rough. Rough, but extremely valuable. POOP I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THE THEME -- kind of a cool 80s vibe in the song that matches up nicely with the peripheral characters, moreso than with Aily. It's almost ironic, much as I hate that word... it sets a stage and she hates the stage, and that's a really cool way to approach it. Okay, I'm done. Remember -- diamond!
"Thought-provoking" and "powerful" come to mind. It marries well with the playful artisan music to give this, like.... really confusing and credible delusion and puts me right there on the street. You sorta took it apart for a few lines when you brought the junkies back down to reality for a second -- I'm not crazy about that, honestly, I'd rather leave them in their crystal palace, but the moment of clarity isn't really hurting anything much. There's a couple times where word choice comes across a little awkward ("coat of arms that coat our arms" makes sense, but it'd be a stronger metaphor if it was simplified to just "track marks on our wrists, a coat of arms" or something like that -- repetition works too but I'm not crazy about it). Sparse tiny departures aside, the whole poem hangs together so well and draws so much from the music..... It's really, really, amazingly strong poetry here, okay, that's what I'm trying to say. Excellent stuff. You don't need much from me -- I'll tip my hat and say great job. This is great stuff.
This one is harder for me to grasp, because it's (I think intentionally) a little vague about the fall. I've gone over it a bunch of times and compared with the song lyrics, and I feel like I'm getting *sort of* an idea of what's going on narratively, but to be frank I think I need some help to really get it (feel free to discuss -- I mean we're supposed to feign anonymity this contest but it's not a big deal really and I could be more helpful if I could tell what you're going for). Focusing just on the level of poetry and language -- it's really cohesive. There's just one word that leaves me hanging, "Stall" at the end -- I can't really tell what it's supposed to mean from context, partly because I'm having such a hard time sniffing out the context, but on the surface it seems like one of those "Well this word rhymes and it's close to what I want" situations, which I never like. It's nice when things can rhyme, but nicer when the words say what the words are supposed to mean. Maybe this does -- I can't say for sure. Anyway I suspect this whole line of review isn't particularly helpful, sorry. I can tell that you've got the tools to write good poetry, and this honestly could be really great, I just can't arrive at the reason why on my own. Need help. I'd be happy to talk more about it though, if/when you're able to share some authorly insights into it.
--4/1 edition--
I meant to finish the rest last night but no bullcrap, I almost hit a stray dog with my car on the way home and I wound up taking care of her all damn night long. Kept trying to fight my other dogs -- it required a lot of attention. SO! On we march, a day late, a dollar short, but finishing it all right now.
You took the lyrics quite literally and let them carry you through a fast-paced action sequence. Feels almost like you could sub it into the climax of an X-men movie and the action would stand up just fine, and the emotions are strong. I feel like it's missing some characterization -- I mean we have two characters, yes, and their intentions and motivations and feelings are all very clear, but what it's missing is.... well, actually I guess the perfect phrase would be the "Escalation" of the two brothers. The way it's written it's almost like a switch got flipped and they're just boom at this super-high level of power and emotion, but they never go there -- they're just simply there. The reason it's like that is, you've chosen a very high-paced plot and you've stuck with that (as you should), which simply doesn't leave enough time for characters to stop and smell the roses. The flashbacks and memories are crammed into not-enough space, so there's no room to build the characters up like you'd need to do, in order for this to stand alone as a solid short story. It's more like a scene (or scenes) from a movie -- if you'd had a whole movie to sort of weave in all the backstory, it would work a lot better. Which I mean, that's the goal, isn't it -- I think lots of us have aspirations of writing novels and movies and that sort of thing. This is the sort of scene you get to write when you build the situation up properly. On its own, like I said, it's missing the development -- the escalation. Which is ironic enough that I seem to want to repeat it :/ Major points for weaving in the song lyrics naturally. The world seems built around the song, in a good way. It's a big score on the contest theme, and it's a really cool action sequence.
First of all, that's not a song I've ever heard and I had to stop reading so I could listen to it all. Awesome stuff! Okay, on to the story -- so good. It's pure character, raw, and I mean yes, the monologue is pretty much straight out of the lyrics but you made it mean so much more than just the words, I've got no complaints at all. We could talk writing style a little bit -- you slip into passive voice a little more than you should, especially in the first paragraph (which *almost* works, as like a memory device, but even then it's just a bit too much). Most of the writing is raw and powerful, but every now and then the character "had pushed" something instead of just "pushing" it, or whatever, you know? Those little actions are stronger when you're direct about them, and they do need to stay strong (especially with such a strong story to tell). The end left me wishing that the 'spell' had worked completely -- that she'd put down the picture frame on her billionaire CEO desk or something, but you kept it a little more grounded and real -- Big Me is still left with the consequences of her life, and that's.... I mean, wow, that's good. Seriously, wow. I totally would've taken the easy way out if I was writing -- you did way better than I would've done. All in all, positively great. A ding here and there for language but it's almost negligible (ALMOST). You can take care of business in that department, I'm sure. Great job.
Crazy deep poetic storytelling, handling a pretty major question without apologies. That's brave and that's exactly what you needed to do with this story -- and you did it very well. You're walking sort of a middle-road between poetry and prose -- a very interesting road, with lots of room to wander around. The structure you used works on this road -- normally, with typical prose, I would be pretty off-put by writing almost a third of the story inside the character's head, but here it's exactly as it should be. Same goes for the scenery-over-action approach -- this isn't a story about doing things, it's about what you're thinking when you're at these places (or at this place in your life). Because of that, because all the conflict is internal, you get to skip things like actually talking to store owners, or running into someone on the street, or whatever -- they're unnecessary here. Obviously in other pieces, especially in straight-up prose, you need action and interaction, but not here. No this... this is right. I think you could throw in some spicier language here and there, maybe, but this isn't like... Man, reviewing it is almost surreal, because you honestly don't need any help from me, I'm pretty sure. In summary, I loved it. This is one I can sit back and think about, not just because of the story itself or the message, but because of how well it's written. Pretty special stuff right here.
Oh man, finally! I read this one as it came in and I was eager to review it, but I had to work my way up. Okay. The thing that made me excited here is that there are two major elements in your story -- stuff that's fantastic, and stuff that's easy to fix. And I like to pretend that I'm an all-knowing guru who can help you fix the easy stuff, so this is like, heaven for me. First up -- the great parts. Pacing-wise, action-wise, plot-wise, you're knocking it out of the park. There are cool and interesting things happening as the story moves along, and you dwell on them precisely as much as you ought to -- that is, I mean, I can't even begin to tell you how rare that is. You're not drawing out the fights, you're not rushing the infiltration, you're just moving the plot along like a well-oiled machine. Except. The extended flashback -- which, on its own, is every bit as strong as the rest of the story -- doesn't fit in where you put it (which, let's be honest, is everywhere). If you were to highlight everything in italics and press "Delete," your story would be twice as good. If you were to highlight everything *not* in italics and press "Delete," it's.... well maybe not as good as the other half, but better than the whole. Did you catch that? You did so many things so well that it actually got in the way! Writers sign pacts with Beelzebub to have those kinds of problems. The way I see it there are two ways to fix it -- one, swear off flashbacks forever (or for a story or two, whichever comes first) and force yourself to lace all those emotions and all that history into the scene without explicitly writing it all out. A look here, a nod there, a meaningful comment that implies past events.... That's a good talent to have and a great thing to practice. Option two, take that italicized story out, plop it in front of the current scene, and flesh it all out until the two grow together organically. Add some setting in front, and some development in-between, and some conclusion after.... buddy, you've got a novella.
Okay, that's the part I've been dying to say. More generally -- I'm not sure if the song is a great fit (someone else mentioned that in a review already, I agree). Some of the sentences aren't perfect. Some of the interplay between Max and Ashe is a little unclear. Most of both those things is great! I'm just saying it's not without room to polish up a bit. I wouldn't dream of wasting your lines with more setting, as the story currently stands, but if you were to expand it into something longer, there are lots of unanswered questions about the world (and it would make more sense to explain what's up with Enforcers before all this action kicks off -- but only if you've got lots more room to do so). Overall, I mean, what else can I say, you're actually writing too much good stuff for your own good. Appreciate that for a minute. That's wonderful.
Atypical poetry is dangerous, keep doing it. There's no meter, and when there's no meter the rhyme is a little cheaper than usual, though not free. Words like "Insane" simply aren't good enough -- even if it sets you up for 'Hiding the pain,' you can't be so broad when you're writing something this concentrated. "Drives nails into my brain," or.... you know, something.... powerful, something graphic and meaningful. Flavor. When you're making a taco with only three ingredients they have to be perfect shreds of lettuce, perfect ground beef. If that taco shell is even just a little bit too hard, you'll know when you bite in. The mask is doing it, the lie is working, the fall, you know, okay, but.... The taco needs more hot sauce, or something, it's just missing that power that it needs. Reading a poem like this should physically hurt me. Maybe put some broken glass in the beef -- shock me, harm me, just don't be... vanilla, you know? Alright, enough. It's a good match to the soundtrack and it's a great subject for poetry, and you shed all the stupid conventions that you didn't need, so you could focus on your theme. But it needs to do more, I guess. Solid effort though. Poetry is hard, because only the most not incorrect words are important for choosing with, or the good flow that can't be interrupted, is.
...
More dangerous writing! That's always a good trick to get on my good side right off the bat, incidentally, if anyone's wondering. Write things that have a chance to piss people off, and you're starting from a good place. Of course, I mean, the charming little Kuba isn't ruffling any feathers, but Dad isn't messing around. I mean, I wouldn't mind if he was even MORE blunt about it -- someone tells your little girl that their pop's gonna die, I'd be pretty upset, right? But this portrays a really happy, healthy relationship in a bit of a tough spot. Great musical fit, fine writing throughout -- I'm in critic mode so there was a spot or two of unnecessarily passive voice (spoiler alert: there always is), and it jumped out at me in my current mindset a little, but it's negligible stuff. I like the atmosphere of the story, and the pace -- sets the scene and then gets right to the point, and winds down quickly but comfortably. If I had to gripe (I do, I have to gripe at everyone), the very beginning -- bigger fish to fry, 11-year-old mind, these feel a little out of place, like you weren't quite in the groove yet (I mean, once you hit the groove, the writing is sublime). I have a hundred more good things I could say, but good things are boring, so I'll shuffle on -- nice work, terrific story, brave approach, and hey, it's a story about something worth writing! How cool is that?
boy howdy, speaking of dangerous writing, right? I. LOVE. THIS. SO. MUCH. I. CAN'T. EVEN. PUNCTUATE. Alright, people who might happen by this review -- this is how you write a goddamn verse. If you held anything back on this, it was just to match the rhythm better (but I'm not convinced you held anything back). Frankly you're a shoe-in for the mic drop, even if more people had gone for that angle, this was executed flawlessly -- and that's not saying enough, what else can I say... raw emotion and downright righteous judgment -- you're stomping on a whole bunch of toes that need some stomping. I uh.... I mean, look, poetry is really easy to mess up because all it takes is one little error, and you're boned. You didn't make any errors -- not even little ones. Flawless. Absolutely. Flawless. I should probably say something about the musical inspiration -- I adore the way you turned it on its head. Your lyrics are better than stupid Fallout Boy, did they even hear their own music?
It's worth mentioning that this is one of the creepier/more-clever music videos I've seen in a while. And the music is a perfect match to the story but I don't really feel like.... like you owned it, you know? I mean it's one thing to include lyrics -- that's totally fine, and you included them in ways that made sense and worked. But I guess what I'm saying is, they didn't feel like they became your words, your story -- it's a happy love story that just sorta comes across like most of the other happy love stories. And don't get me wrong -- it's adorable, it's written well, but it's just such a safe story to write. Maybe I just need to come down a bit after reading a few daring pieces in a row, but this story doesn't take a whole lot of chances (the narrator is taking chances, and he's a lot of fun that way I suppose). There's not a lot of conflict to drive things along, and there's not a lot of "unexpected" anything, not that you necessarily NEED such a thing but.... I don't know, it's hard to describe. It's like someone painted a mountain, and then you painted their painting of the mountain. It's fine, it's a good painting and all, it's just.... it's missing that personal touch, which, ironically, should pretty much come naturally, if you let it. I could be off the mark here, I guess. I love the turns of phrase, like "We like different houses, but we also like the same houses." That's the part that sounds like you. I want more of that, I want.... the story that comes from wherever that phrase came from, that's what I want to read. Idunno. I'm getting inside my own head now, and that means I'm useless if I keep on ranting. It really is a beautiful story though.
whooooooooooooaaaaah that song choice, dude, that song is...... this story is..... dude. Alright, chilling "You're going to reap just what you sow" aside... no, not aside, not yet. You were very deliberate about your theme, so much that if I didn't give you high praise, I'd be an idiot. The plot, the theme, the characters are impeccable. The writing itself is not quite that good, but ignore that for a minute because the big-picture aspect of writing, the important parts, that make all this worth doing -- you are so much on the money there, it's actually scary. That part doesn't come easy, and you've got it.
Now, the writing. And I'm talking here about sentence structure, word choice, formatting, that stuff -- that part needs some work, but working on it is fun when you've got the big picture. It doesn't have to come in like a chemical formula, or some math equation, or whatever -- but your writing needs more clarity, and I think that (IN THE SHORT TERM) approaching it more methodically would help. For example, Collin's funeral is like a massive motivating factor in this plot -- it's not, you know, the one thing that drives Eric into overdose, but it's huge, it's significant. The way you've written it, the funeral is buried in back-halves of long paragraphs, and terminal ends of this wandering train of thought as he debates whether or not to shoot up. Why not lay it out flat? Give a paragraph to each of these turning points -- Eric plays with the needle and thinks about Collin, he sticks it in a vein and thinks about his brother, he touches the plunger and thinks about his ex. Instead it's all jumbled in there piecemeal and that's a little confusing, right? As it's written, even when Eric is thinking about Collin, he's not really thinking about Collin -- and the reader has to assemble the funeral day (or the day he found out at least) bit by bit as we go along.
There's some language stuff too (mostly just passive voice, as usually happens for basically everybody). That handles itself as long as you keep writing more stuff. And you? You write interesting, compelling stuff, so when it all comes together it's going to be out of this world. I think the immediate solution is to focus a little on structuring things more clearly, and the rest just gets better every time you put ink to paper (or finger to keyboard, or whatever). I'll say it again because I spent too long criticizing and not long enough complimenting -- you wrote a phenomenal story. It's sapped a little bit by the structure, but only a little bit. Literal, actual chills down my spine as that song wound down. That's a gift -- use it!
You certainly crafted a frightening beast! The 'bad thing' is almost like one of those Grimm monsters -- it's there, out to get you, watch out -- too late. It's cool, and it's dark and scary... this is one of the rare poems though where, honestly, I think it would be better if you chained yourself to some kind of rhythm/rhyme scheme. Maybe not a totally conventional one but, I mean, it's scarier when the language all lines up, somehow. With a poem like this, where it's not so much about the emotions or the story, but just creating a presence -- that's something that rhyme can help with, like, a lot. "Double double toil and trouble," or "Fe-fi-fo-fum," you know? I mean it doesn't have to be cheeky and childish, but rhyming (CAN) add a lot of significance to the character/creature/thing. So, I mean, my money says that this particular poem (and ****NOT**** all poems, or even most of them) would benefit from a regular pattern like that. What else.... Musically I think the mood was a little different, between the song (which felt a little hotter) and the poem (which was more just dark and foreboding). Still a fit, still obviously the inspiration is there, but it's not as strong a connection as some of the other poem entries. Word choice is typically great, with occasional departures (I don't like 'ignorance entwined,' even though it almost looks like it could be a great phrase). The atmosphere, the creature, all the creative bits are really good, I just find myself wishing for more order is all. So like, I guess the free-verse decision isn't something I'm crazy about (just for this one thing). It's otherwise really good.
Another really strong one. I love what you did with the song -- modernizing it, making it significant without totally chaining yourself to it. You've got the good elements like conflict, strong emotions, characters (a little more characterization wouldn't hurt, by which I mean more than just physical shapes and hobbies and whatnot, but it's not like you didn't paint a picture here, they're really fine as-is). You did a risky thing by writing in present-tense, but I think you pulled it off -- it has to do more than simply "not detract" from the story, it has to ADD to the story, and it totally did. I guess if I was gonna pick out one thing to work on, I think the love interest doesn't get enough spotlight -- when the narrator speaks, we hear his thoughts and we see his actions, but 'sweetheart' sort of just reads his lines and then waits for his turn again. I mean, not really, but the narrator does sort of hog the emotional spotlight a bit. Maybe he's supposed to, maybe that's the kind of relationship they have -- kudos if so, that's a clever way of showing it! But a thoughtful look or two wouldn't kill you. Anyway, the writing is good, the important stuff is all there, and I'm left wanting MORE instead of less, which is always a great sign. And of course again, it is the perfect song, and that's kind of the sorta-point of the contest. Fantastic work.
There is so much awesome in your writing that I feel bad even saying this -- the ending, dude, the ending, why so flat? Let's back it up for a second... You set an amazing scene, more than once as the setting moved through night and into morning. The reminiscing, the waiting -- the characterization throughout all of that, the gradual introduction and expansion of this conflict forced upon their lives. Those emotions she's feeling that night, that she's felt over the years -- it's beyond great, it's downright professional. I mean honestly, it's that good. For 98% of the story I feel like I should be holding a magazine, that I had to pay for, to read this. And then it just..... ends. Like you dropped an atom bomb and then cut to black and rolled the credits before it went off. It's too good for that. You're too good for that. I don't mean necessarily that I absolutely must have weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, but something, right?! And listen -- this only bothers me because I'm desperate for one more line, one more paragraph, whatever it is, whatever I can get, I need more. It's like a metronome has been beating perfect rhythm for hours, and then suddenly rushes a beat and explodes -- I can't stand it, it's an outrage, I'm outraged, it's outrageous! Can I say that stronger? I uh..... ahem. Well I...... I think I made that point. GOOOOOOOOOOOD I WANT ANOTHER LINE!!!! COME ON!!!! ONE MORE LIIIIINEEEEE PLEEEEEASE!!!!
....sorry. I don't know what... came over me there, i just.... Look. "Outstanding" isn't a strong enough word. This. Is. Perfect. Writing. And then suddenly, for no apparent reason, it isn't. And that just.... that's getting to me so hard. This feels so harsh and I just can't stop myself from saying it -- you deserve more out of this story. And it's right there. And you can totally get it. You gotta. You just gotta.
WHEW -- alright, you're the last review on the list (I do have two more bonus pieces I'm gonna get to, but more to the point....) I can say with confidence that you put in, like, a whole other level of effort on the musical front. I don't have a lot of experience with song reviews, I mean, my brother was in a couple bands and I get the process a little bit just from seeing that over time.... This isn't a story or a poem, it's a song, and there are different rules. It's about more than just what's down on paper. So the little things like "Your" instead of "You're," I mean, who cares, this is meant to be heard, not read. And as a song? I mean.... like I said, I don't do songs every day, or week, or month, or whatever -- but as a song, seriously what could I even detract from this? It's doing everything that a good song should do -- you've got a great chorus, and the whole thing is just packed with that one special emotion, building on it, growing on it... There's that one line, "How long I wait," where maybe when I hear it out loud, it sounds a little rushed -- but that's just inflection, rhythm, you know, singer-stuff that you'd clean up on the next take with no problem at all. I love hearing it, too, by the way, your voice and the arrangement and all that, it's adding another layer to what's already a solid foundation. On its own, just as it's written (okay maybe I'd clean up "an" into "And," just for the sake of text).... it's already a ridiculously strong piece. Add in the recording? Look I'd buy you a studio if I could so the mic was cleaner, but jeez. You went all-out here, and for me personally, it paid off big time. This isn't my genre or anything, but everything about it just sounds right. Thanks for this. Really. I'm glad you brought the noise to this contest, and I can't imagine a better way to wrap up my part in it.
DONE AND DONE except for our bonus entries, which I really want to get to, so.... later tonight, I bet, I'll leave some lesser thoughts on those. Guys -- this was a blast. I know I've said it like a hundred times, but that's only because I really mean it -- I'm so thrilled with this contest, not because of anything I did, but because of what you guys brought to the table. You nailed this thing. I could die happy right now, I mean, if I'd finished that novel I've been working on, so I guess dying will have to wait, but seriously. Thank you for partcipating. Let me say again for the record, if I've rubbed any of you the wrong way, please for the love of god ignore me, I'm just some moron on the internet who likes reading your stuff, and in all cases I only mean well. Now that I'm done with reviews it's time to start lining up the next round, and for real now, I hope every single one of you comes back. Thanks again, and keep on writing.
@mdk I was simply explaining my reasoning, since I was called out on it, and avoiding further confrontation. If my abrasiveness makes me sound unchill, then I apologize. I was infact, very chill.
sorry. In my capacity as a runner of things, my goal is to prevent conflict, rather than my usual prerogative of starting conflict. We're all fine so far, I simply don't want anything to escalate.
@Alice This will be the only response I make to you, since you felt the need to call me out on my personal opinion.
Plagiarism
1: The practice of taking someone else's work or ideas and passing them off as one's own.
Synonyms: Copying, Infringement of copyright, Piracy, Theft, Stealing
What I am going to do: Highlight song lyrics that follow the song timeline in red, even if a word or two is missing.
Highlight song lyrics that have been changed to something more "story" in green. (IE: Changing "I would" to "I'd")(IE: Changing "Switch up the batteries" to "Switch it up sometimes.")
Highlight song lyrics that have have focus shifted with a perspective word changes in green. (IE: Changing "you are with me" to "I'm with Sarah")(IE: Changing "you" to "her")
Highlight added words into the lyric in orange.
We're more than a thousand miles away from the comfort of our homes back in London, and it's taken us drives across Europe and Asia, and a boat across the Sea of Japan to get here, but as long as I'm with Sarah, there's no place I'd rather be. I'd wait with her here forever, because it feels that as long as I'm with her, my heart will continue to beat.
With every step that we take from Kyoto town centre to the bay, strolling casually, I realise that we're different, but still the same. Anyway, it's fun to switch it up sometimes.
"Y'know," I say to Sarah, "If you gave me a chance to live here forever, I would take it instantly." "It'd be a shot in the dark," she replies, "You barley speak Japanese," "But I'd make it!" I tell her, "You must know with all of your heart that I wouldn't let you shake me! When I'm with you, there's no place I'd rather be!" "I'm sure there are other places," she says happily, "Like the pub with your mates," "N-no! No! There's no place I'd rather be than with you!" I almost scream in excitement.
So, we staked out on a mission, to get a house in Kyoto, where we could find our inner peace. We would find a place that would make our love everlasting, and with everything, so that nothing was incomplete. "It's so easy being with you," I tell her, "It's sacred simplicity. As long aswe stay together, there really is no place I'd rather be."
With every step we take down roads, finding a house, from the centre of Kyoto, to the bay, we go casually. We like different houses, but we also like the same houses. But, it would be nice to try a different style house. "If you have me a chance to learn Japanese, I would take it in an instant," I told her. "It'd be a shot in the dark, you're not the best at learning languages," she said to me. "I could still take it!" I said optimistically, "You know with all of your heart that I'd do my best to learn! Then I could stay here, and speak the language, because as long as I am with you, there's no place that I'd rather be!" "And as long as I'm with you, there's no place I'd rather be," she says in her sweet voice. "Yeah!" I shouted, "Yeah! That's the spirit!" I bent down and kissed her, and then, to her surprise, got on one knee, and proposed to her, there and then, at the bay. "Will you marry me?" I asked her. "Yes!" she screamed, "Yes! Of course!" I put the ring on her finger, stared in her eyes, and then, as the sun set, in unison, we said, "As long as I'm with you, there's no place I'd rather be."
Lyrics Oh We're a thousand miles from comfort, we have traveled land and sea But as long as you are with me, there's no place I'd rather be I would wait forever, exalted in the scene As long as I am with you, my heart continues to beat
With every step we take, Kyoto to The Bay Strolling so casually We're different and the same, gave you another name Switch up the batteries
If you gave me a chance I would take it It's a shot in the dark but I'll make it Know with all of your heart, you can't shame me When I am with you, there's no place I'd rather be N-n-n-no, no, no, no place I'd rather be N-n-n-no, no, no, no place I'd rather be N-n-n-no, no, no, no place I'd rather be Ooh ooh
We staked out on a mission to find our inner peace Make it everlasting so nothing's incomplete It's easy being with you, sacred simplicity As long as we're together, there's no place I'd rather be
With every step we take, Kyoto to The Bay Strolling so casually We're different and the same, gave you another name Switch up the batteries
If you gave me a chance I would take it It's a shot in the dark but I'll make it Know with all of your heart, you can't shame me When I am with you, there's no place I'd rather be N-n-n-no, no, no, no place I'd rather be N-n-n-no, no, no, no place I'd rather be N-n-n-no, no, no, no place I'd rather be
When I am with you, there's no place I'd rather be (Yeah)
If you gave me a chance I would take it It's a shot in the dark but I'll make it Know with all of your heart, you can't shame me When I am with you, there's no place I'd rather be N-n-n-no, no, no, no place I'd rather be N-n-n-no, no, no, no place I'd rather be N-n-n-no, no, no, no place I'd rather be
When I am with you, there's no place I'd rather be
Again, I am highly surprised to see a piece like this here. Inspired by a song does not mean over half the story should be lyrics. Even changed, rearranged, and modified, it's plagiarism. It's not original, It's not unique. What it is, is highly disappointing.
I will not be responding to you further, @Alice. I'm sorry you feel that way, and your defense of the piece of honorable, however, I am set in my ways. So, there's no sense in pointlessly arguing, because I am not going to change my opinion.
aaaaaand let's just all take one or two pills worth of chill. If you don't like it, don't vote for it; if you don't like someone's opinion then like..... don't..... vote for the...... look we're all here for fun and practice and camaraderie, so et's be Fonz cool, aight?
OMGOSH MDK. Is it... Is it... POLLS?!?!?!!!? OMGOSHNESS!
Elaborate polls. Details to follow -- I'm not a coder so I don't know how hard it is, but it sounds like it might be ready in time. But it could be pretty sweet.
Hey for anyone keeping up with things -- Mahz has talked to me a bit about some coding stuff, there *may* be a (really awesome) change to how voting works coming in the next couple days. Stay tuned.
@mdk Wasn't that based on Dungeon Siege? The saddest thing was the list of actors wasn't even half bad. For B movie rate anyway.
My pick would be Crybaby.
Yep.
Uwe Boll directed, which is how you had such great actors (Ron Perlman, Burt Reynolds, Jason Statham, and more) literally rolling their eyes at the camera on the final take. It was baaaaaad.
Half Pint
TokyoPewPew
Maksart