Megan, I had to blast this song as I read your work. I think the sea imagery is perfect...you could even indulge in the romance of that. The sun, the crystal blue waves...it's gorgeous. This was charming.
This is cute! An endearing message with a cheerful ending. In particular the sentence capturing the birth of the chick is poetic and fun to follow. The writing feels a little wordy at times, perhaps you could edit out choices that do not add imagery or necessary reference. This feels like an oldie and a goodie! Like it's existed for some time. Great job capturing the feel and style of these types of stories.
Hi brethren! From the immediate gnawing of the nails, I was swept up by the tension of pre-birth anticipation. Perhaps there is room for humor here. You could exaggerate one description and this might create an incredible tension between joy and fear. Thanks for sharing.
I love this premise. Rock People. What a dull existence. And yet. It's an opportunity to perceive so much terrestrial transformation. I'd love to hear rich descriptions of environmental change. Or social. You do a fantastic job creating an ample image of Kandy which I appreciated. You could have fun with the narrative form. What is this is a religious record of the rock people's voices?
The only push I could offer relates to tense usage: you switch between past and present which can totally work, just refine it. And you use the passive voice maybe twice which I found hard to follow.
The concept is cool! You could run in so many different directions with this, and it seems as though you have a lot of the mythology already constructed.
Wow, this is pretty thought-provoking! The Creator's embrace in the form of a kiss. This raises so many associations: romance, paternal protection, Judas' betrayal...I love it. I feel like this could make for a rich story.
Hi! Something this does very effectively is generate a sense of motion and the passing of time: "swept in its sense...away," "gentles..rests...sway...roams in display" - there's an almost contrary nature to it, as if the leave is resisting this transition. I feel a wistful tribute to a noble figure, perhaps the author. What have they experienced? Who is writing to them?
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