Mariah raises question yet unsaid
for Covid-19 must fill someone's purse.
But lo, is Covid truly what we dread?
or could a loss of freedom be much worse?
Those who know all things have fallen down,
we look and wonder, 'What is it we lack?'
In silence, we obey without a frown
Our leaders up the rules and smile back.
Somewhere, without our jobs or friends, we cringe
then sigh as truth makes obvious the blame.
Where is the logic which can slow the binge,
of all the new requirements? (More of the same)
Your verse here shows the Lonely Playground's path;
To say it like it is beats venting wrath.
Here, Roxxie raises question yet unsaid
for one who dumps the gold into their purse.
But lo, is gold of silence what we dread?
or would a world of chatter be much worse?
When other's thoughts revolve and then fall down,
we look around and wonder. 'What's the lack?
In silence, there is something to renown.
Do we need praise of words to smile back?
Somewhere, beside the silent voice, we cringe
then sigh at lack of bawk or squawk and blame.
Here is the magic spray to slow the binge,
of all that noise, which means more of the same
But, as your verse so bravely lays the path;
Being silent sure beats venting wrath.
The Oddman shines a light upon ourselves
Our insecurities we've never solved,
So we consult advice upon his shelves
To learn how such dilemmas are resolved.
In search of love, we wheel and look behind
To find the keepers we did not collect,
But in the rearview mirror, a spot is blind,
We rip our backs with whips of retrospect.
In search of love, certain that tomorrow
will prove a higher view than held today,
we spend the now and beg that we can borrow,
thoughts from a brighter mind to show the way.
In search of love we seldom look beside.
We look within, behind, ahead, or not;
But with a glance at those who match your stride
We reconstruct decisions now you’re hot!
The spirit of an author through and through,
with strength to ponder thoughts known to the world.
No matter of the things that others do,
nor which way round the pot ideas twirled.
We see the conscience claim its higher ground,
while knowing nothing of the truth at hand.
This troubled soul needs answers to be found,
and paints a picture of times not so grand.
One moment and that shattering scene is gone,
and with it, its illusion of the truth.
A truth appears, a course and jagged one,
at first it seems, perhaps a bit uncouth.
Could there be peace behind those half-wake eyes,
or just relief to hear the same old lies.
You let us have another peek
behind the magic we all seek.
In words to turn the Ant Man's grief
into another smile that we can keep.
This Fan-fic venture holds its pace
and gives the readers one more place
to get their fix, of comics, plots,
or laughs. It's quite a chase.
But Marvel holds the reigns, or so it's said.
So, even when Scott hits a point of dread
the conflict whether human or of Ants
the rights are lost, plucked out of his head.
'So, let me see,' Scott says, 'It's up the nose.'
but Cassie didn't know the path he'd chose.
A finger to the rescue. That's a hitch.
She nearly makes a mash with one of those.
Scott jumps to fill his duty as a dad.
Best chance for lecture that he's had.
You are building a solid character for Leena and opening plenty of possibilities for conflict, both external and in Leena's mind.
My first suggestion is to open some paragraphs to separate thoughts. It will help you developed the final MS and it will also make it easier for readers to stay with the story.
YOu certainly have a super idea for a story opening here. If this is just an outline or summary of what is to come you are on a fine footing.
Don't let the lack of formatting stand. Be sure to rewrite keeping a consistent tense. Here you narrating in present tense then switch to the past tense.
Now, I'll go forward and read your outline for chapter 2.
Inside these swirling mists of mystery
I reach and find my thoughts a rusty screech.
Within forgotten nights and history
I feel the metaphors but not the speech.
I see the light and give myself a whack
to fill my fragile mind with woes gone by.
No loving arms assuage that rude attack
Upon the brittle truth. I gasp and cry.
Then all those long lost doubts along the track,
congeal to lead the search for north star's glum.
Acceptance of the things we can't take back
And ponder what of life that's yet to come.
But though I make that claim, I must be frank,
My wrinkled mind is largely still a blank.
A father when he hears your words of cheer
may have no notion why his deeds are grand.
But he'll feel joy to know you hold him dear
and wishes for a way to lend a hand
Now, time has grabbed the bits of what's gone past
and tossed it with the other bric brac.
Those misdirected words and other junk
it's thrown into the trash collector's rack.
'So, let me see,' he says, and sits to think,
'She's gone to face the world with wings afurl.
I'm glad to know that life is in the pink
and working out as wanted by that girl.
A leap from boring self to raging bull
a chance to elevate our grasp of id
while learning at the same time that we're full
of chance to learn about those things we did
You point to little tweaks (You're on a roll),
which shows us how he moves our trembling feet.
We learn that we must all pay up life's toll
while mumbling of our loss and last retreat.
When reading of our freedom and such stuff,
we know that every bit of it is true.
But still, we know that knowing's not enough,
to break us from the cage of what we do.
Once more the sun peeks out and we engage,
our own destructive need to rant and rage.
Kavindra, here, has taken on the task
of showing us this terrifying tale.
We want to hear some more. No need to ask
for places where the tickets go on sale.
Your summary tells us where to go from here
for entertainment, or to be plain bored.
I thank you for the warning, but I fear
the whistleblowing here won't clear the board.
When reading propaganda and such stuff
We find ourselves uncertain what to do.
Each of us gains a little (just enough).
to know that our worst fears are all quite true.
Congratulations on the guts to show
unwasted crisis fully in the know.
It isn't very often there's an ode
to someone who's been told to hit the road
She finds the prospect of the offered date
unproven at the core and second rate
It's plain as all that cuteness on his face
it's time to put this flirter in his place
To get one's name in this girls li'l black book
requires more than the cuteness of his look.
FIRST IMPRESSION: At chapter six we're pretty far into the story to form a first impression, but I have one, just the same. There is plenty of action to keep the reader in the tale and identifying with the characters.
APPEAL: Based upon my limited knowledge of the story up to this point, I can only base my notions on what I see in this segment and that makes me believe it will appeal to those who enjoy fantastical adventures.
Awaiting what I know is yet to come,
My scrambled thoughts allow me not a word.
I ponder the beginning (at least some)
and tamp down all those strange things that I heard.
On second read, I see what's white and black.
I check my head. Is it still on my shoulder?
I posit something dumb, creating slack,
as I have done since youth when I was bolder.
The story swings, and that is when I turn.
Another read is surely in the air.
thinking someone else will bear it better.
Up steps the vixen, showing us what's fair.
Without a thought intact, I trudge the snow,
my brain aspin with what I do not know.
It isn’t very often that we see
A 'not-a-poem' thoroughly resound.
But here it is, a flowing one-two-three
A better scene not likely to be found.
You paint the breeze for all of us to see.
The currents sure as soil beneath our feet.
Once more, the one to gain from this is me.
Just fifty words to reach our last retreat.
Some claim we’ve ruined the world with dash and flash,
But don’t believe a bit of it is true.
These fewer words are not enough to crash
my need to prattle on (that's what I do.)
In only fifty words a lot is said.
I hope I can wrap that around my head.
Silence is the golden cause we pray
It keeps our view inner visions keen.
The poet says it holds the truth at bay.'
But silence puts deep thoughts into routine.
When looking through that windows at the day
Those wondrous things keep counsel with the earth.
Do we now want to ban the quiet way?
My mind resorts to painting what it's worth.
My mind turns quickly to the quiet time,
I dream of nature's sunshine and the calm.
The beauty of the quiet Autumn clime
can not compete with summer's warming balm.
The world of silent Winter has its place.
I'd rather have God's sunshine on my face.
FIRST IMPRESSION: You have a terrific idea for the storyline of Magic Fingers but we are too far down the line at Chapter 3 for me to a feel for how the story is flowing at this point, so I went back and read Chapters 1 and to before I gave it a try.
In Chapter One, we get off to a good start by tying the story to midnight and the Great Houdini. Your use of the magic number thirteen for the birthday of Harrly's mother's illness.
APPEAL: Based upon of my guesses of where this story might go from here, I believe it will appeal to those who enjoy fantastical adventures.
PLOT: A reviewer of one of my yarns once gave me this tidbit about writing a plot: "If an author writes, 'The king died, and then the queen died', there is no plot, but if the author writes, 'The king died, and then the queen died of grief', the author has a plotline for a story." A plot is a causal sequence of events; the why things happen in the story. The plot draws the reader into the characters' lives and helps the reader understand the choices the characters make.
You have given us that causal relationship to mull as be move forward with your story.
REFERENCING: You gave a good solid reference point with the Houdini's death and the use of the EKG. At first glance the reader might wonder if that technology was really available, but a quick check shows it was and that it was in the news at the time with the discoverer given an award that year. Nice job.
SCENE. SETTING, IMAGERY: Scenes were set, but mostly through telling description. No senses engaged.
POV, STYLE, VOICE & CHARACTERS: I've combined these four because the real issue here is that we're in the first person the main character is clearly identified but it required a telling paragraph. We know Harrly has magic powers and we see them gradually exposed.
GRAMMAR/PUNCTUATION: There are a few SPAG issues, such as: "I laid on top of my lonely bed and stared into the voyage of the ceiling." I seem most likely that you intended "I laid on top of my lonely bed and stared into the void of the ceiling." However, this isn't supposed to be a proofread, so I leave it to you to clean them up.
EMOTIONAL CONNECTION: In chapter two we see the emotional connection built with Harrly's relationship to her father's new love interest. Again you use the ominous thirteenth as the date of his proposal to Barbara. That is a good bit of plot stirring through minor issues.
JUST MY PERSONAL OPINION: The plot isn't altogether clear. Of course, the opening conflicts are just beginning. The suspense at the close of chapter two gives us plenty of interest to keep the reader in the game.
That said, you've got a terrific opener. My expectations were very high after the first paragraph, and the unexpected scenes peppered throughout are brilliant. That's where you really shine! Where the characters come to life. I like them. I want more time with them. Just at chapter two's conclusion, we get a glimpse of the MC and the plot. And both look good!
Many of us, as new writers, spend a lot of time, trying to learn about the issue of 'Showing instead of telling'. At first, it's hard to grasp just what that means. But, it turns out to be one of the most important lessons to learn.
Here, the story begins telling us how the protagonist feels about the 'pathetic' moment and about his attitude toward the teacher's pet. The first few paragraphs dwell in-depth on the issue of a boring prank. Does the reader care? It might have drawn in the reader in a bit if it had used your excellent skills with dialogue to convey the scene. But that would have been hard to pull off too.
I suggest you read what information you find on WDC concerning the subject of showing instead of telling, and then, read Noah Lukeman's The First Five Pages before tackling a book-length story.
We spend a lot of time, as new authors, learning about the issue of 'Showing instead of telling'. At first, it's hard to grasp just what it means. But, it turns out to be the most important lesson to learn.
Here, the story begins with a colorful description of choice of breakfast food. The first paragraph dwells in-depth on the issue. Does the reader care? It might have drawn in the reader in a bit if it had used the sense of taste, the crunch, or milk squishing about in the mouth to share a sensation. But that would have been hard to pull off too.
I suggest you read what information you find on WDC concerning the subject and then, read Noah Lukeman's The First Five Pages before tackling a book length story.
When vamparina stomps her muddied leather,
The multitude press 'round to join her throng.
She tells them of her triumph over weather,
and how the trembling foe will not last long.
But allies want to talk instead of battle
On hillsides scattered with the brac of fear.
She raised her sword and struck a hearty rattle
then spat the words, "That's all I want to hear!"
A vampire slayer tossed her in a ditch.
It seemed all hope was lost, but they knew she
would win this fight without the slightest hitch.
and that is all that there would ever be.
"Too much!" She shouts and turns a sharp 'bout face
Bedecked with blood, her followers gain favor
and smash the bloody foe straight in the face.
Another blow for all of them to savor
A few more vampires join her in the night,
Now, vamparina's horde will not take flight.
The Raven of this search, we know is real.
Long left to struggle sorely on its own,
to find those learning moments and to feel
there’s more to be discovered than a groan.
Now, should a bolt of insight steal the show,
hold to the upside of the Raven's track.
Grab all the strength you can from after-glow.
The land of life's beginning won’t be back.
The damage from the past, we hear you say,
can never quite be shoved beneath the rug.
Those broken dreams will never win the day,
just add some more to all those holes we’ve dug.
But think of that support which you have found
The world will help you spread it all around.
Why should we leave the stress of life behind?
To do so might let boredom rule the day.
Stress is the measure God left us to find
to raise a questioned frown along the way.
We plan until we're sure we've got it nailed
and then the moment's truth presents its face.
Embarrassed, nerves affray, we find we’ve failed.
Now, grasp the learning tool of our disgrace.
Here, all in all, you’ve shown the lesson well.
We take a nap and do it all again
Learn once again that stress will surely tell
what strength we gain, from just the proper spin
But truth be told, it's just as satan guessed
with all that recognition, we’re still stressed
Premeditated murder in their gold,
relentlessly their ruffles multiply;
face their frills and step into their fold;
it could be said each spring, 'I live to die'.
I brave the bludgeon of their buttered-cup,
pure innocence of spring that they portray,
for fluted frills I offer spirit up,
platoons of petals bear my breath away.
Are Iris, then, the witness to my death?
They know I only knelt for yellow kiss.
'A suicide!' declared the Baby's Breath,
'She gladly went the way of golden bliss!'
While Roses write the rhyme of thorny kill-
they leave a dearth of death by Daffodil.
You tell us of a time of bitter days
All pushed aside and dulled by founded fears
No cheery objects fall within your Gaze
they're blurred out, but still don't foster tears
Where anguish crowds the conscience from the world,
a bloody hand reveals the dreaded sin.
No flags of satisfaction are unfurled
to shade the cart to hell, which you are in.
No friends aligned and nothing to be gained,
you've done your best to polish off the slate.
Leave only that which fate has deep ingrained,
and that required by nature. It's too late.
No friends you say, there still might be a few.
You need but one, and that my friend is you.
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