Site Post » Reviews! Round 35 · 7:02am Jan 19th, 2014
Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good fics with low views. You can find us here.
“Get in there!”
Two pairs of rough, powerful hands held Golden Vision aloft for a brief moment before throwing him onto a dirty linoleum floor. One of the thugs—a buff, blonde Swede—spoke up. “Now stay quiet, you objectivist scum! And don’t try anything; we’ve got the night shift manager watching you from the camera room.”
Golden Vision sputtered, “W-who are you? What are you planning to do with me?”
“We said quiet!” snapped the other thug, a short, wrinkled man with violent eyes. “Read him his charges, Sven.”
“Yes, Donnie. Golden Vision, you are under arrest.”
“Under arrest? You’re policemen? B-but I don’t know what I’ve done wrong!”
“Silence!” The Swede glowered from under his ushanka. “You are under arrest, by the Hugbox Police, for the crime of giving objective reviews and pointing out genuine flaws in stories, to the detriment of the authors’ feelings.”
“We’re the Hugbox Police! That’s us!” yelled Donnie. “Now enjoy your new home!”
Golden Vision looked around. The room’s only light was a dull, bare incandescent bulb attended by moths, and some kind of purple liquid was dripping from a rotten corner of the ceiling. “What? You’re locking me in here? But—I’ll never survive! This place is disgusting!” As he said this, he looked down, and realized that his elbow had been resting in a pile of fuzzy goo.
“Yes, this is to be your prison cell for the indefinite future: the restroom of a McDonalds attached to an am/pm. Food is once daily. The sink on the far left is out of order. Now goodbye.” The thugs left, shutting the door behind them, and the sound of frozen gravy vats being stacked in front of the door was all he could hear for the next fifteen minutes.
Golden Vision, losing hope, turned to observe his new home—and to scout for possible escape routes—when he heard an odd sound coming from one of the restroom stalls.
It sounded like a hungry, feral carnivore panting heavily and slobbering over a meal.
Suddenly he felt a surge of adrenaline as dread swept over him. As he tiptoed toward the stall, he cupped his hand to his ear and stretched his neck, straining himself anxiously, desperately trying to catch any small indication of what doom awaited him behind the door that read, “New Asparagus Republic”.
Unarmed, and nearly broken with nerves, he stood with fists clenched in front of the stall door, bracing himself for what he knew must come next. Drawing on all his courage, he gathered himself, raised his right knee, and kicked open the door.
Inside, a short, bald man was sitting on the toilet, pants around his ankles, with a bucket of fried chicken nestled between his legs. He was bent over the bucket, and was gnawing voraciously upon a drumstick.
“N-Nietzsche! What are you doing in here?”
Nietzsche looked up, and he was at once laid bare. Sitting before Golden Vision was a man who had seen the world and been defeated by it. The lines in his face spoke of years under the sun, the calluses on his hands, a lifetime of toil. His beard was matted against his face, unkempt, forgotten amidst greater hardships. His knobby knees spoke of his long wanderings through this world, perhaps searching for something lost at the fickle hand of fate. But it was his eyes that held the greatest pain. In them Golden saw not the fire of a man, but of smoldering ashes. Lifeless, broken. They seemed to look through him, at what had been lost—love. He was weary, beaten down by a world that had taken true love from him and crushed his heart, condemned to a life of living death for the many long, cold days until his lifeless husk would dissolve and he would exist no more.
Or he was just having trouble passing so much fried chicken.
“I’m using the bathroom, idiot. Didn’t you look under the stall door to check for legs?”
ROUND 35
STORY 1
Erase and Rewind, by DuncanR
Things happen. Nothing happens in between these things. If they did, they'd simply be things with more nothing between 'em. So how do you measure the nothing? Two ponies, equally flawed, intend to find out together... no matter how far it takes them.
What can I say about this story? Well, it’s easily one of the more experimental stories I’ve read on this site—while I don’t know if I would put it on par with the psychological depth of White Box, Erase and Rewind certainly holds its own with the competition and brings a fresh look at psychology in Equestria.
The story is dominated by two characters: Rewind, an orphan whose foster parents always die; and Erase, a clerk who remembers everything. The ways in which each character’s respective “curse” affects both their past and personality really lend this story toward a kind of surrealist genre of fiction. Both Erase and Rewind are extremely well-written, providing both snappy dialogue and a surprising level of depth to a story that might otherwise feel like an obvious tract on philosophy and the nature of time.
I actually can’t recall the name of Erase’s disorder off of the top of my head—I believe it starts with the prefix hyper—and to be honest, I didn’t find myself caring whether it was a real psychological issue or not. The disorder itself makes Erase alien and strange to us, especially when seen through Rewind’s eyes, but Erase’s own reactions to his disease through his PoV make him sympathetic.
The story itself is an excellent work of tension, building up to the final cliffhanger at the end while somehow alleviating the pressure at the same time. In many ways, the ultimate ending of the story matters less than the journey taken to get there. The contrast between the resolution and the elapsed time of an action is one of the many themes woven into the story by author DuncanR, and it also lends the surrealist air that makes this story so unique.
So if you’ve got the time to spare, go give Erase and Rewind a look. You might find at the end that you’ve read through to the end in no time at all.
Part character study, part philosophical dialogue, part imaginative fantasy, Erase and Rewind manages to explore deep concepts such as time, fate, and happiness by providing a window into the lives of two well-realized OCs, who grow together over the course of the deceptively short and simple narrative, despite their flaws and differences, to forge a thoroughly unique and personal relationship. The story realizes, perhaps, only a fraction of the potential its insane concept possesses, but this fraction is enough and more than enough to satisfy.
Canterlot, populated by a cast of original characters, forms the backdrop against which the story plays out. As Golden Vision points out, the two main characters are actually eponymous. One of the story’s strongest points is its handling of these characters, and specifically, the interplay of their contrapuntal personalities. One really gets a sense that the author has, perversely, thought all the way through the strange characterization implications of each character’s unique condition. This makes for some seriously entertaining conversations. I mean it: you should read this, if for no other reason, at least to get inside the OCs’ heads for a few minutes. Excepting a bit of needless vulgarity from a flat minor character, the dialogue throughout feels natural and unforced. The story, which is driven by the characters, unfolds simply and easily as a result. There is no question of these characters being forced to do this or that against their will by the demands of the plot; these characters are free, and they decide their own destinies.
The prose is clean and utilitarian, and deftly avoids both excess and deficit. The grammar is faultless and editing errors are limited to the typographical. (But that should be a given at this point, shouldn’t it?) It is astonishing to me to think that a story of this quality could have been written in under seventy-two hours—and written to address a contest prompt, no less. Give the author (who, by the way, won first place in the aforementioned contest with this entry) some well-deserved kudos for this fic, and give Erase and Rewind twenty minutes of your time. It’s absolutely worth it.
After coming to Ponyville, Twilight has had to adjust to life at the slower pace of Earth Ponies. She's learned how to be competitive in the Running of the Leaves, and she's learned how to coordinate the Winter Wrap-Up without using her magic. Can she master the art of gardening in time to grow an award-winning crop for the Harvest Festival?
Not all fics need to be heavy or weighted down with moralistic implications, and Admiral Biscuit’s Harvest Festival is a lighthearted comedy sure to elicit a light chuckle. The characters are all...well, in-character, from Dash and Applejack’s rivalries to Twilight’s obsession with scientific methods and definitions.
Twilight’s thought processes are easily the most entertaining part of a fic that contains only a small bit of dialogue. The narration, not the conversations or situational humor, really make the comedy of this piece come alive. The fic itself is a nice little snippet that could well have taken place between seasons of the show.
I won’t spoil the ending of the story, but its finale is sure to draw a giggle from anyone who remembers the old adage: “Knowledge is knowing that tomato is a fruit; wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad.”
Harvest Festival is a joke.
What? I meant that literally. It’s a two-thousand-word joke, complete with a punch line. We’ve featured stories like this before; you should be used to it by now. All the standard boilerplate applies here. Yes, it’s fluff. Yes, it’s funny. A cute premise, accurate show-style storytelling and characterization, a few fun worldbuilding elements for spice, and no major grammar derps. You know the lines. We’ve been around this block a dozen times before. Do I really need to write three hundred words to convince you to read two thousand? It’s generic silly BS. Everyone likes that sort of thing, whether they want to admit it or not.
Go.
Read.
A collection of poems by and about the various inhabitants of Ponyville.
Author AugieDog has been around the literary block more than a few times, and this anthology of poetry does well in showing off his honed expertise. Composed of no fewer than thirteen different types of poem, the varied language and meters of the work as a whole betrays a breadth of technical expertise.
The ways in which each format has been matched to its speaker really makes the poems themselves come alive: Rarity, for example, gives hers in a chant royal, while Applejack delivers her piece through the “down ‘n dirty” form of the limerick. And what else might Twilight Sparkle choose but a sonnet, carefully measured and calculated in every way?
My favorite piece, I think, was How Ponyville Was Made, an epyllion in fourteeners (words which I doubt most people on this site have ever heard before). The way it’s written just sings Pinkie, but the content is reminiscent of an old folk-tale or myth. Of course, different people will like different forms and content, so I encourage you all to take the dive into this anthology and find your own favorites. At under five thousand words, it won’t take you more than a half an hour, and whether you’re a poetry aficionado or just a curious bystander, you won’t have wasted your time.
Oh boy, where to start?
I really enjoy poetry. Most people I know... don’t. To them, it’s too difficult, too vague, or too subjective. One person I know even called poetry “lazy writing”. There seems to be a prejudice against poetry in the air, a general idea that poetry is always only something “other people” enjoy, whether it’s high-class snobs, professors of literature, hipsters in cafés, or depressed high-school kids—never something that a “normal person” could enjoy.
To me, that is like saying that enjoying music is something too difficult for a normal person! Poetry is the most natural thing in the world. For poems convey the ideas which are least expressible in human language, and hence most crucial to the well-being of the human spirit. And to hear a poem speak, it is necessary only to listen.
What does this “listening” entail? It means, first of all, being silent. As poetry is a medium of ideas and images, it should always be read with a silent heart. Set aside your preconceptions, calm your emotions, quiet your internal dialogue. You have to become passive and receptive to whatever the poem might hold, if you wish to understand it correctly or to gain anything from reading it. (This is a rule that also holds true for reading fiction, but is even more necessary when reading poems.) I do not see how anyone can enjoy poetry if they do not take this step. People who go into poems cynically, thinking they must all be either “emo” stuff or meaningless literary jabberwocky, or people who read with too critical an eye (especially those who fret over exact metrical “correctness”), or people who refuse to acknowledge a poem unless they already agree with its theme—I expect none of these people to be able to enjoy poetry. The joy of reading poetry lies in interacting with a poem by letting it speak to you, and then learning something about yourself by observing your own natural response to the poem. You do not read a poem in order to judge it!
...Okay. Breathe, Nietzsche. Get back on topic.
Ponyville & Other Poems is oh, so, entirely worth reading and savoring. Most of the entries in the collection adhere to relatively strict forms, such as the sonnet and the villanelle. The skill on display here is, simply, the best I’ve seen in this fandom. I wish I had enough space to quote from more than one of the poems here. “How Equestria Was Made” and “Ain’t No Secret” are standouts, but my favorite is “Seventeen Clouds”, a collection of seventeen English haiku. The progression of “Seventeen Clouds” is supremely satisfying, as its imagery of clouds coming together reflects the joy of the creative process and, implicitly, the joy of self-discovery:
Air is never thin,
And empty doesn't exist.
The sky's full of clouds.
...
The only stillness
Is flying fast as the wind:
Reach, and touch the clouds.
...
My beckoning hoof
Calls them into existence,
Tells them that they're clouds.
...
How can I deny
This perfect convocation?
Come! Dance with me, clouds!
...
Rollicking, alive,
Wanting to burst out from me,
Spreading wondrous clouds!
I can’t get enough of this shit.
Look, if you don’t like poetry, I can’t make you like it. (But I can beg, and plead, and beseech, and ask politely, and...) We absolutely do not have enough good poetry in this fandom, and AugieDog’s is some of the best. Please give it a chance and read it with an open mind; you might find that you’ll start to understand.
We all dream of beautiful lives.
Shady Blossom need no longer dream; she has everything she ever wanted. Stepmother to Babs Seed and her sister, mother of two, aunt to Applejack and Apple Bloom. Her life in Manehattan is all she could have wished for.
When Applejack and the Cutie Mark Crusaders come visit to open up the Manehattan Branch of their club, however, it turns out that the past is not so easily forgotten.
Sometimes, the things that haunt us just won't stay buried.
Ether Echoes is an author who takes pride in his work--his piece The Well of Pirene is one of the few genuinely good Human in Equestria stories on this site. Likewise, his fic Perchance to Dream, originally written for a Ponychan Writeoff event, betrays a similar investiture in character, story, and prose. His style is utilitarian yet graceful, and his characters in constant motion. I don’t think I’ve read a Cutie Mark Crusader fanfic I’ve enjoyed so much as this one.
Shady Blossom, our protagonist, is a family mare with a long past. When said past comes back to haunt her in a spectacularly unpleasant way, however, her bonds with her soul and family are put to the test. She’s a mother, through and through, and I think that the focus on family throughout this story are really what make it stick out out in a crowd. From panic over her newborn’s health to a deepening respect with her adoptive daughter, Lin Seed, Shady is anything but a flat character, and her matriarchal status gives an unmistakable depth to a fic otherwise dedicated to intrigue and old memories.
The setting, meanwhile, is in itself something to behold. Never before has Manehatten been given the chance to shine in such a light: As a true center of multiculturalism and ethnicity. Ether Echoes’s insistence on the word thestral over the more popular bat-pony or even Sarosian may not be the most popular choice, but it meshes well with the many other races he brings to life in the city streets: Hippogriffs, griffons, and ponies of every shape and size. One of my favorite scenes in the entire fic has the Crusaders meeting a young Hippogriff “colt” on the boardwalk of Coneigh Island. I won’t spoil the ending of said scene for you, but suffice it to say that I was “d’aww”ing by the end of it.
Ultimately, I think that the most appealing argument in favor of this fic is its genuinity: It feels real, from start to finish. Shady Blossom and her family are...well, a family, for all intents and purposes. Her loves for her husband feels natural, her relationship with her (adoptive) nieces adorable, and her every action like that of a mother plucked straight from the real world and shoved into a cartoon. If that doesn’t scream “genuine” to you, then I don’t know what will.
If for nothing else, read this fic to have a true understanding of the phrase “a mother’s love.” Trust me--you won’t regret it.
Prior to reading Perchance to Dream, I had never read an MLP fanfic with a thestral (a.k.a. a bat-pony) as the main character. I consider this story to have been a most auspicious initial foray into the subgenre. I mention this at the start of this review because the two strongest points of Perchance to Dream both relate to its use of a thestral as the main character. First and most relevantly, Perchance to Dream represents a significant effort in character study, as the conflict of the story hinges crucially on certain problems created by the protagonist’s life and upbringing as a thestral—including, significantly, questions of identity, community, and family for a thestral living in a world populated mostly by “normal” ponies. Second, the worldbuilding, especially that touching thestral culture and on Manehattan—the story’s main setting—is very strong, which is just what one would expect from Ether Echoes, an author we’ve featured before for the outstanding Through the Well of Pirene. All-in-all, Perchance to Dream is one of the better stories I’ve had the pleasure of reading.
And, oh, did I mention that, at 48K, the story is complete?
To go into greater detail, then. The prose is, of course, excellent, though the pace may be slower than some readers are used to. Some parts of certain scenes can seem gratuitous, but they usually end before they get annoying. I do think that the ending dragged on for too long, but I can’t otherwise fault the pacing. The three story chapters correspond very neatly with the traditional three-act narrative arc. I found the method of development of the plot most impressive. As for the dialogue, though solid on the whole, it occasionally veered toward the cartoonish or dramatic, which was only a problem because of the story’s realism otherwise.
But that is a fairly complete accounting of the problems in Perchance to Dream.
Those who undertake to read the story (which should really only take about three hours at most) can expect, in addition to being treated to a healthy dose of thestral culture, to be entertained with the antics of the CMC (including Babs Seed!) and the Apple family, and to be gripped by a twisted plot that only gets more interesting as you go. Definitely be sure to add this one to your “Read Later” list.
(Speaking of which: Some stories can have their endings revealed ahead of time without suffering for it. Perchance to Dream is not one of those stories. It is a story that can be “spoiled”, so try to avoid the comments on it until you’ve read it all the way through.)
Golden Vision burped, tasting greasy fried chicken once more. “So, Nietz. Any idea how we’re getting out of here?” He wiped his hands with a torn paper towel and chucked it into the garbage canister.
“Out? I’ve got a key. It opens that window in the corner.” He pointed toward a shaft of moonlight that had been illuminating the floor since the bulb burnt out.
Golden dropped his jaw. “You’ve got a key? Where did you get it?!”
“They gave it to me months ago.” He rubbed his gut, which bulged unflatteringly. “Yeah, back when I got this job.”
“You mean we can just... leave? Any time?”
Nietzsche nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?! Let’s go! We’ve got to get back to the secret Seattle’s Angels hideout!” Golden Vision started for the window, but paused when he saw that Nietzsche wasn’t following him.
“You go on ahead... leave me behind,” Nietzsche muttered, extending the key toward his companion from where he sat, crestfallen, on the floor. “I kinda like it here.”
“You—what? This place isn’t fit for rats to live, much less humans! What are you thinking?”
Nietzsche shrugged. “At least I have chicken.”
Feel free to visit our group and offer some recommendations for future rounds. See you all next time!
derpicdn.net/img/2012/7/17/47201/large.jpg
Oh, so you actually are switching to two reviewers doing four stories each round. Well then that changes a few things. That means the next review round is going to include the 100th story featured by Seattle's Angels.
Looking forward to that, but until then... read later, read later, read later, and read later.
Heh...
Could be worse.
Could be a walmart bathroom.
~Skeeter The Lurker
Thank you for these reviews! They often bring even more wonderful stories to my already over-laden reading list, which now sits at a wobbly, gargantuan thousand-plus stories.
I look forward to reading the stories presented here.
*dance dance, dance dance*
Lovely to see Perchance to Dream getting some attention! I've always felt it's languored too long at the bottom of the view barrel.
Anyone calling poetry "lazy writing" either doesn't know anything about poetry, or has the heart and soul of a freeze-dried toad.
That was me!
Oh man, those were some fun days. I enjoyed those debates.
You're not doing much to argue that poetry doesn't carry a whiff of pretentiousness about it when you try to defend it by saying "you can't judge poetry". We judge music all the time. We judge books all the time. We judge FOOD all the time. Why is poetry somehow protected from facing this most basic human reaction?
1734400
They were talking about me, actually. And yes, I do have no soul. I discovered that when I found some of my old poetry recently. Fun times.
Still, the frog comment made me laugh. Worth an upvote! ^_^
1734307
Is there anything you write that isn't amazing?
1734193
I was wondering if I was the only one who caught that. Nice.
1734400 All i could do reading that was derpicdn.net/img/view/2014/1/3/513731__safe_solo_caption_faic_mane-dash-iac_hue.PNG
1734915
I didn't say you can't judge poetry, or at least I didn't mean to imply that. I meant you don't read it in order to judge it. It's not a perfect way of saying what I mean, but the point is in the attitude you approach it with. Of course you can judge poetry, but to do so fairly, you first have to give it a chance and read it with a non-critical eye. That's basically what I meant.
1734921
I try!
1735116
Ah, of course. However, the statement in the review above was much more flowing in its praise for poetry as an art form that seemed to elevate it far above other forms of writing. If there is any bias against poetry, I believe it stems from exactly that attitude: the idea that poetry is "special" and needs to be treated as such. People who don't like poetry are dismissed as "just unable to get it". The problems with a specific poem are ignored on the basis of the reader's ineptitude. Anyone who has spent time with the creative minds has seen such things arise: an attitude of, dare I say it, elitist disdain for those unwashed masses that seem to treat poetry as the domain of the elitist intellectual.
It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy at both ends: those who are ambivalent or dislike their exposure to poetry have their impressions reinforced by those treat another bout of uneducated commentary with sarcasm and resentment.
Poetry is, like any art, highly subjective. But to treat it as definitively unique and special when compared to the many other forms of expression available turns it into a source of contempt or annoyance who are on the outside looking in. But when you describe poetry with almost transcendental and religious imagery, it only creates the false idea that poetry must be good, that it must be something unique and wonderful and awe-inspiring.
You mention that to many people you know, poetry is "too difficult, too vague, or too subjective." I would argue that in many cases, this seems a very accurate description. When poets and their affictionados treat poetry as such a unique form of art, it tends to breed that sort of image for itself. Those within the poetry cliche become highly protective of something they enjoy and highly critical of those attempting to break into it - who here hasn't seen those god-awful self-centered poems written in high school about the dark empty void of my soul? Is anyone more critical of someone's bad poetry than an individual who has experienced good poetry?
And likewise, poetry is often allowed to succeed where other forms of art would not. Many poems are so highly impressionistic that listeners and readers are left struggling to find meaning in the words. Nobody likes to feel like a fool, and when poetry is placed before them that they do not understand, it can breed a sense of confused bewilderment - bewilderment that can turn into resentment if they are told to not question or judge the poem, and simply accept it without understanding it.
With music or prose or artwork, we can point to something exact and have our opinions judged fairly. I dislike the singing; the characters are bland; the colors are mismatched and give me a headache. All valid criticisms. But when you approach poetry, criticism from the uneducated is treated as such. After all, when a person looks at a poem and asks "how is this a poem? It doesn't even rhyme", there are many poets who would roll their eyes at the person's ignorance.
For poetry to escape the taint of elitist disdain, it needs to rid itself of the shell that is formed around it. Is this a condemnation of all poetry or even most poets? No, not at all. But the popular conceptualization that poetry is a pastime for a small group of intellectuals, as unfair as it might seem, is grounded in a subjective grain of truth. For the people looking in from outside, poetry is often not some beautiful song waiting to be digested, but a pretentious chunk of purple imagery that revels in its own depth and inaccessibility. Which is, I think we can both agree, a sad state of affairs that harms those on either side of the window.
The ironic thing about it is that many who defend poetry have already slagged off my points as just another bout of poetry-hating drivel from another uneducated fool. And, while I am a fool of the highest order, I would smugly point out that such a response is exactly what feeds that very stereotype they resent so much. We've all heard people say they dislike rap, or country, or dubstep; the most common response amongst those respective genres is to attempt to convert the doubter with "good" examples from that genre. It doesn't always work, but it normally results in a "well, we'll just have to agree to disagree". In my personal existence, poetry was never handled the same way.
Consider your points. You are hardly aggressive about defending poetry, but from the outside perspective, saying things like "Poetry is the most natural thing in the world. For poems convey the ideas which are least expressible in human language, and hence most crucial to the well-being of the human spirit. And to hear a poem speak, it is necessary only to listen.", you have already set up a barrier to those who struggle to enjoy poetry. By saying it is necessary to only listen, you've unwittingly made the idea that understanding poetry is easy. After all, everyone can listen, so it must be simple! For those who can't just listen? What of them?
Your words also build poetry up in a most poetic manner, making it a reflection of the human soul. Again, for those outside, this seems to imbue poetry with a sense of superiority over other forms of expression. It is now something transcendental, something far above painting and singing and dancing. When you treat something thus, you build it up. If someone were to treat country or rap or dubstep the same around someone who wasn't a fan, it would certainly be off-putting for them as well.
So in reality, I would argue that the misconception that poetry is "too difficult, too vague, or too subjective" is fed by its proponents trying to defend and support it without being able to see things from the others' point of view. Sure, many people will always think this. But when you claim that the key to understanding poetry is to, in essence, just stop doubting poetry and enjoy it, it comes off more like the pastor telling a non-believer that to understand the glory of Christ, all you have to do is open your heart to him. It sounds nice, and the pastor might honestly believe that is the case, but it doesn't do anything but confuse and inadvertently antagonize those that are struggling with the concepts in the first place.
If poetry wants to abandon its dark shadow, it's supporters have to learn to embrace the doubters with humility. It needs to show them that poetry is not the wine of intellectual but the bread of the common man. It cannot wallow in its own little bubble and defend itself with claims that other people just "won't get it". Whenever a fan of poetry tells a poetry agnostic that the doubters are at fault for not liking poetry, it only breeds resentment.
tl;dr
If poetry wants to lose the stereotype that it's elitist, the fans need to understand just why people think that way in the first place.
Also: holy shit that went on for a while! The things we do when we're delaying going to the gym. I feel like I should make a dick joke to counter all the pseudo-intellectual stuff I've been spouting. Hmmm...
There once was a man from Nantucket...
1735419
poetry as its own art form is a pointless exercise because you could just set the words to music instead of having high school students read them aloud in stilted, disinterested tones
1735436
Well, lyrics and poetry are pretty much interchangeable terms. Only writing lyrics is harder since you're writing them with the idea of throwing in the added element of music while still doing everything needed for a normal poem.
So in that sense, poems could be "lazier" than song writing because it requires less work.
1735517
Exactly. I think writing poetry by itself is a very, very difficult thing to pull off well, and those who think they can pull it off probably can't. Most go the lazy route and write lyric-like compositions, but they have neither the skill nor the understanding to set them to music in order to provide a suitable atmosphere for the words to be delivered through.
1735534
I think part of the problem is that the barrier to bad poetry is much lower than the barrier to bad prose. A bad poem can be written in minutes, while a bad story story takes a lot more effort - or at least, time.
1735588
"Please dont flame me for my 1,012 word story cuz its ONLY THE FISRT CHAPTER OKAY give it a chacne. and i wroe it like in 15 mins on my phone during studyhall"
Remember to flush on your way out.
Remember to flush on your way out.
1735615
I remember one girl in high school who just loved to write her yaoi stories. I said hello, she brought up that she loved writing it, and I found it hard to follow up with anything. Telling a stranger you like to write gay cartoon porn is up there with most effective ways to derail end a conversation.
1735676
Just below telling someone that you write lesbian cartoon porn but you put dicks on all the women, amirite?
Just give up now and review all of DuncanR's stories, okay?
Thanks for the kind words!
And to be featured in the same article as "Erase & Rewind"? Doubly sweet! Oh, and I've got more poems planned to add to the thing--I'm about halfway through a rondeau by Roseluck right now--so beware of that!
1735419
1735534
I actually agree with a lot of your points here, but then my list of favorite poets includes Dr. Seuss, Ogden Nash, Shel Silverstein, and Don Marquis when he was writing as Archy the Cockroach...
Mike
Which is why it's always featured and garners thousands of upvotes.
These reviews make me wonder why I even bother with writing. I'll never pen (or type) an epic psychological character-study, so therefore I'll never be lauded as a "smart" or even "popular" writer. Screw all you smart writers and your damn stories.
I'm so glad to see Perchance to Dream featured on here. I also completely forgot that Through the Well of Pirene was featured here as well, since it's a story that has gotten much more interesting in its last few chapters (not that it was ever terrible!).
1734307
That seems to be the problem with all the "smart" and "deep" stories on this site. Most of the users want to read the cute, slice-of-life stories or smutty clop. I don't read the former because it makes me realize that I'm a total idiot who can't understand deep thought of any form.
I'll shut up now, since I'll only start to whine and complain about people who are better than me at something.
1735676
I remember those girls. They honestly seemed to just enjoy embracing a "deviant" subculture most of the time.
1737336 If the story had been featured and garnered thousands of upvotes, it most certainly wouldn't have appeared here. As a rule, this group only features gems that weren't widely received.
Also, that story didn't seem to be very deep (though I've not read it, so I suppose I could be wrong), so what exactly is inspiring the rest of your post? And since when did you have to be able to write something "deep" or "smart" in order to be popular?
Out of curiosity, what is your standard of fictions with low view numbers? What determines which fictions you review I guess I should clarify. And also do they need to be completed for review? Thanks ahead of time for the answers.
1741416
To answer your questions:
They have low numbers of views
We generally shoot for under a thousand, if possible, but there's no hard/fast rules. Same goes for that've achieved EqD/feature box. Best if it hasn't, but it's still possible.
What determines them is if we find them or not
And no, they do not need to be finished. Helps if they are, though.
Ah, I see. That is interesting then. I have a fiction posted myself, but it is far from completed. Chapters 4/17 posted, the rest undergoing editing. I would love a review but am in no way advocating that it be done. At least not until it is completely posted.
I thank you for the answers.
1735419 Nobody wins a debate with king Derek
I understand and certainly agree. I was not attempting to have mine featured but was curious as to your process is all. Thank you again for your answers.
1735116
By the way, if you haven't seen the Pony Verse anthology yet, it's definitely worth your time as well. Full disclosure: I'm one of its ten authors, but there's so much talent in there that I'd plug it even if I weren't. darf's on the way home and Cynewulf's On Earth Ponies are two of my favorites. Similar to Augie's excellent work, all you have to do is check out the variety of styles in the compilation and you're sure to find something you'll have to click through to.
1744720
Thanks! But I faved that anthology back when it came out
1735116 Do you write poetry?
1772758
Uh... not much and very badly, but yes. Why do you ask?
1777126 I would like to read them if you don't mind. Poetry is something I would also like to spend the rest of my life doing, so might as well start now.