It took a while for Vinyl to notice the small bumps and curses coming from below her. In her stupor, neither near sleep nor fully conscious, she had dimly recognized that they were a thing that was happening but didn’t think too hard about them. At least until she recognized the voice from one particularly frantic pejorative.
She flipped her body around and looked through the gaps in the walkway. A blue pony with a spiky black mane and a black vest was cursing up a storm as he looked at a keyboard that had fallen off a speaker and onto the stage floor. Picking it up in his light blue magic he examined it for any flaws before placing back on his turntable carefully. He muttered as hopped off the wooden stage and left the warehouse again.
So, her little brother was the one still using the warehouse. In a weird way that calmed her. It wasn’t some stranger taking her place, but someone she knew and trusted. Someone who knew and trusted her. Someone who might let her back in one day.
Neon, loops of wires around his body, carefully set up a stand and placed a brown case on it. With more care than he showed for most of his equipment he opened the case showing the silver console inside. After a cursory check of it he flipped the case closed again and shedding the wires wrapped around himself he left the warehouse.
Vinyl stood up and walked down the stairs, eyes never leaving the case.
---
Neon Lights, carrying a second speaker on his back and his headphones in his magic field, took a second to notice the pony standing behind his turntable, idly flicking switches and messing with his settings. A surge of anger went through him at seeing a stranger touch his stuff. He always got touchy when people started messing with things that were his. Maybe it came from having a bunch of brothers and sisters with no sense of personal space, maybe he was just naturally selfish, but watching somepony use his things was one of the easiest ways to get under his skin. The unicorn at his new(ish) silver PX900 turntables was about to get a hoof to the face if they didn’t step off.
“Hey!” He rushed up the stairs to the stage, dropping the speaker on the ground with a crash. He would have cringed if some bum wasn’t getting their grubby hooves all over his stuff.
The white pony looked up at his proclamation. “Oh bro, hey. I was just checking out your new table. Bit too fancy for my tastes, but I guess anything would be fancy compared to the old wreck you had.”
Neon froze, dropping his headphones. She was thinner since he had seen her last seen her half a year ago, and was wearing an expression he had never seen on her before. He had seen her stand over turntables thousands of times, and had seen expressions ranging from frustration to ecstasy to hate. But for the first time she looked miserable. Her eyes were lidded and she looked exhausted to her core. She was smiling but it looked like it was painted on, a parody of a real smile.
“Damn, I swear they just keep making them shinier and brighter. Like chrome on your gear will make your music better.” Her hoof absentmindedly roamed the board, feeling the resistance of the knobs and sliders. The lights intensified and faded with her movements. “Bet you after every disc jockey has one of these light up things they’ll start making retro brown or puke green ones so you’ll ‘stand out’. Never got why these things needed so much flash, it’s not like the audience is gonna see much of it. Weird.”
If he had closed his eyes right then he could have pretended everything was back to normal. Vinyl musing on some weird anecdote while preparing for a set while he helped her, hanging on every word that she said to fill the quiet. Scrambling around, worried he was messing something up while she smoothly told him it was okay and fixed his mistakes effortlessly. Watching her go through the motions of pre-production like a fish swam, so natural it was effortless.
But his eyes were open. In more ways than he liked.
“Vinyl, your face…” He felt so uncomfortable he couldn’t finish the thought.
“My face? Oh, you must mean my shades. Yeah, I, uh, broke ‘em earlier. Tripped and smashed them. It’s so weird to be without ‘em, you know. Guess I must have been squinting or something?” Vinyl gave an exaggerated grimace, red eyes squeezed to slits and one corner of her mouth pulled way below the other, before returning to the ghost of a grin. “Like that right? Guess I’m more bummed about it then I thought. Forget that though, dude. What’s been up with you?”
“Nothing?” he answered, bewildered. “Just, um, preparing for a show later tonight.”
“Well, duh. Here, let me grab some tables for your gear.” Vinyl hopped off the stage, walking towards the old wooden tables in the far corner.
Neon stared after her as she walked away from the stage. Then he realized how stupid he must have looked following her with his eyes, mouth wide open. He picked up the headphones again tossing them into a nearby pile of wires and hurried towards the speaker he had left on floor below. He grabbed it in his magic, carefully levitating it and cursing himself for his haste. It was already barely reliable and if it fried now he would be screwed as far as getting even music at the back of the warehouse. He set it down gently on the stage and added checking if it was still useable to his mental checklist.
“So how you been, kid?” Vinyl asked as she rolled one of the tables up the ramp behind the stage with her head.
“Fine.” His voice sounded high and whiny, even to himself. Vinyl didn’t seem to notice.
“Good, good. Your family doing alright? Wishing Star’s applying to the University soon, right?”
“She started the second semester a week ago.” He hated how harsh his voice was, how accusatory it sounded.
“What?” Genuine surprise tinted her voice. “Huh, yeah. I guess it has been a while. My mind has been wandering a lot lately, guess I lost track of time.”
“Most people lose track of time in hours, not months.” Spite dripped from every word and he had an urge to bite his tongue.
“Well most people ain’t Vinyl Scratch. I always do it bigger than everypony else, don’t I bro?”
He grit his teeth rather than answering and turned back towards the speaker. The damn thing had been on the fritz last time and even though the repair pony had sworn he had fixed the short Neon wasn’t about to let a stupid minor problem like a shitty speaker crash his show. He had a toolbox on in one of the piles on the stage. Maybe he should crack it open to make sure the fall didn’t fuck it up more. Neon trotted over to it, teeth grinding, Vinyl blabbing in the background.
“Saw Octavia earlier. She said she had a gig tonight too and-“
Neon grunted. “I know. Saw her last week.”
“Really? Sucks when jobs overlap, don’t it. You always end up missing something.” Vinyl lightly skipped over his brusqueness of his tone. “Then again it may be a blessing in this case. Sitting still for a couple of hours always feels like torture, even if it’s Tavi playing.”
Vinyl was the same as always. Upbeat and interested, running her mouth off about any topic that happened to cross her mind. She had already finished moving the tables and began untangling the load of wires and cords he needed to plug in, though with her teeth and hooves instead of her magic. He thought about asking but he wasn’t sure if he could keep his mouth shut if he started actually talking. So he listened, against his will, as Vinyl kept filling the silence with him chiming in with a harsh grunt or comment lightly tinged with nastiness that he regretted as soon as he said. She didn’t notice of course but that just made it worse.
Finally they finished the basic setup and Neon, unfortunately, had to add something to the conversation.
“I have get the other speakers from the wagon.” He said, interrupting her spiel on finding decent wind instrument samples. He didn’t even try and hide the snarl in his voice anymore.
“Hmm? Uh, I’ll be happy to help but my magic ain’t exactly so hot right now. Don’t know if I can do any heavy lifting.”
“What’s wrong with your horn?” Neon asked.
“Nothing major, just some headaches and stuff. Don’t worry about it.”
“What?” His voice was tinged with… worry? “If you’re having problems casting magic then you should get checked out as soon as possible. Could be an indicator of head injuries, or tumors or something.”
“Pff, I ain’t lucky enough for a tumor.”
“The hell Vinyl, this is serious!”
She looked him in the eye and gave a small grin. “Bro, chill, I was joking. It’s just stress headaches. It happens to unicorns all the time. Hell, I remember you bitching about your horn conking out on you back when you were barely out of puberty. It’s not that big of a deal.”
Neon took a deep breath. Then he took another. Stewing in his own anger was stupid, and Vinyl was clearly not as healthy as she was trying to pretend. Whatever Vinyl had done, or didn’t do, they were friends. Practically family. If she needed help it was better if he just confronted her with the issue. “Look, Vinyl, is this about those reviews of your last album?”
“Is what about the reviews?”
“Your-,” Your gauntness, your fake smiles, your need to act like everything is okay when it clearly isn’t. “Being gone for the past few months.”
Vinyl raised one of her of her eyebrows before chuckling. “What? No, dude, you know I don’t care what those snobs think. Only a few of them know enough about the genre to even judge my shit fairly. Besides the fans seemed to like it just fine, and their opinion is way more important than some old geezer that can’t listen to my music without gagging.”
“They were right you know. It wasn’t you at your best.” It slipped out, on purpose, but he still regretted it.
Vinyl didn’t exactly freeze but she did slow down. She moved to his console and started playing with it again. She didn’t answer and it was his turn to fill the void.
“It wasn’t sloppy, exactly.” He didn’t know what he was talking about. “I mean, I don’t think it was as polished as usual, at least.” She was the one who taught him what it meant to care about the final product, to obsess over a few imperfect seconds for a day until it was perfect. “It just didn’t have the, the soul you used to put in.” An understatement. “It wasn’t bad…” And a lie to end.
Vinyl was quiet for a moment. “Well if my biggest fan says it then it must be true.” The statement didn’t hold a hint of sarcasm. It had no malice, no bite. It was resigned. She wasn’t surprised.
“I just…” This was wrong. “You put out too many albums maybe, burnt yourself out. You were practically a machine.”
“It’s cool man, you don’t have to spare my feelings. I’ve been shoving my work down your throat since you were a tyke. If you think it’s bad then you’re probably right.” She turned her head and gave him a big grin. “Guess I’ll just have to better next time, huh little brother?”
His breathing got heavier and his jaw tightened until it hurt. “Don’t call me that.”
“Call you what?” She asked confused.
He narrowed his eyes. “You know I was jealous of you for a long time. Still am, I guess.”
“Jealous of what? What are you talking about?”
“Dammit Vinyl, you are better than me.” Neon snapped. “I used to think that maybe it was just experience, or, I don’t know, me making excuses for why I wasn’t getting big yet but it’s not. You are just better than me at making music. You’re fucking gifted, you have the skill, the patience, and the determination to fucking, fucking revolutionize music probably. But you know what? Your last album was shit.”
He turned around so he couldn’t see her. It was easier. He didn’t stop; he couldn’t.
“An- and you know why it was shit? Because you didn’t care about it. You just, you just gave up. The first song maybe was alright. Not good, but fine. But the more I listened to it the more I felt sick. Because it was a disappointment. I wanted to like it, but I couldn’t.” That was enough. He didn’t need to say more.
“You sounded like an amateur. By the end if someone had told me they replaced DJ PON3’s new album with some wannabe trying to ride off her fame I would have been relieved. Because you, the pony I looked to my whole life, could not have produced shit like that.”
“…You’re right, bro. I fucked up and-“
And the last straw fell. He interrupted her with a dangerous voice. “Vinyl. You remember what you told me before I did the concert in Hooves Garden?”
He could hear her shuffling around behind him, but he was steadfast in staring at the blank wall. If he saw what he was doing to her he would never finish.
“I was whining like I always do and finally you put a hoof around my shoulder and you said, and I quote, ‘Bro, listen. I know how you’re feeling. You are scared, you think you’re going to fail. But listen, and I need you to trust me on this. You are going to do just fine. And you know why? ‘Cause you have me on your side and you will always have me on your side. Now I admit, playing in front of a crowd as big as the ones in Hooves Garden might be the tiniest bit daunting if you were taking on this alone. There may have been a point zero zero zero fuckload a zeroes chance that you would slip up during the show. But you got me, and I’m going to be there the entire time. I’ll help you set up and I’ll be there for you.” He snorted. His voice was mocking. “A big sister is there for their little brother, right?”
She had stopped moving behind him. He grabbed his tools and ripped the back of the speaker open fiddling around with the wires for a minute. When he continued his voice sounded calm.
“You didn’t fucking come Vinyl. I needed you and you bailed on me and everyone. I went to your apartment for weeks after that, banging on your door. I checked every hospital in the city looking for you. After all, if you skipped out on the most important concert of my career you would have had a good fucking reason right? You must have gotten mugged or hit by a runaway cart or at the very least had a pretty bad stomachache, right? You, of all people, my big sister, wouldn’t fucking leave me alone on the most important day of my life. You wouldn’t betray me like that.”
He sighed. The anger was gone and he just felt empty now. Deflated. The pain was still there but the rage that had made him start blurting things out was finished. He wasn’t done though.
“In case you were wondering, I fucked it up. Not bad, I guess. A bit rushed, a few of my illusions slipped. Could have been a lot worse. In fact I doubt it would have gone any better even if you had showed up. I mean hell, it’s not like I was the headliner, who gives a fuck, right?”
Neon was mildly surprised at how much venom he could put in his voice without raising it. “You certainly don’t.”
Neon grabbed the shades on his face with his magic and slid them off. He walked up to Vinyl, her face showing how he felt, and slid them on her.
“Here. Sun’s bright out and I know it hurts your eyes. Let’s just get the speakers.”
He walked to the entrance of the warehouse. Before he stepped out he turned and said. “I don’t hate you. You’re still family to me, I guess. I just…” Neon looked for words he didn’t have for a moment before sighing. “Forget it. Let’s just get the speakers.”
Neon wished he was a better liar.
This analysis conducted by request, through submission to: Professional Editorial Reviews.
This was better than a lot of what I read on here. It has its issues, but it's not bad.
Does well:
-For the most part, solid grammar
-Logical progression of events
-Some deftly-wielded descriptors
-Conflict engine established (in chapter 2, but hey )
Doesn't do well:
-Unduly prolix
-Overuse of prepositional phrases
-Lack of action
-Predictable dialog
-What we talk about when we talk about flow (uniform rhythm)
-Extraneous detail. It doesn't enhance the mood. It adds nothing. The piece would be better served by cutting directly to the plot-relevant action of her thinking. This is a recurring issue across the entire work. If you're trying to deliberately bog down the pacing to interweave the concept of her depression into a textual allegory, it isn't working. Even slowed paces need to be interesting.
Now if it was purposeful, like a fic where the pentameter was varied based on the protagnoist's mood, I'd read that in a second. As is, the variance in rhythm doesn't seem to follow any deliberate pattern.
-That's a lot of eyes. Cut every prepositional phrase and see what's left. Build something out of that. Your toolbox may contain two adjectives and an adverb.
“The usual, contrived messiness of her mane had given way to actual dereliction.”
-The rhythm of your paragraphs and sentences is pretty uniform. Again, if this is deliberate, just tell me. I've seen it done before, but I've never seen a popular work of fiction wield calculated monotony. It makes the piece hard to read. This is no exception.
Varied pace enraptures the human mind. You grasp that in a few places, using punchy, mono-syllabic closers. Again, not uniform.
-This could become a compelling conflict engine if weaved into the actions of the characters in a purposeful way. Instead, it got dumped in one line of tell. It's like the architect of a roller-coaster standing in line telling riders exactly how the ride goes. It's an obvious hand-hold. It dampens the enthusiasm to read on. Explicated further on next bullet.
-Shoehorning character behavior into a plot-necessary modus through a large blob of tell-heavy diction. Every story is richer for the things it can afford to leave alone. Reveal the elephant's position through all of the places around him you paint, but never by pointing directly.
-Same thing. Why should I keep reading? You just told me the whole story.
Superfluous prepositions like this should be nixed at every opportunity.
Superfluous prepositions like this should be nixed.
Superfluous prepositions should be nixed.
Nix those.
I don't normally point out grammatical errors, but... Freudian slip? I've noticed seven or so grammatical errors so far, which are jarring.
The streets had an unnatural tint. Again, a symptom of the condition. Don't go to beige, but build sentences and paragraphs with a clearer elucidation of the effect you want them to garner.
I don't know what you're going for with the odd “or something”s and “whatever”s. If you're trying to establish a third-person narrative voice, you're not staying consistent enough. As is, these little extraneous blurbs just come off as insincere.
If you want to write in casual tone, be casual throughout.
If not, dropping a “shit” or “whatever” randomly doen't make it sound like Bukowski. It comes off as trying to force a narrative voice that isn't natural. If you want to alter narrative distance, which is entirely valid, frame it better. I.e.- “Vinyl though this was bullshit.” It provides a segue from the omniscient to the cloistered realm of the singular perspective.
Maybe her creative well dried up.
Maybe she dried up.
Again, normally don't point these out, but this error changes the meaning of the piece. The plural of alley is alleys.
***Generally restating character conditions and details throughout the scene
-I rolled all these into one, because it's everywhere. Preface the action with the condition of the participants. Otherwise, unless the action is changed by the condition, don't mention it. If she just “has a headache”, and the same things happen anyway, it doesn't matter. The audience will remember. Don't hand-hold them.
voices.suntimes.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/The-Sound-of-Music.jpg
You asked for that.
Daring them to watch her.
Just watch me, she said. Just watch.
-Be declarative whenever possible.
There's a lot of comma omissions. I'll just cite this one.
Let's eat children.
Let's eat, children.
Save a child, use a comma.
Overarching issues:
The plot gets lost in the diction.
Simply having a bunch of characters continually mull over their surprise at just how mean they can be does not a compelling story make.
Chapter 4 is better. You actually start to see the edges of sustained conflict. Sadly, it continues the tradition of awkward sentence construction and abundance of unnecessary prepositions. I'm hoping some conflict shows up in later chapters, because there really isn't anything to whet my teeth on so far. Chapter 4 gives me hope, though, and there's that looming Octavia move-in. It's going somewhere, it's just taking a long time getting there.
Superfluous verbaige
I think I've covered that enough.
The unifying affliction of the diction is trying to tell the story with adjectives, adverbs, and prepositions. Those add flavor, pending execution, but story comes from verbs and nouns. Those are your foundation.
Predictable dialog
Okay. There's nothing wrong with your dialog, per se, but it is exactly what I'd expect the characters to say in that situation. Familiarity is okay (and preferable in situations where it's the theme), but it won't grab readers. More of a tip than a critique.
I like what you did there
The confrontation with Octavia had a few missteps, as discussed above, but the way it handled the point of conflict was a little unorthodox, which was great. A lot of expositional front-load. A heavy close out. But the actual point of the conflict passed by in three sentences. There's no adequate explanation as to why her reaction is so casual (except Octavia's own suicidal history, which, in my opinion, would have more impact elsewhere), but hopefully that will come later.
In Closing:
-Choose more purposeful words.
-Sustain plot progression, whichever direction it's progressing in. Keep the metaplot visible.
-Use less prepositions.
-Either alter the narrative voice with deliberate intent, or keep it consistent.
Verdict: Not publishable. It's mired in some plodding and superfluous 'meh', but there are some sterling flashes of promise.
Suggested Reading: Post Office by Charles Bukowski, Harrison Bergeron by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. (excellent tells), The Odour of Chrysanthemums by D.H. Lawrence*
*I'm going to throw that on there, because, if you want to be verbose, Lawrence is your man. He was a master of building interest and rhythm regardless of word count.
Wait, I made it better:
i61.tinypic.com/2mg1739.jpg
Maybe throw some turntables in there.
4597523
Wow, thanks for this. I'll try to answer some of your thoughts but rest assured I am going to try to do my best to take you advice going forward. I am making my priority finishing the story before going in and doing any edits (most likely a rewrite but I'll see), but hopefully with your feedback I'll be able to make the writing of the back-half less terrible.
To tell you the truth I originally planned for 8 chapters with very specific goals in mind for each, and a sort of symmetry to them. Chapters 1 through 4 basically came out exactly how I wanted them too in terms of what happened, which, in retrospect, wasn't much. My mistake, but 20/20 vision and all that. The back four will break this symmetry though and hopefully be more 'actiony'.
I was trying to bring across the depression she felt through the text as well as her actions, but if you are confused over whether or not I was trying to do that then I think it's pretty obvious I failed.
Regardless, I appreciate you taking the time to give me such in-depth feedback and I hope you will stick around for the rest of chapters. Even if you don't though I'll probably submit this again once I have cleaned it up and made it more palatable. Thanks.
4597575
Also thank you for this. A lot.