whiic wrote:Guesses related to music you played during your writing of chapter 4: The Good, The Bad, and The Happy (the challenge you declared on the post):
Beethoven - Moonlight Sonata. Sad raindrops, very sad raindrops. Or indirect raindrops falling from rooftops... during Großaktion Warschau.
Ok, too sad. Just way too sad. Really doesn't fit into the mood. These are just way too depressing "raindrops".
Chopin - Nocturne No 2. Sligthly sad raindrops that get more uplifting during the play. Variates between sad, and almost happy. Leaving a bittersweet overall feel to it.
Mozart - Ah, Vous Dirai - Je, Maman. Slightly randomish feel to it. Sad and happy moments... and those moments that just doesn't go anywhere between happy and sad - just plain weird at times.
Satie - Lere Gymnopedie. Very rain droppish piece. And sad / melancholic too.
...or it could be something from Katawa Shoujo sound track since it has many nice piano clips.
The second and third guess came surprisingly close.
Thank you for your support, either way.
notop, there's no need to be sorry. If you ever find any "constructive criticism" to add, It'd be nice, but for now rest assured that I can enjoy as much the thought that you like my stories.
Another good chapter. I do like reading from her perspective every now and then. Not every story needs them, but another view point seems quite fitting here. Looking forward to more
"Kindeys. I've got new kidneys! I don't like the colour." - The 12th Doctor
"We have 80 Million ancestors; one of them has got to be Winnie the Pooh." - David Mitchell
Mr Immortal wrote:Another good chapter. I do like reading from her perspective every now and then. Not every story needs them, but another view point seems quite fitting here. Looking forward to more
I'm happy that your like it! If you don't mind, would you kindly try to explain what it is that you like about them, though? Because I made a lot of efforts to make them different, thematically and stylishly, from the chapters narrated by Friedrich, and I did have worries about how they were going to fit into the story. The least of these changes and the most obvious is of course the tense-person structure (by the way, which one do you like better?).
Mr Immortal wrote:Another good chapter. I do like reading from her perspective every now and then. Not every story needs them, but another view point seems quite fitting here. Looking forward to more
I'm happy that your like it! If you don't mind, would you kindly try to explain what it is that you like about them, though? Because I made a lot of efforts to make them different, thematically and stylishly, from the chapters narrated by Friedrich, and I did have worries about how they were going to fit into the story. The least of these changes and the most obvious is of course the tense-person structure (by the way, which one do you like better?).
I probably like Friedrich better, only because it's a males point of view, and that it gives me, as a reader, somewhere to relate to one of the characters. Having said that, Emma still seems like a great way to show what she's actually going through, as without her view on things, you would never truly get 100% of the full story. All story's are like this, but some, such as this one, benefit from having the other point of view. I mean, you could probably have told part of Dracula from the Counts point of view as well as the others already used, just to get a better idea of what he was thinking, but we didn't because it benefited the story. (If you haven't read Dracula, it was the only well enough known book I could think of.)
I would still have come to like her simply by reading Friedrich's point of view, but hearing the trials and tribulations she's going through from Emma herself makes you feel as if you can begin to understand her better. As for Fritz (can I call him that ), I don't know if this is what you were going for, but he just seems like your average guy caught up in Emma's life, which is great, as it gives us someone to related to, as well as a way to feel somewhat part of the story. Despite studying English Literature student, I'm not the best at pulling apart a narrative without ample amount of time and existing notes, so if I sound a bit repetitive, forgive me If you have any more question (or any about what I've said) don't hesitate to ask
"Kindeys. I've got new kidneys! I don't like the colour." - The 12th Doctor
"We have 80 Million ancestors; one of them has got to be Winnie the Pooh." - David Mitchell
I've got reading to do, and by the looks of others' posts. I'm looking forward to it.
I'm not much of a writer or one to give opinions, but I'll try my best.
Edit 1: Chapter 1
[blackspoiler]It's was interesting really, great detail of the person, I could get a picture in my head. I can imagine a classroom, and positions. (If ya know what I mean.. Wait, you're the writer). I'm just an ordinary reader, not a writer/editor or cynic. But I loved it.
I'm practically waiting (as I type up this opinion of praise or likeness) to wonder why Emma was rejected.[/blackspoiler]
I'm not the one for words. So I can't give constructive criticism unless it suits my level of thinking... Still, amazing.
Having just read through your chapters, I thought I'd offer my two cents (or whatever combination of gum and paper clips I can pull out of my pocket).
I enjoy noting the differences between the way your two characters think. Fritz is curious and a little naive, but still analytical. Emma is frsutrated and cynical, but obviously regretful. Both the characters themselves and their growing relationship are well characterised, and you've given them their own thought processes and levels of intelligence and experience - I think you're doing a very good job. ^^
My biggest criticism would be that it's a tiny bit hard to read at times - a few typos and issues with tenses and longer sentences occasionally pull me out of your characters' heads and into my own. But for the most part, I'm very excited to see how their relationship, Emma's shame and her cynical cloak, and Fritz's naivete develop :3
As I've explained numerous times to those that asked, of all the chapters that I've written so far, this by far has been giving me the most trouble. It took ages upon ages to finish, but despite (or maybe just because of) that, it just wasn't good. It didn't have any feeling or point in it. It felt like going in verbal circles again and again and again with nothing being actually said, and I had to re-write it more times than I could be bothered to remember, but it never made sense. This chapter felt like some kind of wall I had to break through in order to get to further chapters, with no purpose of it's own - but now I'm reading it and I'm not even sure if I'm qualified to make further chapters anymore. Even compared to the last few ones, this chapter is just horrible. I hate it. I feel useless and ashamed when I read through it. I just really hope that whatever may come next would be better.
Solid Steam
I'll admit it right now: a part of me has actually considered visiting Emma the day after our meeting. She said that she was busy with volleyball practice, and I've had no reason whatsoever to believe that she wasn't being completely honest, but that didn't change a thing. The thought of having to wait through an entire day before being able to meet with her again like that had seemed simply unbearable. Once again, that combination of excitement and dread that I've already come to associate with her has taken over my entire mind-set, except this time, it didn't let go for a moment.
I returned home on that evening with my head simultaneously at the clouds and buried a couple meters under the earth, like some kind of quantum anomaly attached to my metaphorical neck. My mom, ever the vigilant observer, has of course immediately noticed that something was amiss and asked me what was the matter. I, ever the awkward dork, have of course mumbled unintelligibly in response, perhaps something about extra after-school work or some friends I haven't spoken to in months or some such.
That feeling of anxiety which one would rather avoid but which is not-entirely unpleasant is often referred to as having a "stomach full of butterflies". If that indeed was the case with me, than I'd say that on that evening, a full-scale South American butterfly migration was taking place within my abdomen. It's truly a wonder that I was able to eat at all, or sleep, for the matter.
Not that I sleep a lot in general, mind you. It's just that on that particular evening, I had an actual justification for my uneasy wakefulness.
The following day has been similarly torturous. The urge to immediately go looking for Emma as soon as I got to class was hard to resist, and when she finally appeared, I almost had to physically force myself to stop looking at her.
The more I thought about it, the more complicated and confusing my emotions became. It's only been a couple days, literally, since my view of her has completely turned around… or so I'd thought. Now I wasn't even sure of that anymore. Did I just exchange one type of idolization for another? One type of bittersweet delusion?
Once or twice I'd tried to approach her, maybe with the excuse of asking her whether the plans for the following day still stood. But whenever I did, she just seemed to turn nervous and uncomfortable again, and truth be told, I didn't want that. So I restrained myself from following her any further.
The day buzzed past me, and as I left the school, taking the quicker route this time, rather than the beautiful park one, my thoughts were only occupied with terrible fantasies of whatever tomorrow will bring.
Tomorrow, as it sometimes does, came before I could take another deep breath in, and with it, came a completely new type of hesitative anxiousness.
What if this wasn't, after all, the wisest thing to do? What if there was some hint in her reactions to me over the previous day that I should have taken, but chose not to? Because it was far more satisfying to assume whatever I'd wanted to assume? What if all of this was just my fevered mind, all over again, desperately trying to impose a non-existent, romantic pattern over a reality it couldn't really understand? What if Emma didn't really want to meet me?
What if I'd be just hurting her more by going along with this? Would it be selfish of me to ignore those troubling thoughts? Would it be wrong? Can there even be a difference between the two proved statements?
School was over before it'd started, or so it'd felt. To that point, as I'd already said, my every attempt to approach Emma, no matter in how friendly a fashion, has only been answered with apologetic smiles, thinly veiled excuses, and nervous twitches.
At least she actually came to school.
Should I have been proud of my ability to make a person like Emma act so much unlike herself in my vicinity? Or did I simply not know her enough to be able to define a "self" for her?
The grey sky looked even more ominous as I made my way to the park where we last met, absent-mindedly messing with the brown scarf around my neck in an attempt to tighten it over some imaginary limit, as if that would make it warmer or more comfortable. The only thing it'd managed was making it hard for me to breathe. I couldn't help but wonder if there was some kind of symbolic omen I should have respected in my seemingly random attempt to tie a noose around my own neck as I went, but such thoughts were quickly pushed aside by the promise of seeing Emma again.
The "real" Emma, or whichever form of hers I'd considered the real one. The Emma who spoke to me so openly and yet with so much fear in her voice, who shuddered against the cold of phantasmal winds.
Perhaps I've arrived a bit earlier than she'd meant when she asked me to come. When I reached that same bench between the lamppost and the tiny garbage bin, Emma was nowhere to be found. I sat there by myself for the longer part of an hour, checking my cellphone for the time every couple of minutes after the first fifteen as if that would somehow convince time to accelerate its passage. Doubt slowly started to creep into my mind, accompanied by a sort of futile regret, the kind that makes you mumble "I wish I had a cup of hot coffee" while you rub your palms together on a cold day.
I think I almost swallowed my tongue when a voice from behind my back startled me all of a sudden.
"We can go get one later, if you want."
"Did I say that out loud?" I asked uselessly.
"Didn't you mean to?" answered Emma, her voice not cold so much as surprisingly business-like, and turned around the bench to sit next to me.
She was wearing that same luxurious, white fur-coat, and the look on her face was somewhere between a shameful apology and a subtle attempt to hide said.
"Were you busy?" I asked her without thinking, then immediately started praying that that didn't come out as accusatory as I thought it had.
She staggered for words, looking obviously distraught. "Well, I… uh", she started, swallowing her words as if unsure whether she actually wants me to hear them. "I guess you could say that."
I nodded slowly as my mind tried to process this new piece of information. "Did you at least have fun?"
"It was okay", she shrugged, and I considered that a sign that I should probably stop speaking about that subject for now. "I'd like to think at least someone did."
"Naturally."
Still, there was something so utterly disturbing about the way she said that, I very hardly could keep a straight face. She mentioned it like another person might have mentioned having to take a phone call, or run an errand. Most of me wanted to just forget all about it, because it made even just sitting nearby her feel like a dirty, scary thing to do. But then another part of me couldn't help but want to ask her more, to inquire more. Not about the details themselves, but about whatever was behind them.
Did things like that happen to her often? Was it something she was used to? Being late to appointments because she just couldn't stand letting go of such an opportunity?
Thinking about her this way made her feel unreal. Like a character in a story, like an undefined, villainous archetype. It was a sort of behaviour so strange, so repulsive, that it boggled the mind to consider that a real person might have lived through it.
Maybe she could read all of that on my face, because when I noticed her looking at me, she immediately turned aside again without saying a word.
"I'm sorry…"
"God, could you please not start with this all over again?"
I let my head hang like a scolded child's, smiling bitterly as I did.
"Nice scarf you're wearing", she said after a short while, probably in an attempt to change the subject.
"Seriously? It looks like a rag someone threw out. It's doesn't even keep hot very well", I answered.
Her expression following that was hard to read for a moment, and was followed by an unexpectedly cheerful smile. "Take mine then, okay? I mostly wear it for the look, anyway." It wasn't really a question, because she was already starting to take it off by the time she finished asking. I knew well that it was only a scarf, but my eyes seemed to forget that as they followed her every hand movement, entranced, expectant.
She was about to hand it over to me when a look of troubled hesitation flashed over her face. There was something almost comical about the way she stopped in the middle of the motion as she thought. Something important was obviously on her mind.
Maybe she didn't want to trust me with the complex operation of putting on a scarf by myself, or maybe she just didn't want me to put my dirt hands on it. Maybe it was as she's mentioned before: she didn't want to touch me, or wanted not to have wanted, whatever that might've meant for her.
I stopped breathing around the time she started closing the distance between us on the bench. Her hands moved with the mindless precision of habit as she removed my own scarf then proceeded to wrap hers around my neck and chest. She pulled a little on the end when she was done, as if to make sure that it was tied properly and wouldn't fall off. It always felt so tedious when my mother did it, but when Emma did, I think I wouldn't have minded much if she checked twice more.
"There you go," she said, her voice filled with self-satisfaction, but just a little shaky.
It really was a very good scarf, cosy and insulating and pleasant to touch. It felt like having a cloud of solid steam hanging off my shoulders, and I couldn't help but envy her a little for having worn such a thing all day long.
It was also soaked with her smell, the sweetness of her perfume and lotions. I think I could almost feel a faint, barely noticeable trace of the natural smell of her body on it, but perhaps it was just my overactive boyish imagination. I hoped I'd manage to retain my sanity for the few hours it'd take for us to depart, at which point I'd dearly hoped that she'll take it back. Having it to me like this, right under my nose, was almost torturous.
"Thanks", I muttered in return, unsure of what else to say. "Nice coat, by the way."
She nodded in appreciation of my taste. "Very nice. It's real sable."
"Must have cost a small fortune, then…"
"We're not exactly struggling to make ends meet," she answered, looking a bit guilty as she said that. "Did that make me sound really bad?"
"Only a little".
Slowly, tragically, her giggle of mere politeness transformed into a contemplative calm. She spoke after a few minutes, when she realized I wouldn't.
"Don't think that I don't notice you when you come and try to speak to me, at school."
This time was my turn to nod carefully. "I didn't really think you didn't. And I think understand why you might want to pretend that it's that way."
"Do you?" she asked, now smiling bemusedly. "Because if it's some kind of dorky self-esteem thing, I think you might be mistaking me for a girl never took her pants off without a moment's hesitation for people far worse than even
you. So if you assume it's that kind of deal again, just remember my standards aren't really sky-high."
"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or creeped-out right now."
"Be a little of both, if you like. I won't mind."
"I'll be sure to note that", I said, wanting to, and pushing myself to, but never quite gathering enough courage to approach her further, to question her further.
"…but that wasn't the reason, right?"
"I'd like to think so."
In the beginning, I'd assumed that she simply didn't want to talk about any of that. Now I wasn't any longer. Something was on her mind, that much was obvious. And the way she spoke, and the way acted, seemed to me to hint at a will to open up.
Or did I just want to see something like that? Of course I did.
But I see so many things, and all too often nobody else does. Emma wouldn't – or so I'd thought; or so, perhaps, I'd just wanted to think.
"Look, I… When I woke up this morning, I felt almost too afraid to get out of bed, see?" she began. "That much I didn't want to see you today, here. I mean, I wanted to, but… but I also didn't. I'd considered just not showing up; maybe calling you with some idiotic excuse."
She was staring at her knees as she sat, and I tried to imagine that it wasn't entirely because she didn't want to look at me while speaking.
And as she so did, I was simply sitting quietly by her, somewhat dumbfounded, listening as her speech became quicker and more distorted, as her manners became wilder and desperate.
"I knew it'd be hard to face you", she quickly added, fidgeting uncomfortably. "That's why I wanted to do it in the first place, right? But… but it's just really hard, okay?"
She sighed angrily and raised one gloved hand to massage her forehead, like some people who like to pretend that it actually helps them feel less stressed.
"God, that was a stupid thing to say, wasn't it? I basically just said nothing at all."
I'd wanted to lie to her at that point. To say that I understood her perfectly, that I knew how she was feeling. That I could really help her in such a fundamental way.
But such a lie, ultimately, couldn't but only cause both of us harm in the future. Because in this sense, it'd felt as if the both of us were somewhat the same: expecting the other to somehow provide a solution to some deep problem which we weren't even willing to explain fully, much less ask for help with.
In the end, what was it that I'd wanted with her? To help and comfort her? And that, in order to achieve what? If I was truly no longer attracted to her, then there should have been no reason, ruling out virtue that I was all too familiar with myself to consider seriously.
And without breaking the terms of this unspoken deal that may only have existed in my mind, all I could do was my best to figure out what it was that she'd wanted from me. To fumble in the symbolic darkness of this curious friendship for an invisible wound that I'd hopefully be able, if not to heal, than to cauterize. If not that, than to at least drive back into the darkness from which it was drawn.
I replied plainly, dryly. "Maybe it was. I don't think I understand what you just said, and I doubt that even you do. But it was probably good that you said it, anyway, wasn't it"
This'd only seemed to annoy her even more, to trouble her even more. Her fingers clenched momentarily, her fingernails once again digging into the delicate, pale flesh of her wrist, than relaxed. "You're only making things worse
when you – "
Perhaps momentarily possessed by the spirit of a very rude man, I cut her nonsensically:
" – say, Emma, how was your practice yesterday?"
She stopped her tirade, looking confused, and rightfully so.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Just answer me, alright? I just want to know. How was your practice yesterday? Did you enjoy it? Did anything special happen?"
Not five minutes before, she was cheerfully speaking about how she had no problem whatsoever with taking her clothes off in front of people she didn't know – "far worse than you", which I can only assume was meant as some kind of compliment.
But for whatever reason, this question's managed to make her awkward – not in an uncomfortable, scary way – but just a funny, cute kind of awkward you can sometimes pretend to see from a person who's generally but pleasantly surprised at a statement.
"…I guess… it was fun," she said, her eyes wandering aside as she summoned those simple memories. "One girl – Hilde Lindberg, you know her? From the third class – I think she's injured herself while diving for a save. It was like something out of a movie –", she continued, a soft smile creeping onto her face as her speech became quicker and louder with the simple excitement of people talking about their hobbies.
"- Oh, and towards the end of it, I think I sort of messed the entire plan up for our team when I tried to go for an attack when I shouldn't have – I mean, I almost never should anyway…"
Now, let's get something straight: I knew absolutely nothing about volleyball at that point. As far as I was concerned, it was something they sometimes put on TV because it gave people an excuse to watch girls' boobies jumping up and down for an hour and call that a sport. I'd assumed there was more to it, and Emma most certainly thought so, but I never took the time to go any more deeply into the matter.
So when she spoke, I couldn't really do anything other than nod when it seemed appropriate to, ask a not-too-discriminating question when there was a pause, and try to make a mental note of anything that sounded like it might later appear on the test. I didn't "space-out" so much as I sat in honest confusion and tried to pretend otherwise.
But it didn't seem to matter to Emma – who, by that point, was genuinely, cheerfully smiling again. I wasn't anything like an athlete, myself, or even a hardcore gamer. I was, however, a geek, and more than enough of that to know that if there are truths relevant almost to everybody with a hobby, is that once you get them to really talk about it, whether or not the other party has any idea what is going on anymore makes no difference at all.
I'd suspected it was the same way with people who had actually popular hobbies, like sports, and it seemed that at least in that particular case, I was right. It's not that I'd really wanted to know about Emma's last practice – although the recap was admittedly interesting, what's with all the drama involved – but the nature of her speech mattered.
Perhaps finally realizing that I no longer was on the same track as her, her voice lowered, and her expression shrinked back into a pleasant awkwardness.
"Why did you want to know?"
I shrugged. "It was fun to talk about, wasn't it?" I said, grinning as much as seemed appropriate. "And you don't look half as gloomy as you did before."
"…I'm not sure I understand what the point of it was."
"There wasn't a point. That was the point."
"Are you trying to out-weird me now, Friedrich? I'm very impressed."
I giggled at that, and she seemed almost hurt in response. "Are you laughing at me? If you're not going to be serious – "
"But why should I be? What did you want of me?"
It took her a while to answer. "…I'm not really sure. Help, maybe? You're not exactly giving away sage advice, so I…"
"You want answers?"
"Don't start playing priest with me now."
"I'm not. And I don't think I have any answers for you, anyway. I don't have advise to give you, because I don't know anything about you. I do, however… well. I just want you to be happy, I guess."
"Didn't we say the last time that it wasn't about happiness?"
"Possibly – or maybe we just weren't done defining what happiness is."
"So, should we do that, or…?"
"Why?"
"What do you mean 'why'? Because that's what I came here for."
"Then you might have come here for the wrong reasons. Look… I think you might have saw in me something that isn't really there. That you assumed that I teach you something that I can't – so if that's really what was important to you, then maybe you've just wasted your time now. But I think that maybe, at least to a point... I just though you could use someone to speak with."
"You think I don't speak with enough people?"
"I think you don't speak with them about the things you want to speak about – and I'm not referring to any big truth of your life or answer that might help you with whatever it might be you're going through these days. Basically, if that's not too pompous, I just thought you could've used a friend."
"A friend, is that it?" she said, raising a finger to her chin as if in great deliberation.
"It sounded a lot cooler in my head."
"You sure are a strange one. I just keep telling and telling you that", she laughed, than sat there in quiet for a couple more minutes as she regained her breath. Something about her seemed calmer now, more relaxed – not completely so, but to a greater degree than before.
Those glass walls between us weren't crumbling down. But slowly and surely enough, dreamily, they were cracking.
"You're still up for that coffee you talked about?"
And this is after I've cut so much of it - and now I'm starting to fear that I might have cut away the wrong things. That what should have been emphasized hasn't. It's making me so angry!
I have to go now. Feel free to comment, meanwhile.
so - this is what you call a bad chapter, eh? After reading this through here are a few of my feedback;
Gloom wrote: the kind that makes you mumble "I wish I had a cup of hot coffee" while you rub your palms together on a cold day.
I think I almost swallowed my tongue when a voice from behind my back startled me all of a sudden.
"We can go get one later, if you want."
----
"You're still up for that coffee you talked about?"
I think this is a strong beginning and ending for a chapter. It's consistent and I like that
Gloom wrote:
"Nice scarf you're wearing", she said after a short while, probably in an attempt to change the subject.
"Seriously? It looks like a rag someone threw out. It's doesn't even keep hot very well", I answered.
Her expression following that was hard to read for a moment, and was followed by an unexpectedly cheerful smile. "Take mine then, okay? I mostly wear it for the look, anyway." It wasn't really a question, because she was already starting to take it off by the time she finished asking. I knew well that it was only a scarf, but my eyes seemed to forget that as they followed her every hand movement, entranced, expectant.
She was about to hand it over to me when a look of troubled hesitation flashed over her face. There was something almost comical about the way she stopped in the middle of the motion as she thought. Something important was obviously on her mind.
Maybe she didn't want to trust me with the complex operation of putting on a scarf by myself, or maybe she just didn't want me to put my dirt hands on it. Maybe it was as she's mentioned before: she didn't want to touch me, or wanted not to have wanted, whatever that might've meant for her.
I stopped breathing around the time she started closing the distance between us on the bench. Her hands moved with the mindless precision of habit as she removed my own scarf then proceeded to wrap hers around my neck and chest. She pulled a little on the end when she was done, as if to make sure that it was tied properly and wouldn't fall off. It always felt so tedious when my mother did it, but when Emma did, I think I wouldn't have minded much if she checked twice more.
"There you go," she said, her voice filled with self-satisfaction, but just a little shaky.
It really was a very good scarf, cosy and insulating and pleasant to touch. It felt like having a cloud of solid steam hanging off my shoulders, and I couldn't help but envy her a little for having worn such a thing all day long.
It was also soaked with her smell, the sweetness of her perfume and lotions. I think I could almost feel a faint, barely noticeable trace of the natural smell of her body on it, but perhaps it was just my overactive boyish imagination. I hoped I'd manage to retain my sanity for the few hours it'd take for us to depart, at which point I'd dearly hoped that she'll take it back. Having it to me like this, right under my nose, was almost torturous.
An awkward moment but yet it defines this entire chapter - I am liking the dynamics of Emma and Friedrich and how this will turn out latter on. I suppose this "mutual" awkwardness will come to define their entire relationship even when they come to consummate their relationship? Also - I'm liking that Friedrich started to crave for Emma and Emma, willingly or not, started to feel the same as well. I hope to see more of them in the future!
Again, I like how their relationship come to grow - from fascination and then strong rejection - then came the false low end (where they get depressive to each other), starting to pick up, and maybe another low, and then a resolution. Good work on that!
"With words like these, we DON'T CURE patients, we make them INCURABLE"
Saint Peter Canisius, S.J., on polemical attacks against John Calvin & Melanchton
Another good chapter Although I, once again, don't have much to offer in terms of criticism. I actually look forward to new chapters of this, so keep up the good work.
"Kindeys. I've got new kidneys! I don't like the colour." - The 12th Doctor
"We have 80 Million ancestors; one of them has got to be Winnie the Pooh." - David Mitchell
As an aspiring writer, I only have one word to say to you... DAMN!
Seriously though, this is great stuff! Narration is spot on, character's are being fleshed out well, though Friedrich's character could use some more work. I'd say maybe go into his background a bit more, but I get the feeling from your writing that you might be planning that already, and are just waiting for the right time. I actually feel for Friedrich and Emma while reading these, possibly because someone pretty dear to me is a little too similar to Emma, and I've always taken it upon myself to be the guy who actually tries to help her and talk to her. After reading these stories I actually thought of bringing nymphomania to her attention, but I'm... not too sure of how she'd take that. . But that being said, getting me to give a damn about a character is something that even a lot of professional works fail to do. So, you've already beaten out 95% of Hollywood. Keep 'em coming mate, I want more!
I'd give some criticism of course, but right now I'm beat.. maybe next time. I'll be lingering on this thread from now on, looking forward to what's next!
~Red_B~
Feel like you're alone? Suffering from a broken heart? Share your story and your feelings here.
What gets me about all this is it's so... Awkward. And flat out DIFFERENT. Totally unique, I can see the scenes playing out in my head, the sharp bite of the cold, the strange tensions between the two, and these Invisable walls our dear Freddie keeps mentioning, I can feel those just as much as he says he does! You've got a really REALLY good thing going here, Gloom, and I can't help but check back daily to see if you've gotten any further. Not to say its perfect, don't want your head getting TOO too big ;P but it is definitely one of the most intriguing stories I've ever come across. Please keep up the amazing work... Just write a book FFS a BIG book! Wait... A series of books! XD
Indeed. Understand that I am at the very least as concerned as you are about the continuation of this story, and rest assured, I do intend to continue it at some point. However, as my the Imperial.Standard has stated, I now have other, more pressing writing duties to attend to. I will make every effort to continue Heart's Desire when and if it is possible for me to do so - don't hold your breath (unless you have very strong lungs), but don't lose hope either!
EDIT: It's just occurred to me: how do you call a fanfic that's written by an actual writer of the project?
Gloom wrote:
EDIT: It's just occurred to me: how do you call a fanfic that's written by an actual writer of the project?
I see your non-canon devfic, and will raise you: fanfic about the devs [man I still have a few paragraphs of that Imperial/Mike slashfic I never finished].
* Worthington gay bashes Hamadyne
<Hamadyne>:<
* QbertEnhanced makes a Prop. 22 sign
), I don't know if this is what you were going for, but he just seems like your average guy caught up in Emma's life, which is great, as it gives us someone to related to, as well as a way to feel somewhat part of the story. Despite studying English Literature student, I'm not the best at pulling apart a narrative without ample amount of time and existing notes, so if I sound a bit repetitive, forgive me 
. But that being said, getting me to give a damn about a character is something that even a lot of professional works fail to do. So, you've already beaten out 95% of Hollywood. Keep 'em coming mate, I want more! 
I'll be lingering on this thread from now on, looking forward to what's next!
