Examples Of Perfect Writing

[NOIRTRASH]

A girl stood before him in midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and soft-hued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips, where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face. She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes her eyes turned to him in quiet sufferance of his gaze, without shame or wantonness. Long, long she suffered his gaze and then quietly withdrew her eyes from his and bent them towards the stream, gently stirring the water with her foot hither and thither. The first faint noise of gently moving water broke the silence, low and faint and whispering, faint as



Joyce, James. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (p. 158). . Kindle Edition.

 

[SamScribble]

I like James Joyce's work. I really do. But (and this is not a criticism) it's the kind of writing that demands to be read aloud. I read a couple of The Dubliners stories the other day. They took me a big chunk of an afternoon. Not that I'm complaining, you understand. It's hardly a bad way to spend an afternoon.

 

[NOIRTRASH]

I like James Joyce's work. I really do. But (and this is not a criticism) it's the kind of writing that demands to be read aloud. I read a couple of The Dubliners stories the other day. They took me a big chunk of an afternoon. Not that I'm complaining, you understand. It's hardly a bad way to spend an afternoon.

As a rule I rarely read Joyce or Faulkner and others, but occasionally they wrote great prose.

 

[oggbashan]

Sir Ernest Gowers - Plain Words The Golden Rule

The golden rule is not a rule of grammar or syntax. It concerns less the arrangement of words than the choice of them.

"After all," said Lord Macaulay, "the first law of writing, that law to which all other laws are subordinate, is this: that the words employed should be such as to convey to the reader the meaning of the writer."

The golden rule is to pick those words and to use them and them only. Arrangement is of course important, but if the right words are used they generally have a happy knack of arranging themselves.

This golden rule applies to all prose, whatever its purpose, and indeed to poetry too. Illustrations could be found throughout the gamut of purposes for which the written word is used. At the one end of it we can turn to Shakespeare, and from the innumerable examples that offer themselves choose the lines

Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy

which, as a description of what the rising sun does to meadows and rivers on a "glorious morning", must be as effective a use of thirteen words as could be found in all English literature. At the other end we can turn (for the golden rule can be illustrated from official writing in its observance as well as in its breach) to the unknown member of the staff of the General Post Office who by composing the notice that used to be displayed in every post office

Postmasters are neither bound to give change nor authorised to demand it

used twelve words hardly less efficiently to warn customers of what must have been a singularly intractable dilemma. At first sight there seems little in common between the two. Their purposes are different; one is descriptive and emotional, the other instructional and objective. But each serves its purpose perfectly, and it is the same quality in both that makes them do so. Every word is exactly right; no other word would do as well; each is pulling its weight; none could be dispensed with. As was said of Milton's prose in the quotation that heads Chapter 6,

"Fewer would not have served the turn, and more would have been superfluous".

It is sometimes said that the principle of plain words can be overdone. That depends on a writer's purpose. If what he wants is to use words to conceal his thoughts and to leave a blurred impression on the minds of his readers, of course it can; and there may be occasions when prudence prompts him to do so. Even those who want to express their thoughts sometimes prefer to do so not too plainly. That rare artist in words, C. E. Montague, once amused himself by tilting against exaggerated lucidity. He said:

Even in his most explicit moments a courteous writer will stop short of rubbing into our minds the last item of all that he means. He will, in a moderate sense of the term, have his non-lucid intervals. At times he will make us wrestle a little with him in the dark before he yields his full meaning.

That again depends on what the writer's purpose is, and on who his reader will be. As Samuel Butler said,

"It takes two to say a thing — a sayee as well as a sayer, and the one is as essential to any true saying as the other".

I recall an old story of an Indian official who on finding his British superior laboriously correcting a letter he had drafted to a brother Indian official, remarked

"Your honour puts yourself to much trouble correcting my English and doubtless the final letter will be much better literature; but it will go from me Mukherji to him Bannerji, and he Bannerji will understand it a great deal better as I Mukherji write it than as your honour corrects it".

 

[LadyofErotica]

Reading that passage, much like reading all of Joyce's, Faulkner's, Hemingway's, and F. Scott Fitzgerald's works are like eating a full meal, trying to digest it afterwards, and forever remembering eating that meal in your favorite restaurant by always being able to recall the name of the book, the author, and the passage.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote with such imagery which is why the Great Gatsby movies were such a dismal disappointment. Even with their star actors, they couldn't capture on film what he had written on paper.

The Unbearable Likeness of Being by Milan Kundera was much like that and impossible to bring to film but the movie was done much better than the Great Gatsby.

Martin Scorsese solved the problem of showing imagery on film when he captured the dialogue of Edith Wharton's the Age of Innocence word for word. It helped that the acting was top notch with Daniel Day-Lewis, Michelle Pfeiffer, and Winona Rider and the scenes and costumes were beautiful enough to suspend our disbelief.

Even though I strive to write passages like that, usually not appreciated here but I write them for myself, I can feel my head bumping the ceiling of my talent and my creativity not floating any higher than my skill level. Yet, with writing a lifelong apprenticeship we all grow as writers the more we write. I figure by the time that I'm 80-years-old, if not dead, I'd be a wicked good writer.

"Damn, she peed herself again but she's such a wicked good writer. Help me get her back to bed."

 

[SusanJillParker]

The golden rule is not a rule of grammar or syntax. It concerns less the arrangement of words than the choice of them.

"After all," said Lord Macaulay, "the first law of writing, that law to which all other laws are subordinate, is this: that the words employed should be such as to convey to the reader the meaning of the writer."

The golden rule is to pick those words and to use them and them only. Arrangement is of course important, but if the right words are used they generally have a happy knack of arranging themselves.

This golden rule applies to all prose, whatever its purpose, and indeed to poetry too. Illustrations could be found throughout the gamut of purposes for which the written word is used. At the one end of it we can turn to Shakespeare, and from the innumerable examples that offer themselves choose the lines

Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy

which, as a description of what the rising sun does to meadows and rivers on a "glorious morning", must be as effective a use of thirteen words as could be found in all English literature. At the other end we can turn (for the golden rule can be illustrated from official writing in its observance as well as in its breach) to the unknown member of the staff of the General Post Office who by composing the notice that used to be displayed in every post office

Postmasters are neither bound to give change nor authorised to demand it

used twelve words hardly less efficiently to warn customers of what must have been a singularly intractable dilemma. At first sight there seems little in common between the two. Their purposes are different; one is descriptive and emotional, the other instructional and objective. But each serves its purpose perfectly, and it is the same quality in both that makes them do so. Every word is exactly right; no other word would do as well; each is pulling its weight; none could be dispensed with. As was said of Milton's prose in the quotation that heads Chapter 6,

"Fewer would not have served the turn, and more would have been superfluous".

It is sometimes said that the principle of plain words can be overdone. That depends on a writer's purpose. If what he wants is to use words to conceal his thoughts and to leave a blurred impression on the minds of his readers, of course it can; and there may be occasions when prudence prompts him to do so. Even those who want to express their thoughts sometimes prefer to do so not too plainly. That rare artist in words, C. E. Montague, once amused himself by tilting against exaggerated lucidity. He said:

Even in his most explicit moments a courteous writer will stop short of rubbing into our minds the last item of all that he means. He will, in a moderate sense of the term, have his non-lucid intervals. At times he will make us wrestle a little with him in the dark before he yields his full meaning.

That again depends on what the writer's purpose is, and on who his reader will be. As Samuel Butler said,

"It takes two to say a thing — a sayee as well as a sayer, and the one is as essential to any true saying as the other".

I recall an old story of an Indian official who on finding his British superior laboriously correcting a letter he had drafted to a brother Indian official, remarked

"Your honour puts yourself to much trouble correcting my English and doubtless the final letter will be much better literature; but it will go from me Mukherji to him Bannerji, and he Bannerji will understand it a great deal better as I Mukherji write it than as your honour corrects it".

I beg to differ with you. Just as no one can teach you how to write, you can either write or you can't write which is why some teach and others become editors instead of writers.

Sure, an English professor can teach the mechanics of writing but even armed with all the rules of writing, that doesn't make for a writer.

What makes for a writer to move beyond the pack of hacks is inspired writing. What makes a good writer a better writer is creativity. What makes good writers the best writers is seeing things that others don't see until you write about them. What makes a writer a real writer is dedicated hard word and discipline.

Even if we don't make much of a living writing, no one can take away from us that we've written this or that. Those were our words and our thoughts. I'd rather have the feeling that I receive when writing and creating stories than working at a 9 to 5 job that stifles whatever creativity or truncates whatever inspiration you may have had in the course of your otherwise boring day.

Inspired writing is the best writing and, I dare say, unless you have a God given talent, few of us can be inspired writers. It has taken me years to open my window of inspiration more than a few moments at a time. Now, I can open it at will and leave it open for hours.

No professor, college, golden rules, or examples of great writing can teach you that. Moreover, every writer must be a reader first. Everyone here is not only a reader but also a writer. We'd all rather be here than anywhere else.

"Class dismissed (lol)."

 

[NicoleZ]

While a sheer, unadulterated joy and the ultimate pleasure, reading the masters is fraught with inherent dangers. It is true that for the beauty of the prose employed, Joyce's "Dubliners" or Swift's "A Modest Proposal" are hard to better. But to modern readers, the language is dated. Even Agatha Christie or P.G. Wodehouse, whom none can accuse of either being of a lesser literary standard or difficult to read, come across as being dated.

Involuntarily, you will copy the linguistic mannerisms of the authors you read. If you deliberately set out to copy such prose as that of the OP, you may succeed or come close with some paragraphs, but throughout a whole story? I doubt that very much. Invariably, it will fall flat on its face unless you are one of the lucky few able to pull it off which immediately begs the question; why write porn on Literotica?

That said, we should always strive to write as well as we can and to improve our proficiency with our "Bow of burning gold" and "Arrows of desire" as Blake so succinctly put it.

 

[oggbashan]

I beg to differ with you. Just as no one can teach you how to write, you can either write or you can't write which is why some teach and others become editors instead of writers.

Sir Ernest Gowers, and I in quoting him, were not suggesting the rules for fiction. His 'golden rule' is for communicating with writing.

It is no use having a story to tell if you don't have the skills to tell it.

You can teach communication and the technical aspects of writing. The talent comes with the ability to tell a story which is different and more difficult.

I find a real difficulty with some stories that do not recognise that the author's personal, national or regional influences are meaningless to someone who does not share that knowledge.

For example, I might find a story about baseball incomprehensible but a skilled writer can get beyond my lack of knowledge. I can understand and appreciate "Field of Dreams" even if I don't understand baseball. James Clavell's Shogun introduces the reader to 17th Century Japan by showing, not telling. Both are examples of the writer communicating to people who don't share the knowledge.

Story telling without basic writing and communication skills is difficult. Story telling with excellent writing skills makes for better reading.

Writing is a craft. Story telling is an art. Story tellers are better story tellers if they have a set of good writing skills.

 

[SusanJillParker]

While a sheer, unadulterated joy and the ultimate pleasure, reading the masters is fraught with inherent dangers. It is true that for the beauty of the prose employed, Joyce's "Dubliners" or Swift's "A Modest Proposal" are hard to better. But to modern readers, the language is dated. Even Agatha Christie or P.G. Wodehouse, whom none can accuse of either being of a lesser literary standard or difficult to read, come across as being dated.

Involuntarily, you will copy the linguistic mannerisms of the authors you read. If you deliberately set out to copy such prose as that of the OP, you may succeed or come close with some paragraphs, but throughout a whole story? I doubt that very much. Invariably, it will fall flat on its face unless you are one of the lucky few able to pull it off which immediately begs the question; why write porn on Literotica?

That said, we should always strive to write as well as we can and to improve our proficiency with our "Bow of burning gold" and "Arrows of desire" as Blake so succinctly put it.

Ah, just because we may deem ourselves as writers, sometimes we are not free to pick what we write. I'm not. As if we were programmed by the verbal, physical, and/or sexual abusive childhoods we suffered and somehow survived, relatively speaking, we are doomed to write erotica and or porn.

Instead of writing about lovers walking through a field of heather, marrying, and living happily ever after, we are cursed to write about a mother having sex with her son or a daughter having sex with her father. As is in my case, as if my writing is my therapy, with every visualized thought that I need to write my stories, I heel myself by reliving those moments over and again. Purging the lunacy out of my mind through my fingers and into my story, those thoughts are now no longer mine but someone else's.

Creative writing is a powerful tool to not only write what we feel but also to write what we may never know. Even though we can't write what we don't know but if we can imagine it, we can write it. If we can't imagine what we want and need to write, then we develop characters who can. We use our characters as our way to write about literally anything that we never could have imagined on our own. Developed characters are just as important as inspired writing.

 

[oggbashan]

...

Involuntarily, you will copy the linguistic mannerisms of the authors you read. If you deliberately set out to copy such prose as that of the OP, you may succeed or come close with some paragraphs, but throughout a whole story? I doubt that very much. Invariably, it will fall flat on its face unless you are one of the lucky few able to pull it off which immediately begs the question; why write porn on Literotica?

...

Some people can do it. There are many examples on Literotica. In the end it is better to write as yourself but I think it is a useful exercise to try.

You could see whether I was successful by reading my shortish pastiche of Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels.

My addition to the stay in Lilliput is here:

https://www.literotica.com/s/gulliver-in-lilliput

I then went on to write six chapters about Brobdingnag starting here:

https://www.literotica.com/s/brobdingnag-ch-01

Both were fun to write and they are meant to amuse not educate.

 

[NOIRTRASH]

This I did, making sure I was on the right road by inquiring of the first man I saw—a negro at work before his cabin. I had gone perhaps half a mile further when a white man, on his way after a load of wood, as I judged, drove up behind me. "Won't you ride?" he asked. "You are going to Lake Bradford, I believe, and I am going a piece in the same direction." I jumped up behind (the wagon consisting of two long planks fastened to the two axles), thankful, but not without a little bewilderment. The good-hearted negro, it appeared, had asked the man to look out for me; and he, on his part, seemed glad to do a kindness as well as to find company. We jolted along, chatting at arm's length, as it were, about this and that. He knew nothing of the ivory-bill; but wild turkeys—oh, yes, he had seen a flock of eight, as well as he could count, not long before, crossing the road in the very woods through which I was going. As for snakes, they were plenty enough, he guessed. One of his horses was

Torrey, Bradford. A Florida Sketch-Book (p. 78). . Kindle Edition.

I wonder if anyone knows of Torrey. In the 1890s he toured America recording his observations and impressions of the places he went. The above he called TALLAHASSEE SCENES. No one else provides such description, if you write about old times.

 

[SusanJillParker]

A misnomer, perhaps this thread should have been entitled, Examples of Good Writing instead of perfect writing. In a world filled with imperfection that morphs more imperfectly every day, nothing and no one is perfect.

If we're all striving for perfection, we'll all be disappointed.

 

[NOIRTRASH]

Tallahassee as seen by Sidney Lanier

Four or five miles from Tallahassee is a lovely sight seen from the shore of Lake Lafayette, and best observed in the early morning hours; the lake’s water, then, has a delicate sheen of distilled silver, it’s a sheen like the dainty cusps of the very newest moon, a sheen like the soft and innocent childhood of a brightness, which at maturity, will dazzle your eye and imagination.

Over this liquid field of lunar glory float hundreds and thousands and maybe millions of water-lilies; presently thick, there are yards and rods and acres of them, until the whole surface of the lake seems covered without break, stretching away like a green heaven in which are set the spherical stars of the lilies.
Occasionally, in shallow portions of the lake, young stands of bald cypress, with slender stalks, and thick in the water, lift their tender green foliage high above the surface. Under this canopy, between these many trunks, meandering away in galaxies and vistas and labyrinths, run the lilies.

The sun not yet up, the perfect blue of the sky, sometimes green, is in pellucid congruence with the white and green and silver that reign below; and the noble and simple curves of the inclosing hills seclude this Diana's-troop (Diana, Egeria and Virbius) of freshness and beauty in a firm, velvet horizon.

Leaving the lake, and winding among the hills for a few minutes, we come to Tallahassee.

 

[NOIRTRASH]

A misnomer, perhaps this thread should have been entitled, Examples of Good Writing instead of perfect writing. In a world filled with imperfection that morphs more imperfectly every day, nothing and no one is perfect.

If we're all striving for perfection, we'll all be disappointed.

Its perfect.

 

[NicoleZ]

Some people can do it. There are many examples on Literotica. In the end it is better to write as yourself but I think it is a useful exercise to try.

You could see whether I was successful by reading my shortish pastiche of Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels.

My addition to the stay in Lilliput is here:

https://www.literotica.com/s/gulliver-in-lilliput

I have to say that you have encapsulated the language and style of the great Dean of Dublin perfectly (i.e. better than superbly) but what is lacking is his biting satire. In order to appreciate Swift fully, one has to be conversant with contemporary society as he used his writing to satirise and criticise. That aspect is impossible for a modern writer to copy even if it would be possible to use his style but satirise modern society instead.

Thank you for the self-advertisement, I thoroughly enjoyed it.

 

[NicoleZ]

Its perfect.

Perfect means that it cannot be improved upon which the quoted passage indeed can:

A girl stood before him midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She appeared as one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long, slender legs were bare and as delicate as a crane's, pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and soft-hued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips, where the white fringes of her drawers were as a feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's; soft and slight, slight and soft, as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long, fair hair was girlish: and girlish it was touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face. She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes, her eyes turned to him in quiet sufferance of his gaze, without shame or wantonness. Long, long she suffered his gaze and then quietly withdrew her eyes from his and bent them towards the stream, gently stirring the water with her foot hither and thither. The first faint noise of gently moving water broke the silence, low and gentle and whispering, faint as

 

[NicoleZ]

Ah, just because we may deem ourselves as writers, sometimes we are not free to pick what we write. I'm not. As if we were programmed by the verbal, physical, and/or sexual abusive childhoods we suffered and somehow survived, relatively speaking, we are doomed to write erotica and or porn.

I am inclined to agree with you, Susan. As writers we are limited by our experiences from the fetters of which our imagination strains to unchain us. I know it well, being the victim of rape at the age of thirteen, and cannot help but explore with my writing what might have been had I been allowed to find my own way into adulthood.

 

[NOIRTRASH]

Perfect means that it cannot be improved upon which the quoted passage indeed can:

A girl stood before him midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She appeared as one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long, slender legs were bare and as delicate as a crane's, pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and soft-hued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips, where the white fringes of her drawers were as a feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's; soft and slight, slight and soft, as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long, fair hair was girlish: and girlish it was touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face. She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes, her eyes turned to him in quiet sufferance of his gaze, without shame or wantonness. Long, long she suffered his gaze and then quietly withdrew her eyes from his and bent them towards the stream, gently stirring the water with her foot hither and thither. The first faint noise of gently moving water broke the silence, low and gentle and whispering, faint as

Give some thought to what PERFECT is. Tis true it cant be improved upon but there's more.

 

[NOIRTRASH]

I am inclined to agree with you, Susan. As writers we are limited by our experiences from the fetters of which our imagination strains to unchain us. I know it well, being the victim of rape at the age of thirteen, and cannot help but explore with my writing what might have been had I been allowed to find my own way into adulthood.

When I think of all the injuries we get I wonder some trauma remains and other, worse trauma, doesn't. In Vietnam, two men I knew were wounded, one got a small piece of shrapnel in his ass, the other was beside a mortar when it exploded. The man with the bit of metal in his ass was hysterical, and the man who resembled ground meat comforted him.

 

[SusanJillParker]

I am inclined to agree with you, Susan. As writers we are limited by our experiences from the fetters of which our imagination strains to unchain us. I know it well, being the victim of rape at the age of thirteen, and cannot help but explore with my writing what might have been had I been allowed to find my own way into adulthood.

I was raped by six men before the age of 15, four were my brothers, my uncle, and my cousin.

My piano teacher sexually abused me for 5 years and my ex-husband emotionally and physically abused me until I divorced his ass.

My ex knew I wanted a baby and we fucked like rabbits night and day trying to get my pregnant.

When I signed the divorce papers, after the lawyers left the room, he whispered.

"I had a vasectomy just before I married you."

If I had a gun I would have shot him dead.

I started writing a book about a sexually abused girl. I got to chapter 8 before I realized I was writing about me. Two years of therapy later, too devastatingly painful, I still can't finish that book. I forgot what happened to me for a dozen years. It's interesting how our subconscious helps to save us from something so terribly traumatic.

I did an unofficial study years ago. I was going to write a book about sex abuse. I interviewed more than 500 women. More than half, just about 60% had a history of being sexually abused by a brother, father, uncle, cousin, teacher, or priest.

 

[sr71plt]

I was raped by six men before the age of 15, four were my brothers, my uncle, and my cousin.

This is why I keep pointing out that "Susan" is a man named Freddie--Freddie's continuous outrageous posting behavior like this, totally insensitive to the feelings of those who actually have experienced this, all to serve his malicious performance art.

 

[SusanJillParker]

This is why I keep pointing out that "Susan" is a man named Freddie--Freddie's continuous outrageous posting behavior like this, totally insensitive to the feelings of those who actually have experienced this, all to serve his malicious performance art.

No performance art, just the truth.

Whenever you call me, Freddie, a man instead of a woman, I understand that it's your blatant attempt to draw attention to you. You're hoping to receive a reaction from me. Boy, your mother did one Hell of a job on you for you to hate women.

Whenever you post your insensitivity, you make me feel raped again. Yet, that's okay. I'm better now and I don't expect you to understand. I get all the therapy I need from writing my stories.

Obviously you must have lived a charmed life to point your finger of acrimony at me. You have no idea what such devastation feels like until it happens to you. I just hope what has happened to me never happens to someone you love.

I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

 

[NicoleZ]

This is why I keep pointing out that "Susan" is a man named Freddie--Freddie's continuous outrageous posting behavior like this, totally insensitive to the feelings of those who actually have experienced this, all to serve his malicious performance art.

And you sir are a confirmed liar and cyberspace stalker, an excrescence on humanity and rape of acceptable manners. Begone, foul apparition!

 

[sr71plt]

Very funny, Freddie. You posted your insensitive "I was sexually abused" crap precisely to get a rise. It's just your performance art kicking in and seeing how far you can get away with in posting underage stuff here.

By the way, if anyone wasn't aware of it, LadyofErotica is just another Freddie alt. And guess who is "her" only favorite author (https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=3074900&page=favorites).

 

[sr71plt]

And you sir are a confirmed liar and cyberspace stalker, an excrescence on humanity and rape of acceptable manners. Begone, foul apparition!

Still floating around in that haze, I see.