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hmmnmm
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dr_mabeuse
seduce the mind
- Joined
- Oct 10, 2002
- Posts
- 11,528
Okay. I’ll take a stab at this.
First of all, I think I’m going to be in a minority, but I really like the rhythm of your prose. It really rushes along and falls all over itself in its excitement, and I like that kind of stuff.
But on the downstide, while your words are rushing all over and somersaulting, so is the meaning of your sentences, and the description of what she’s doing, what she’s thinking, and your extended imagery all get bollixed up together until you can’t really tell what’s going on. It’s very hard to read.
Take this example:
Often when she loved herself this way, other people were in the house and she had to clamp her lips together the best she could when she would feel the impending screams emerge from deep hidden fissures, riding like a horde of Mongols that had just broken through the country?s defenses, found her village, found her, selected her, would be raping her if she did not love it, the hand stained with blood and singed from fire and smelling of the pony he rode, clamped over her mouth, pushing her muffled cries back down her throat.
It seems like you’re going to tell us something about her situation in the house, but quickly you tumble into this extended metaphor about her impending screams being like a horde of Mongols. Now, in my opinion you ride that metaphor to death, and it takes over the entire paragrpah and becomes more important than what it's referring to. What’s worse, is you seem to get lost in it, until at the end the "horde of mongols” is not longer a metaphor for her impending screams but the very sensations she’s feelings. How did that happen?
There’s a lot of that kind of thing in here: the feeling that your words and images are running away with you and that you’re not quite in control. At its best, it gives your prose a kind of stream-of-consciousness intensity. But when it doesn’t work, it’s just very difficult to decipher.
Another thing you do that makes this hard to understand is mixing action, sensation, memory, and history all together in the same paragraph, and even the same sentence. It’s very disorienting. Example:
She had not yet licked her own sticky juice from her fingers, such as the craving to do so hit her just then. Sometimes she would just look at the way her fingers shined in the moonlight if it happened to be in the right place in the night sky, the man in the moon she was so in love with able to see into her window and watch her, she fascinated with the viscid consistency of these fun-filled electrified fluids that were part of her body. Sometimes when she studied so, she brought the fingers to her nostrils, such a strange sensation. On rare occasions when she felt most daring she would flick a nervous tongue out quickly taste that intoxicating sauce that hinted of wild mushroom and occasionally an added sprinkle of almond. Hug close to her those shy flutters of disbelief, wishing she could instantly clone herself just for these moments, that she could watch herself from the foot of the bed, and she would blush and pant, registering the truth that she was doing even this.
Again, you set this paragraph up with a situation where she seems about to lick her juices from her fingers. We want to know if she’s going to do that. But instead we get into this protracted reflection on her relationship with the man in the moon and reminiscences of what she’s done before regarding her own sexual fluids.
I mean, this is porn. Does she stick her fingers in her mouth or not?
I want to say again that I think you have a very original and even exciting style, or at least you have the start of one. It’s pretty rare on Literotica to read a story that comes out in such a unique voice, and I really like the way your sentences rush out. But I think you’re going to have to work get a handle on all this energy and make it serve your purpose.
I would suggest that you concentrate more on the visual. As the piece is now, there’s a constant jumping about between description of what she’s doing, her thoughts, her feelings, her history, and those elaborate, overworked metaphors. It makes it hard for us to get a clear picture of just what’s going on, and that’s the first thing we need in porn. Concentrate on the descriptions of what she’s doing. If you can paint a good, vivid picture of what she’s doing in the reader’s mind, they’ll usually find the story sexy.
A corollary of this is: rather than just coming out and telling us what she’s feeling, make her actions show her feelings. One good image of her clawing at the sheets is worth many words of telling us how excited she was.
Finally, I would rein in on some of your metaphors. I have to admit that I read your opening sentences— Stacy?s feet squirmed and jerked beneath the sheet. They kicked out like two unrelated and detached daddy long legs, heels digging into the mattress, furrowing valleys.—and I thought, “What the fuck?” Equating a girl’s feet to squirming spiders is just not very sexy to me, and it gives me the image of her having some sort of epileptic seizure, flailing her legs about wildly, also not very sexy. There’s got to be a better way to say what you mean.
Anyhow, stick with it. I wish you the best of luck.
---dr.M.
First of all, I think I’m going to be in a minority, but I really like the rhythm of your prose. It really rushes along and falls all over itself in its excitement, and I like that kind of stuff.
But on the downstide, while your words are rushing all over and somersaulting, so is the meaning of your sentences, and the description of what she’s doing, what she’s thinking, and your extended imagery all get bollixed up together until you can’t really tell what’s going on. It’s very hard to read.
Take this example:
Often when she loved herself this way, other people were in the house and she had to clamp her lips together the best she could when she would feel the impending screams emerge from deep hidden fissures, riding like a horde of Mongols that had just broken through the country?s defenses, found her village, found her, selected her, would be raping her if she did not love it, the hand stained with blood and singed from fire and smelling of the pony he rode, clamped over her mouth, pushing her muffled cries back down her throat.
It seems like you’re going to tell us something about her situation in the house, but quickly you tumble into this extended metaphor about her impending screams being like a horde of Mongols. Now, in my opinion you ride that metaphor to death, and it takes over the entire paragrpah and becomes more important than what it's referring to. What’s worse, is you seem to get lost in it, until at the end the "horde of mongols” is not longer a metaphor for her impending screams but the very sensations she’s feelings. How did that happen?
There’s a lot of that kind of thing in here: the feeling that your words and images are running away with you and that you’re not quite in control. At its best, it gives your prose a kind of stream-of-consciousness intensity. But when it doesn’t work, it’s just very difficult to decipher.
Another thing you do that makes this hard to understand is mixing action, sensation, memory, and history all together in the same paragraph, and even the same sentence. It’s very disorienting. Example:
She had not yet licked her own sticky juice from her fingers, such as the craving to do so hit her just then. Sometimes she would just look at the way her fingers shined in the moonlight if it happened to be in the right place in the night sky, the man in the moon she was so in love with able to see into her window and watch her, she fascinated with the viscid consistency of these fun-filled electrified fluids that were part of her body. Sometimes when she studied so, she brought the fingers to her nostrils, such a strange sensation. On rare occasions when she felt most daring she would flick a nervous tongue out quickly taste that intoxicating sauce that hinted of wild mushroom and occasionally an added sprinkle of almond. Hug close to her those shy flutters of disbelief, wishing she could instantly clone herself just for these moments, that she could watch herself from the foot of the bed, and she would blush and pant, registering the truth that she was doing even this.
Again, you set this paragraph up with a situation where she seems about to lick her juices from her fingers. We want to know if she’s going to do that. But instead we get into this protracted reflection on her relationship with the man in the moon and reminiscences of what she’s done before regarding her own sexual fluids.
I mean, this is porn. Does she stick her fingers in her mouth or not?
I want to say again that I think you have a very original and even exciting style, or at least you have the start of one. It’s pretty rare on Literotica to read a story that comes out in such a unique voice, and I really like the way your sentences rush out. But I think you’re going to have to work get a handle on all this energy and make it serve your purpose.
I would suggest that you concentrate more on the visual. As the piece is now, there’s a constant jumping about between description of what she’s doing, her thoughts, her feelings, her history, and those elaborate, overworked metaphors. It makes it hard for us to get a clear picture of just what’s going on, and that’s the first thing we need in porn. Concentrate on the descriptions of what she’s doing. If you can paint a good, vivid picture of what she’s doing in the reader’s mind, they’ll usually find the story sexy.
A corollary of this is: rather than just coming out and telling us what she’s feeling, make her actions show her feelings. One good image of her clawing at the sheets is worth many words of telling us how excited she was.
Finally, I would rein in on some of your metaphors. I have to admit that I read your opening sentences— Stacy?s feet squirmed and jerked beneath the sheet. They kicked out like two unrelated and detached daddy long legs, heels digging into the mattress, furrowing valleys.—and I thought, “What the fuck?” Equating a girl’s feet to squirming spiders is just not very sexy to me, and it gives me the image of her having some sort of epileptic seizure, flailing her legs about wildly, also not very sexy. There’s got to be a better way to say what you mean.
Anyhow, stick with it. I wish you the best of luck.
---dr.M.
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H
hmmnmm
Guest
more rushing visuals then, restrain the distracting metaphors...
Very nice critique/response. thanks. Helps.
Very nice critique/response. thanks. Helps.
H
hmmnmm
Guest
-----------------------
Last edited by a moderator:
Pure
Fiel a Verdad
- Joined
- Dec 20, 2001
- Posts
- 15,135
Hi, welcome,
These are a few thoughts. If you would like to join in the discussion of others' posted stories, e.g., that of Den Sel, I hope you will. That will permit your stories to get 'officially' critiqued. See the threads entitled grass roots discussion.
As to the writing.
It has its moments:
her mind discarded
The stampeding horde pressed harder at the gate,
her left hand played among a field of pink lilies, searching for the best flowers,
Here, below, it just seems like you're working too hard, but I like "furrowing new rows"; I'd have continued "in the pure white cotton valley."
Her legs alternated between an upside down swanlike V then in search of something, they would fall, tense outward, draw back in, her heels meeting together, toes fondling, spreading her upper thighs as tightly apart as they could go, two fingers holding her young pussy lips apart, her middle finger rubbing in ever more frantic miniature circles over her clit, the warm early spring breeze from the open window licking what she forced to exposure, her legs reaching out again, heels digging into the mattress, furrowing new rows amidst this tropical valley of pure white cotton.
But much is seriously overwritten, imo. See some bracketed phrases. Esp. watch the 'old standbys' the staples of bad porn writing. Watch the pile up of 2-4 adjectives on every noun.
Her {heaving} stiffened breasts were like {snow-skirted volcanoes} momentarily visited by equatorial humid winds, coerced to containment but {needing to blow, incessant, demanding}. They needed attention but she only had herself, her two hands. She had tried in the past to touch her nipples with her tongue but never quite successful and this was not the time to try again.
It was only with trained will brought here by frequent practice that she was able to pull her fingers from her {barely eighteen year old and very slickened pink lily lips,}
Some of the writing is very fresh and fast paced, but much winnowing is needed. Write "Less is More" on a piece of paper and glue it above your monitor!
These are a few thoughts. If you would like to join in the discussion of others' posted stories, e.g., that of Den Sel, I hope you will. That will permit your stories to get 'officially' critiqued. See the threads entitled grass roots discussion.
As to the writing.
It has its moments:
her mind discarded
The stampeding horde pressed harder at the gate,
her left hand played among a field of pink lilies, searching for the best flowers,
Here, below, it just seems like you're working too hard, but I like "furrowing new rows"; I'd have continued "in the pure white cotton valley."
Her legs alternated between an upside down swanlike V then in search of something, they would fall, tense outward, draw back in, her heels meeting together, toes fondling, spreading her upper thighs as tightly apart as they could go, two fingers holding her young pussy lips apart, her middle finger rubbing in ever more frantic miniature circles over her clit, the warm early spring breeze from the open window licking what she forced to exposure, her legs reaching out again, heels digging into the mattress, furrowing new rows amidst this tropical valley of pure white cotton.
But much is seriously overwritten, imo. See some bracketed phrases. Esp. watch the 'old standbys' the staples of bad porn writing. Watch the pile up of 2-4 adjectives on every noun.
Her {heaving} stiffened breasts were like {snow-skirted volcanoes} momentarily visited by equatorial humid winds, coerced to containment but {needing to blow, incessant, demanding}. They needed attention but she only had herself, her two hands. She had tried in the past to touch her nipples with her tongue but never quite successful and this was not the time to try again.
It was only with trained will brought here by frequent practice that she was able to pull her fingers from her {barely eighteen year old and very slickened pink lily lips,}
Some of the writing is very fresh and fast paced, but much winnowing is needed. Write "Less is More" on a piece of paper and glue it above your monitor!
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hmmnmm
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H
hmmnmm
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