Rip me to shreds!

[StillStunned]

She's so dumb dull, rip her to shreds
- Blondie, "Rip Her To Shreds"

We've had a few discussions here lately on criticism and feedback, and learning how to accept them. I've stated a few times that I've had experience in my professional life, and it's helped me to improve.

So here I am, exposing myself in a more profound way than if I were standing naked before you and wiggling my dingly-danglies around. Below is an excerpt from a story I've been working on for a while, which is a big departure from my usual style and stuff. It's a deliberate attempt to evoke a sense of place. Personally, I think it's a good piece of writing, but like I said, it's not what I normally write, or read. For all I know I might be floundering like a sushi chef at a pastry station.

The purpose of this thread is to post snippets for honest feedback. Posters should point out any weaknesses they see, or things that seem out of place, or any area where the writer could improve. No compliments and no sugar coating, and no hard feelings. What happens in this thread stays in this thread.

That said, don't post here unless you're capable of receiving the comments objectively. Don't get defensive. "That's deliberate" isn't an excuse, nor is "But it makes sense in the larger story" or "That's just how I write." Every comment is an opportunity to see what effect your writing has on your readers. It's a window into a world of different styles and techniques.

Don't post a snippet you love because you hope everyone will say how wonderful it is. That's not the point of this thread. The point is for readers to break your writing down to zero so you can build it up even stronger. Post something that's outside your comfort zone, and afterwards you might feel more comfortable about it.

By the same token, criticism can be honest and harsh but still respectful. As a reader, your opinion is perfectly valid, but it's still only your opinion. Also, don't feel obliged to give a full review. Every single point is worth noting, as long as the writer can build on it.

Remember: no compliments, no sugar coating and no hard feelings. No friends, no enemies, no respect for track record, no comfort for inexperience. You post a snippet here, it will be judged exclusively on its merits.

Who's in?

 

[StillStunned]

My excerpt:

===

There’s a place in Spain where you can walk all day and never see another human being. Where your only companions are the snake gliding through the brush, the ibex clinging to the cliff, the eagle soaring overhead.

The sound of this place is the soft wind as it mourns an abandoned farmstead or a shrine to a long-dead pilgrim. <em>Iago Blas, obit. 1458.</em>

The landscape is drawn in harsh contours, unsoftened by any thickness of the air. The moisture has been sucked out of it by a sun so greedy that it’s leeched the colour from the rocks and plants.

It’s a hard land, and lonely. The rocks beneath your feet are the very bones of the mountains. It’s a bleak place, where the spirits of nature feel very close.

It was still early when I set out on this particular day. I’d spent the night at a small farm perched midway up a slope, with stone walls so thick I had to lean out of the window to get any signal on my phone. The full moon painted the fields below a glowing silver and softened the hard lines of the day.

I made my farewells to my landlady, responding to the words I recognised in her regular salvos of speech and nodding and smiling through the rest. Her husband’s tractor stood in the distance, perched at an impossible angle on the slope, but the man himself was nowhere in sight. I tried to be polite and keep my gaze away from the valley of cleavage that was on display, but I promised myself to revisit the memory later.

Stuffing the lunch she’d prepared for me in my pack and waving one last time – and enjoying the movement as she waved back – I stepped onto a narrow path uphill. It led me over the crest, then down into a gorge. The birds that populated the farm and its fields soon fell silent in the morning’s heat, and I left the place behind as I put one foot in front of the other, again and again and again, and let my mind wander.

Besides the occasional crunch of gravel under my feet and the low murmur of the stream further below, all I heard was silence. It was like a constant whisper in my ear, growing louder, somehow, as the sounds of the water also grew bolder.

By midmorning I’d reached the point where the path crossed the river. Ancient stones, of a bluey-grey that seemed alien to these mountains, lay across the stream like the dolmens that stood scattered across the landscape.

The stream had come awake with the climbing sun. It sang and chortled its way over its rocky bed, hemmed in by steep sides above and below me. Far off in the distance, a dark spot moved in lazy circles against the full blue of the sky. An eagle. For a while I watched it: king of the morning’s warm air.

===

 

[onehitwanda]

My excerpt:

===

There’s a place in Spain where you can walk all day and never see another human being. Where your only companions are the snake gliding through the brush, the ibex clinging to the cliff, the eagle soaring overhead.

The sound of this place is the soft wind as it mourns an abandoned farmstead or a shrine to a long-dead pilgrim. <em>Iago Blas, obit. 1458.</em>

The landscape is drawn in harsh contours, unsoftened by any thickness of the air. The moisture has been sucked out of it by a sun so greedy that it’s leeched the colour from the rocks and plants.

It’s a hard land, and lonely. The rocks beneath your feet are the very bones of the mountains. It’s a bleak place, where the spirits of nature feel very close.

It was still early when I set out on this particular day. I’d spent the night at a small farm perched midway up a slope, with stone walls so thick I had to lean out of the window to get any signal on my phone. The full moon painted the fields below a glowing silver and softened the hard lines of the day.

I made my farewells to my landlady, responding to the words I recognised in her regular salvos of speech and nodding and smiling through the rest. Her husband’s tractor stood in the distance, perched at an impossible angle on the slope, but the man himself was nowhere in sight. I tried to be polite and keep my gaze away from the valley of cleavage that was on display, but I promised myself to revisit the memory later.

Stuffing the lunch she’d prepared for me in my pack and waving one last time – and enjoying the movement as she waved back – I stepped onto a narrow path uphill. It led me over the crest, then down into a gorge. The birds that populated the farm and its fields soon fell silent in the morning’s heat, and I left the place behind as I put one foot in front of the other, again and again and again, and let my mind wander.

Besides the occasional crunch of gravel under my feet and the low murmur of the stream further below, all I heard was silence. It was like a constant whisper in my ear, growing louder, somehow, as the sounds of the water also grew bolder.

By midmorning I’d reached the point where the path crossed the river. Ancient stones, of a bluey-grey that seemed alien to these mountains, lay across the stream like the dolmens that stood scattered across the landscape.

The stream had come awake with the climbing sun. It sang and chortled its way over its rocky bed, hemmed in by steep sides above and below me. Far off in the distance, a dark spot moved in lazy circles against the full blue of the sky. An eagle. For a while I watched it: king of the morning’s warm air.

===

Not sure why you'd expect to be ripped to shreds for this; it's like a textual melange of bits of "The Way" and "Under the Tuscan Sun", and it's precisely the sort of story I'd be 100% invested in.

> There’s a place in Spain where you can walk all day and never see another human being.

Yes.

 

[AG31]

My excerpt:

===

There’s a place in Spain where you can walk all day and never see another human being. Where your only companions are the snake gliding through the brush, the ibex clinging to the cliff, the eagle soaring overhead.

The sound of this place is the soft wind as it mourns an abandoned farmstead or a shrine to a long-dead pilgrim. <em>Iago Blas, obit. 1458.</em>

The landscape is drawn in harsh contours, unsoftened by any thickness of the air. The moisture has been sucked out of it by a sun so greedy that it’s leeched the colour from the rocks and plants.

It’s a hard land, and lonely. The rocks beneath your feet are the very bones of the mountains. It’s a bleak place, where the spirits of nature feel very close.

It was still early when I set out on this particular day. I’d spent the night at a small farm perched midway up a slope, with stone walls so thick I had to lean out of the window to get any signal on my phone. The full moon painted the fields below a glowing silver and softened the hard lines of the day.

I made my farewells to my landlady, responding to the words I recognised in her regular salvos of speech and nodding and smiling through the rest. Her husband’s tractor stood in the distance, perched at an impossible angle on the slope, but the man himself was nowhere in sight. I tried to be polite and keep my gaze away from the valley of cleavage that was on display, but I promised myself to revisit the memory later.

Stuffing the lunch she’d prepared for me in my pack and waving one last time – and enjoying the movement as she waved back – I stepped onto a narrow path uphill. It led me over the crest, then down into a gorge. The birds that populated the farm and its fields soon fell silent in the morning’s heat, and I left the place behind as I put one foot in front of the other, again and again and again, and let my mind wander.

Besides the occasional crunch of gravel under my feet and the low murmur of the stream further below, all I heard was silence. It was like a constant whisper in my ear, growing louder, somehow, as the sounds of the water also grew bolder.

By midmorning I’d reached the point where the path crossed the river. Ancient stones, of a bluey-grey that seemed alien to these mountains, lay across the stream like the dolmens that stood scattered across the landscape.

The stream had come awake with the climbing sun. It sang and chortled its way over its rocky bed, hemmed in by steep sides above and below me. Far off in the distance, a dark spot moved in lazy circles against the full blue of the sky. An eagle. For a while I watched it: king of the morning’s warm air.

===

If we were allowed to reply with compliments I would quote a few phrases of note.

 

[StillStunned]

Not sure why you'd expect to be ripped to shreds for this;

Not "expect" - like I said, I think it works - but perhaps "willing to be". Usually, my descriptions don't go much beyond "the castle loomed as a silhouette against the setting sun". This story is an attempt to see whether I can write a different style.

it's like a textual melange of bits of "The Way" and "Under the Tuscan Sun", and it's precisely the sort of story I'd be 100% invested in.

I might have mentioned before that it was inspired by reading the opening paragraphs of your "Midnight's Daughter".

 

[Jorunn]

Only two criticisms - where is the rest of it! More, More, More!

Otherwise, pull out a thesaurus and get rid of simple adjectives like hard, soft, small, dark. And when I look into your gorge, I have no idea what is in it, how deep it is, the angle of the sun, shadows, etc. If not descriptive, then give me a mental image of another well-known gorge. Or a sexual image, "Looked into a gorge as dark and foreboding as the last time I looked between my ex-wife's legs."

 

[StillStunned]

Only two criticisms - where is the rest of it! More, More, More!

The rest is slow forming. I'm about 2500 words in, and just getting to the sex scene.

Otherwise, pull out a thesaurus and get rid of simple adjectives like hard, soft, small, dark. And when I look into your gorge, I have no idea what is in it, how deep it is, the angle of the sun, shadows, etc. If not descriptive, then give me a mental image of another well-known gorge. Or a sexual image, "Looked into a gorge as dark and foreboding as the last time I looked between my ex-wife's legs."

Thank you, good points.

 

[AwkwardlySet]

That's a well-written excerpt. Reading it feels very enjoyable and immersive. You also managed to be colorful without ever crossing into purple. Well-constructed sentences that aren't too long or too short. I like it a lot.

The only bit of likely subjective "criticism" I would voice is that it feels too long as one integral descriptive block. I would add a bit of dialogue to break the monotony and give it a bit more "life". It could be a bit of short dialogue with the landlady, a bit of some inner dialogue, or even the MC talking to the nature, to the river, stones, to the eagle... anything of the sort. As I said, it's quite possible that this is just my personal preference. Either way, well done!

 

[StillStunned]

The only bit of likely subjective "criticism" I would voice is that it feels too long as one integral descriptive block. I would add a bit of dialogue to break the monotony and give it a bit more "life". It could be a bit of short dialogue with the landlady, a bit of some inner dialogue, or even the MC talking to the nature, to the river, stones, to the eagle... anything of the sort. As I said, it's quite possible that this is just my personal preference. Either way, well done!

Thanks! That's been once of my concerns. I even added the landlady especially for a bit of human interaction.

 

[Bamagan]

I tend to gloss over passages like this, at least when reading erotica. It often feels like padding the word count, or an attempt to dress up one's smut to feel more respectable or artistic despite writing about genital friction or related shenanigans. It also tends to make me suspicious that the author might be too squeamish to deliver an interesting or satisfying erotic episode, so I might withhold benefit of the doubt if I'm unfamiliar with them.

I find it somewhat ironic that trying to evoke a sense of solitude takes so many words, and invites anthropomorphizing the animals and environment. Laughing stream, greedy sun, whispering wind, king of the air, etc. I realize there's a long-standing tradition of doing so, but I feel that it generally detracts from nature to impose humanity upon it (which is not to say I'm not guilty of the same, from time to time), and somewhat subverts the sense of aloneness (which I understand might be intentional). In this snippet, it's part of a general saturation of metaphors which I find a little off-putting.

All of this is not to say that I think it's bad or needs to be literally ripped to shreds, and clearly it's working for other people. I'm an outlier and comfortable with that, simply offering my opinion since there was an open call.

 

[StillStunned]

I find it somewhat ironic that trying to evoke a sense of solitude takes so many words, and invites anthropomorphizing the animals and environment. Laughing stream, greedy sun, whispering wind, king of the air, etc. I realize there's a long-standing tradition of doing so, but I feel that it generally detracts from nature to impose humanity upon it (which is not to say I'm not guilty of the same, from time to time), and somewhat subverts the sense of aloneness (which I understand might be intentional). In this snippet, it's part of a general saturation of metaphors which I find a little off-putting.

Thanks for this. It addresses one of my biggest concerns, as a usually bare-bones writer.

 

[StillStunned]

"The lamps are going out all over Europe", as they say, so if I don't reply immediately it's because I'm sleeping, not because I'm offended. I hope to have plenty more learning opportunities waiting for me when I wake up.

 

[Bramblethorn]

I promised myself to revisit the memory later

"to" or "I'd"?

I couldn't cite chapter and verse on this, but "promised to" as a transitive construction (if that's the right terminology) feels very slightly off to me. "I promised to feed the fish" yes, "I promised John to feed the fish" no (except if I'm volunteering John's services as a fish-feeder, maybe, but that's not the construction here).

There’s a place in Spain where you can walk all day and never see another human being. Where your only companions are the snake gliding through the brush, the ibex clinging to the cliff, the eagle soaring overhead.

The break before "Where" doesn't quite work for me. I'm no purist on sentence fragments by any means, just not convinced that this particular fragment should be a fragment. I'd probaby have opted for a comma here.

Two very minor quibbles with an otherwise excellent opening.

 

[MyBareTorso]

She's so dumb, rip her to shreds
- Blondie, "Rip Her To Shreds"

We've had a few discussions here lately on criticism and feedback, and learning how to accept them. I've stated a few times that I've had experience in my professional life, and it's helped me to improve.

So here I am, exposing myself in a more profound way than if I were standing naked before you and wiggling my dingly-danglies around. Below is an excerpt from a story I've been working on for a while, which is a big departure from my usual style and stuff. It's a deliberate attempt to evoke a sense of place. Personally, I think it's a good piece of writing, but like I said, it's not what I normally write, or read. For all I know I might be floundering like a sushi chef at a pastry station.

The purpose of this thread is to post snippets for honest feedback. Posters should point out any weaknesses they see, or things that seem out of place, or any area where the writer could improve. No compliments and no sugar coating, and no hard feelings. What happens in this thread stays in this thread.

That said, don't post here unless you're capable of receiving the comments objectively. Don't get defensive. "That's deliberate" isn't an excuse, nor is "But it makes sense in the larger story" or "That's just how I write." Every comment is an opportunity to see what effect your writing has on your readers. It's a window into a world of different styles and techniques.

Don't post a snippet you love because you hope everyone will say how wonderful it is. That's not the point of this thread. The point is for readers to break your writing down to zero so you can build it up even stronger. Post something that's outside your comfort zone, and afterwards you might feel more comfortable about it.

By the same token, criticism can be honest and harsh but still respectful. As a reader, your opinion is perfectly valid, but it's still only your opinion. Also, don't feel obliged to give a full review. Every single point is worth noting, as long as the writer can build on it.

Remember: no compliments, no sugar coating and no hard feelings. No friends, no enemies, no respect for track record, no comfort for inexperience. You post a snippet here, it will be judged exclusively on its merits.

Who's in?

Ouch, not me! This is a cool idea for a thread, but I have to admit that I don't *really* like criticism, constructive or otherwise. I'm out, but you guys have fun!

 

[ElectricBlue]

It's got an older story telling vibe about it - I first thought of The Lady Vanishes, The Thirty-Nine Steps, that sort of thing, something of a period piece - but then, the mobile phone... that jarred, felt out of place to me.

 

[StillStunned]

"to" or "I'd"?

I couldn't cite chapter and verse on this, but "promised to" as a transitive construction (if that's the right terminology) feels very slightly off to me. "I promised to feed the fish" yes, "I promised John to feed the fish" no (except if I'm volunteering John's services as a fish-feeder, maybe, but that's not the construction here).

You're right, it's a typo.

The break before "Where" doesn't quite work for me. I'm no purist on sentence fragments by any means, just not convinced that this particular fragment should be a fragment. I'd probaby have opted for a comma here.

Fair point.

 

[StillStunned]

It's got an older story telling vibe about it - I first thought of The Lady Vanishes, The Thirty-Nine Steps, that sort of thing, something of a period piece - but then, the mobile phone... that jarred, felt out of place to me.

That's a perspective I hadn't considered. I added it to give a feel for the farmhouse, but it doesn't really serve any purpose.

 

[shelleycat1]

I like the idea. I might join in if I can work up my courage.

The passage is fine, very evocative. The greedy sun seems out of place. Bright, overseeing ,overwhelming? Glaring perhaps. White?
Typo nearby, it’s leeched is a contraction for it is leeched.

I agree with whoever said it’s like the film ‘the way’.

 

[StillStunned]

I like the idea. I might join in if I can work up my courage.

You should. We all should. It's a very liberating experience. But next time I'll post something that's deliberately bad and see whether everyone is still so kind.

The passage is fine, very evocative. The greedy sun seems out of place.

Fair enough.

Typo nearby, it’s leeched is a contraction for it is leeched.

It *has* leeched.

I agree with whoever said it’s like the film ‘the way’.

Both inspired by walking in Spain, and both tapping into the introspective contemplation that overtakes you when walking long distances. It's very therapeutic.

 

[mildlyaroused]

I'm playing by your rules, so I won't soften my criticism, but you should know that my thoughts don't mean the writing is bad by any means. I like it a lot. It certainly doesn't need shredding. But I have my mean hat on right now.

In any case, I think the main thing that isn't quite working for me is the use of so many images: similes, metaphors, the mention of abstract ideas like "the very bones of the mountain" or "the spirits of nature". None of these images are bad in of themselves, and you construct many of them out of beautiful sentences, but particularly towards the start I think there's so many that they all start to blend together and lose shape.

I like your new style, and you mentioned that it's more descriptive than usual. That's good. But in my eyes images like these often work better when they are diluted by concrete, physical, simple descriptions. Those first four or five paragraphs are all great - but by the end of them, it's beginning to feel to me that the author is trying slightly too hard to add as many interesting literary devices to the text as they can.

Essentially, I think it needs simplification. It's too poetic, to the point where it's almost overwrought. Disperse those lovely images throughout simple descriptions of the area which allow us to make sense of the geography in a more concrete way. Disperse them throughout action: make the abandoned homesteads and shrines relevant as the protagonist walks past them that morning.

Each interesting image you draw becomes just a tiny bit less interesting when it's next to another image. When they add up, they diminish one another, at least in close proximity. Probably this will happen naturally with time, as the story starts rolling, and as you continue practising your new style.

--

(Every single author, myself included, is guilty of going slightly too far when adopting a new exciting style or discovering a new writing technique they love. That over-indulgence is just part of the process, as we probably all know, and in many ways it's a good thing because it means we're excited about our writing and we're honing our skills. I liked your passage. It reminded me too of slightly older works of fiction, it definitely succeeded in establishing a real sense of place, and it's exciting to think where it will lead!)

 

[StillStunned]

I'm playing by your rules, so I won't soften my criticism, but you should know that my thoughts don't mean the writing is bad by any means. I like it a lot. It certainly doesn't need shredding. But I have my mean hat on right now.

Thanks, that's precisely the point of the exercise.

Fair point about the overuse of symbolism. I'll have to take an objective look at it.

 

[Kumquatqueen]

Seeing as you asked: It's a good draft. Lots of nice imagery. But it could be tightened up - a sentence that seemed to long to me was "The sound of this place is the soft wind" - the 'of this place' seems a bit clunky, maybe "The sound here is of the soft wind" or "the sound here is the soft wind" or "the only sound is a soft wind"?

It's good material, but as others suggested, interspersing it with action a bit more would make it more enticing to many of us. If this was the beginning of a story, I would fear it would be one of those long pretentious novels that take 200 pages to say bugger all. Ian McEwan comes to mind. Or Paolo Coelo.

Note: Ian McEwan has a Booker Prize and a zillion other awards. Coelo has sold millions of books. I fall into neither category...

 

[lovecraft68]

I keep things like this simple, I leave detailed and specific critique to the people who aren't panster hacks like me.

Overall, I like the feel. It feels like something from an older era. I think EB mentioned a Hitchcock story further up, which made me think of Robert Bloch who write a ton of HPL inspired fiction before Psycho.

The only thing I'd say that leans towards a negative is it reads a bit repetitive, like when a young child tells a story "And then, and then, and then..." is how it sounds to me,

But then again, that could be a sort of staccato style you're aiming for, like there's a beat to it.

I've always found it funny that I probably come across as kind of a hard ass or even an outright jerk in someways, but when it comes to things like this, I just don't get into beating up someone else's writing. I'll do it to my own, I don't mind people doing it to me, but I go pretty easy when people ask me.

 

[AwkwardlySet]

I'm playing by your rules, so I won't soften my criticism, but you should know that my thoughts don't mean the writing is bad by any means. I like it a lot. It certainly doesn't need shredding. But I have my mean hat on right now.

In any case, I think the main thing that isn't quite working for me is the use of so many images: similes, metaphors, the mention of abstract ideas like "the very bones of the mountain" or "the spirits of nature". None of these images are bad in of themselves, and you construct many of them out of beautiful sentences, but particularly towards the start I think there's so many that they all start to blend together and lose shape.

I like your new style, and you mentioned that it's more descriptive than usual. That's good. But in my eyes images like these often work better when they are diluted by concrete, physical, simple descriptions. Those first four or five paragraphs are all great - but by the end of them, it's beginning to feel to me that the author is trying slightly too hard to add as many interesting literary devices to the text as they can.

Essentially, I think it needs simplification. It's too poetic, to the point where it's almost overwrought. Disperse those lovely images throughout simple descriptions of the area which allow us to make sense of the geography in a more concrete way. Disperse them throughout action: make the abandoned homesteads and shrines relevant as the protagonist walks past them that morning.

Each interesting image you draw becomes just a tiny bit less interesting when it's next to another image. When they add up, they diminish one another, at least in close proximity. Probably this will happen naturally with time, as the story starts rolling, and as you continue practising your new style.

--

(Every single author, myself included, is guilty of going slightly too far when adopting a new exciting style or discovering a new writing technique they love. That over-indulgence is just part of the process, as we probably all know, and in many ways it's a good thing because it means we're excited about our writing and we're honing our skills. I liked your passage. It reminded me too of slightly older works of fiction, it definitely succeeded in establishing a real sense of place, and it's exciting to think where it will lead!)

I believe we are now deep in the realm of tastes but for the sake of this topic, I'll voice my disagreement with you.
While I do agree that diluting the language would make some points stand out more, I believe that in a writing like this one, the OP has nailed just the right amount of it to avoid being overly poetic or even purple and, on the other hand, to avoid being dull. (I still feel that adding some dialogue or dialogue/action combo would enliven the scene)

Now, why do I say this?
The description in the passage doesn't serve the plot in any way I can see, whatever the plot of this story turns out to be, it just paints an image of the landscape. You need it to be poetic and flowery, otherwise, the reader has no reason not to skip a plain and likely boring description of the landscape that doesn't serve the plot in any way. Being poetic and colorful is needed in this case to keep the reader's attention. I'll try to paint this better with an example:

Say you are writing from the perspective of a traveler who is just passing by an impressive (fictional) castle or fortress. He is just passing by and that fortress serves no purpose in the story. If you delve into the description of that fortress, you need to make it poetic and relatively brief. Otherwise, why would the reader want to read about some fictional fortress that has no place in the plot? You either use poetic language and thus maybe convey a message of the glory and strength of an empire that built it, (and in doing so add to the lore), or you just say "impressive fortress" and skip the description. Using simple words to describe exactly how the fortress looks like would be boring for the reader and it would serve no purpose that I can see.

Now the same fortress, but this time from the eyes of a general who is leading an attacking army. Here, you want to keep poetic language to a minimum. You want the reader to know how "technically" the fortress looks like, you want the reader to know the difficulties the army will have in storming it. You want to use simpler, clearer words to paint the fortress for the reader, because the fortress is important for the plot.

 

[StillStunned]

It's good material, but as others suggested, interspersing it with action a bit more would make it more enticing to many of us. If this was the beginning of a story, I would fear it would be one of those long pretentious novels that take 200 pages to say bugger all. Ian McEwan comes to mind. Or Paolo Coelo.

Well, there's a sex scene that starts at around 2k words.

The only thing I'd say that leans towards a negative is it reads a bit repetitive, like when a young child tells a story "And then, and then, and then..." is how it sounds to me,

Good point.

The description in the passage doesn't serve the plot in any way I can see, whatever the plot of this story turns out to be, it just paints an image of the landscape. You need it to be poetic and flowery, otherwise, the reader has no reason not to skip a plain and likely boring description of the landscape that doesn't serve the plot in any way. Being poetic and colorful is needed in this case to keep the reader's attention.

This was the idea of the description. Glad you recognised it.

I've always found it funny that I probably come across as kind of a hard ass or even an outright jerk in someways, but when it comes to things like this, I just don't get into beating up someone else's writing. I'll do it to my own, I don't mind people doing it to me, but I go pretty easy when people ask me.

I don't see it as beating up my writing. Constructive feedback, i.e. comments that the writer can use to better understand the effect on the reader and then (if they wish) improve the story, is always welcome. You can't improve if no-one helps you to understand your weaknesses - assuming you're open to the idea that you're not perfect to begin with.

If all you ever hear is "your writing is amazing!", with the occasional "your stories suck!", you have no idea of how good or bad you really are. In my professional editing, my colleagues and I will joke about how many "learning opportunities" we've highlighted in each other's work.

It probably takes confidence in your basic skill level, but you don't have to take every suggestion on board. Even so, they're always at least worth considering, if not immediately, then perhaps for other writings later on.