You write very well, and say what you think. That is
a great start. Here, You have given us your philosophy of life, and told us where you want to go from here. It's wonderful to able to do that so openly and honestly.
You are most definitely a believer in opposites -- that we cannot have good without bad, smooth without coarse, ying without yang. You are also a believer in keeping things simple, and I am anxious to see if you maintain that attitude throughout your growth as a writer.
ADHD is frequently troublesome to live with, but you seem to have yours under control, or you have found your own way of dealing with it. As you say, you will tell us later. I hope you do read a lot, as much as you can, for next to writing, reading is one of the most important things you can do as a writer.
You have a fine sense of forgiveness toward yourself and others, and try to see the best in everyone realizing that each of us has our own failures and trials to go through. Stay with the schedule you have made for yourself as best you can, and you will have ONE GOOD YEAR soon enough!
Thank you for asking me to review this piece for you.
Your writing is very clear, very honest, and you notice details. This is marked "experience, horror/scary, tragedy". There really is nothing horrible or scary, or tragic here. You are simply recounting events, and wondering why the waitress behaves as she does.
I understand that you are a new writer, and new to Writing.com. Did I say welcome? Welcome! You're in the right place if you want to write, and improve your writing. This is a friendly and active site, with many things to do, and I'm sure you will make a fine contribution.
Back to BAKED BADS. You have no errors in your story,
which is good; I am talking about grammatical errors and typograpical errors. I think you need to try to get a little more emotion into your writing, something to draw the reader nto the piece, wanting to read more.
You will have a lot of time to work on these things as you grow in your work. You need more of a depth to your writing. However, this is a pleasant story of two young men riding their bikes to the donut shop in the night. Keep writing, please, and keep posting here on Writing.com. You do have an eye for detail, and some idea of narrative, and I suggest that you simply keep writing, and paying attention to what others say in their reviews. You're going to be fine!
By the way, I was born in Columbus, and know Westerville, Ohio, although I am not acquainted with the donut shop, but from your piece, I would rather not be.
Al best,
VerySara
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This is a good poem, written in free verse with a rhyme scheme of couplets. It shares with us the pain of homelessness, as she tells us that she in in this state because she trusted someone who betrayerd her,
and she will be happy when she dies.
This poem leaves me with a very sorrowful poems, and most poems about homeslessness do not; this woman seems so accepting of her broken state, and she goes on
saying only that she will smile on the day she dies.
The images in this poem are quite startling. There is one line I do not understand: "if I have truly been made to go through this" -- has he/she or not?
This would make a great poem for a Slam. I can just hear the poet at the mike emphasizing these images and pausing just long enough to let the power of them sink in! Good job!
This is a really good poem. Written in free verse, which I think allows more emotion and freedom, it is
very well paced, which is to say it has its own meter, and it stays with it to the end.
The main problem I have as a reviewer is that there is nothing I can say or suggest that would make this poem any better. I can vouch for it as a woman, being a woman who has talked to many women about such things, and your have said this quite well.
Well-written, topical story. The horror is very graphic, and yet very well done. It may be that the
constant suppy of images on the television, especially of this war, are beginning to inure me somewhat to the madness of mankind and the pain we inflict on one another.
I seem to remember a Nicholas Berg -- the name -- from somewhere and my Iraq specialist isn't home. You have done a good job in presenting all sides of the story -- the father's that it's dangerous there and no place to volunteer to go; Nick's that he wants to make life better for others and also get an educaton; the terrorists, who insist on continuing to do this kind of thing; and the President who continues to state that we will not withdraw.
Too bad Cindy Sheehan wasn't around when you wrote this. You wrote this last May, and the peace movement really hadn't started up then; you'd see "Bring our Boys Home" bumper stickers but that was about it.
Good horror story. I'm trying to work my way into this genre but just can't come up with anything terrifying enough. I can do depression well, suicide,
but not killing other animals or humans. I'm in PETA for God's sake, and am also a vegetarian. I lived abroad for a while, and would see them kill lambs. Oh,
talk about a wuss! But death is dark I think. You do this genre well.
Well, I must admit I didn't know that when you save somebody's life, Death starts following you around. Does calling 911 for someone unconsciousness on the floor count? She was DOA at the hospital, but they got her back. This story has me worried.
This story is perfect in every way. The word selection, the pace with which the story is told, and the way Jack happens upon Fat Charlie at the end of the story -- it' very well done. There is not a thing I could say or do that would made it any better. That's the one problem with these great pieces -- they don't need a reviewer's help in any way; but we sure do enjoy them!
Thanks for writing this; it's a eerie pleasure to read!
This is a sad poem, but it does show some hope, in your muse. I am a little hesitant to suggest this to you but am going to anyway: you might have a little more "clarity of answers" and not be to shocked at the thought of yourself, if you stop drinking so much.
Your penultimate stanza is very good! "The muse, though numbed is fiercely kicking,/my pen gives it birth into the light." Good work here!
In your last staza you're back to drinking, and wondering why you are dismayed at the clarity of answers, and crying for the hopelessness of some.
What do you think might happen if you write when you were sober and not drinking? You've a fine talent that is evident from this poem. It is what you are saying that is concerning me here. Or, if I am misinterpreting this, please, just let mw know.
My overall reaction is that I like this poem a great
deal. I think you have the start of what could become a very good poem. You're really almost there. The
first stanza is right there, and hooks the reader in
very well. The only problem I have with the second stanza is the use of "belong" and then "long in the next line. Maybe the second one could be changed "yearn" or "desire"or ...take me to hell/where I long to be."
I'm not sure why you capitalized "Grasped"; I am not saying it is good or bad, right or wrong, I am just saying I don't know why you would do that.
The desire for death is, I believe, born from depression and despair, and this poem expresses the
feeling very well. I think that if you just reworked the center of the poem a little, polished it a bit, you could have an excellent poem.
I look forward to reading more of your work here on Writing.com
This is an absoluteky delightful story about unicorns!
Who can resist loving such a wonderful tale? Chrildren would love every word of it, as I do. It brings out the little girl inside.
My favorite part is when you drank from the pool. In that single sentence, the choice of words you have made, bring out the magic inherent in the entire story, at least for me.
I like this poem a lot. It is simple enough, and I interpret it as the man's suicide. I suppose he could have been shooting at something, a animal of some sort,
or someone else could have been shooting the shotgun,
but I go with my first gut instinct. There is an ambiguity in the ending that, as I am sure you know, may bother some people.
Seen with that interpretation, I think this poem is just fine. There is nothing I can say that would help make it any better. Good luck in the contest!
This is a good Parody of Rotethke's work. It sounds as though you did not have a good childhoos either.
You will find much company on this site. I notice that you have just joined us, so Welcome to Writing.com. I look forward to seeing more of your work, especially if this poem is any indication.
I've always like Roethke and his work, and the greenhouse in his childhood. Your poem is really done very well. Good job!
Good story, well-written. I could do without the last paragraph, but that's just one little opinion in the vast sea of WDC opinions. This story reminds me of "Poltergeist", the movie. I realize that was a TV
set and this is a mirror, but the idea of being pulled into something and disappearing...very narcissistic or solipcistic. Was this written for a contest: I see the word count. I like it!
Interesting story, well told. I was very surprised at
your ending. The crux of the matter seems to me contentment vs. selflessness. Or, on second read, perhaps not. I guess the moral, if indeed there is one, is that if you have a home and family, stay there and count your blessings. Do not give this up to become an itinerant seeker. Or, more simply. do not abandon your family (which, as we all know, many people do).
This story is quite cleverly done. It leaves me with a somewhat unsettled feeling, and I am not sure why. It may just be that it did not end the way I wanted it to end. But I don't think so. A lot of stories don't end the way I want them to, and I still like them. I think it's because the monk told the protagonist that he no longer had to look at the face of a fool. I think that I want monks to be more profound, and also to take him in. I suppose they wouldn't, because contentment is not really a religious quest. It is too selfish. There I figured it out out loud, or out loud in print. The protagonist is an extremely selfish man.
I have known people who gave up all their worldly possessions and entered monestaries, but they were not seeking contentment. If they were seeking anything, it was a closer relationship to God. They also did not desert a wife and children (which I am assuming this fellow had -- you say his "family").
Interesting story. I love things that make me think!
You have a good poem here. It's also adorable, and brings back many memories, not only of when I was young but also when my chidlren were young. There have been many "shiny new dimes" in my little life.
My only constructive (I hope) comment has to do with your first stanza. The repetition of "all day" bothers me. Maybe you could use "our time" or some other two syllable phrase instead. I was ready to not go on reading the poem, but then you drew me into it really well. I think the capitalization of "Fathers" is
debatable, since some people believe there is only one Father whose name should be capitalized. I'll leave that decision to you. I just thought I'd mention it.
All in all, a good job. You may want to polish and tighten it up a little bit here and there, but it's
just about there!
This is a beautifully sweet poem, a tribute to The Piano Man, indeed. I love it when moments like this happen with music, because you are usually transported beyond bliss, beyond anything that can be put into words -- it's in the music.
You have written a good poem to his pianist; I hope he will be able to read it.
This is an excellent piece on your life In Ghana. The details that you include make me feel like I am there with you, and loving every minute of it. (I lived in North Africa for a couple of years and understand some of the customs you are talking about). From the woman baking bread to the quiet sitting in the moonlight with a friend, you make the entire experience of that day sound magical, wonderful, and warm. I really hope that you continue to work on this. You are doing a great job!
I love it! I found myself nodding my head in agreement as if I knew what was coming next, and of course there was no way I could. Your last three lines are not only succinct, truthful, but they contain the basis for a discussion which I frequently get into.
I want to very much encourage you to continue with this; it is amost experimental, but not quite; almost stream of consciousness, but not quite. I have a picture in my mind of this person who is thinking these thoughts, and even perhaps some of his circumstances, and I can't wait to see where you take this is Part 02.
I've read this through twice, and I feel left hanging,
swinging in the air, waiting to see just what this is all about. For some reason, I just cannot find these people the least bit believable, nor are they peculiar enough that I feel I am being asked to suspend disbelief.
Why? I asked myself. They seem shallow. I can believe in telepathy and psychokinesis, I've no problem there, but the way in which this "gift" or "DNA gene" gets to Layla is very odd. Odd, I could handle, but I think what I am having a problem with might be solved by showing the reader the "letter."
Also, I am having trouble weaving the sexual proclivities of these men into the picture, especially since Layla seems so definitely career-focussed. And where does her future vision of the child take us? Is this meant to be her child by Jared?
I see that this is an abbreviated version. I think I will read the unabbreviated version and perhaps will feel more comfortable with it. Unless I am missing something very obvious, I would hate to see you submit this for a short fiction contest as yet. The makings of a very good story are there, for sure; I would like the characters fleshed out a bit more.
This is in the category of one of the best poems I have seen on this site, and I have seen a lot of poems.
This was entered in a contest recently and was disqualified because of its length, but all the judges agreed it is a very good poem.
I must say this poem still moves me almost to tears each time I read it. The presentation is flawless.
The history of Cambodia and the surrounding nations is given in simple but elegant language; each nation is referred to as she or he, and then the tale of the countries is told in a few carefully selected words.
The ending of the poem is a plea for peace, stated in
terms of love and marriage. I do not want to quote any of the lines because I want all who see this review
to read the poem.
You have a wonderful talent! I cannot wait to see more
of your work.
This story brought a smile to my face, all right. It is adorable. Just the right amount of weird. And not really all that weird.
Your dialogue is believable, under the circumstances,
and your presentation is fine: I find no spelling errors or other grammatical or structural flaws.
The story is food (no pun meant) for thought. Imagine how we make our stomachs feel!
My feeling when I finished reading this poem was one of complete identification and pain for the man who was fired; he is completely beaten into a
crumbled mess" by the system.
You state in your by-line "This is about a demolition man becoming what he destroys." I think it is a little difficult to see this metaphor as yet, but if you want that to come through to the reader, you have a little ways to go. At least, I don't think I would
have made the connection without your telling me in your byline. One way to do it, I suggest, is to repeat the line "A crumbled mess" in the first stanza, perhaps before the last line", and that would tie the
two images and stanzas of the poem together.
You are doing fine. Just a little ways to go and you will have a strong poem.
This is a very good poem. This is a good poem to ask "What makes this a poem and not prose divided into short lines?" The last nine lines are really very good.
As a reader, I feel as though I am seeing the tiny village of handcrafted goods.
(Nit-pick: splish-splashing I believe should be hyphenated; I can't find it in my dictionaries.) As a suggestion, since I have
said I like the second half of the poem better, I'd remove "the" before "ancient waters"; stubby is not an
offensive word, but just the sound of it and its connotation are a little unpleasant; perhaps "candle"
would be a better modifier for "flames".
You've got a good poem here. Just a little polishing here and there, I think, is needed; you're almost there!
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