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Review of Ocean Moon  
Review by linggy
In affiliation with Cross Timbers Groups  
Rated: E | (4.0)
Nice! I lived at the ocean in Florida for several years and this poem captures a feeling of that boundless freedom. '"Mother leatherback" was foreign to me, however. Nature's dance, the surf, the birds, etc. were cool.

Review of War  
Review by linggy
In affiliation with Cross Timbers Groups  
Rated: ASR | (5.0)
Nice poem! I agree with you 100%! The answer can be found in the policies of other, more peaceful nations. Let's face it, our country is the most dangerous, most aggressive nation on the planet. Thus, the answer lies in finding ways to change the course of 200 years of the gun and weapons being the "answer" to all of our problems.

Review by linggy
In affiliation with Novel Review Group  
Rated: ASR | (3.0)
Plot: A terrorist act in the heart of Paris is told by an omniscient narrator.

Style. the story could be so much more exciting if you told it by Andre or perhaps the driver or the priest. You need somebody's point of view. You're overusing the passive voice which makes the story impersonal and a bit boring, despite the fact that the topic is interesting.

Just my opinion: I couldn't get into this story because you gave me no one to follow. The omniscient style is dead! Nobody writes that way anymore. Since you've been around this board for a while why not join a novel group and get some serious reviews?
I like the Novel Review Group.

My comments and suggestions are in RED. Blue is to highlight something from you.

(Note: I’m making suggestions and telling you my honest opinion---but I’m no expert. Take what you like and trash the rest. Linggy)

Templar’s Revenge Préface

Place du Vert-Galant

Seine Isle, Paris France

March 21, 1314

Jacques de Molay, the last Grand Master of the Knights Templar, was burned at the stake on orders of King Phillip the IV of France, thus ending the nearly 200 year reign of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon.

Chapter 1

Seine Isle, Paris France

March 1, 2014

With the sun down, the white Opel Vivaro panel van would have gone completely unnoticed if not for the contents of the trailer towed behind it. The two wheel trailer had a load of wood stacked into a pyramid with what looked like two dummies tied to a stake in its middle. The truck moved methodically trucks need drivers who may do something methodically with its load meandering through the bends of the Quai du Marche Neufup and turned right into the Place du Pavis, the center of ancient Paris. This was the square directly in front of Notre Dame Cathedral’s west façade, of which construction began in 1200 by Bishop Eudes de Sully and was eventually finished shortly after 1240. Although one of Paris’ busiest attractions, the few tourists and Parisians walking about barely gave the van a second look as it moved towards the French gothic church .

Right before the Portal of Saint Anne , the oldest of the three west entrances, it cut left while going 15 kilometers per hour across the cobblestone plaza. Dwarfed by the imposing structure, built as the Parisian church of the kings of Europe, the van passed the third portal, that of the Virgin Mary, as the driver pulled a lever on Point Zero, the precise center of Paris, and the trailer uncoupled with the drop leg at the front making a soft thump as the van continued on. The trailer sat there in front of the mighty limestone house of God. The Virgin and Child looked down upon the trailer as they stand stood in front of the large rose created in 1225 at the center of the façade. D

The van crossed Rue du Cloitre and moved onto Rue d’Arcole stopping 20 meters down on the rightaway directly across from the Assistance Publique Hospital of Paris. This was a quiet place in the early evening. Notre Dame had just closed for the day ; period the night was overcast and dark,with a slight chill was in the air as an elderly couple in wool jackets and gloves held hands on their evening walk. The van’s driver, dressed in a drab grey workman’s jumpsuit, got out of the door.truck With him was a BowTech compound bow, unnecessary passive voice. as he surveyed the area he carefully loaded an arrow and lit it with a lighter retrieved from his left breast pocket. Mr. Jumpsuit strange use aimed at the trailer, released and watched the flaming arrow as it streaked towards the pile of wood.

On impact the trailer burst into flames catching the unsuspecting passerby’s surprised. Why tell us what you will now show us? A mid-forties man pointed A man in his mid -forties to it telling his wife and 12 year old son it must be some type of demonstration or show. whose pov is this? An omniscient narrator? The 30 or so others in front of the cathedral that night were drawn to the fire like flies, all slowly gathering nearer when suddenly a women with a camera in hand let out a piercing scream. The dummies were moving.

Two men ran to the fire. Andre, over six foot tall and in his twenties, “Ils sont en vie!” they’re alive in French. He frantically looked for something to help get them out of the fire, but nothing was close by. He took off his coat and starting beating the flames while yelled, “Au secours, au secours, au secours!” The man with him and others quickly joined in helping and yelling for help, but the fire wasn’t going out. ...but they couldn't put the fire out. active instead of passive As Andre tried to pound out the flames with his coat, he Andre looked up at the man in the fire, his face red with fear, grey duct tape over his mouth and dressed in a black cassock with a white collar which was now in flames. He was struggling to be released from his binds passive. A second man facing Notre Dame was burning too; Andre could see he was tied to a large stake less than four feet from him. Owen, a young business man passing through the square before the cathedral, heard the cries and quickly ran towards the commotion. He reached into his backpack to retrieve his pocketknife to cut the binding of the men. After a minute he remembered he removed it before his flight. Now you're in Owen's pov.

A crowd of 40 or more had rushed to their aid, a woman was pounding on the doors of Notre Dame and others were looking for water, a hose or something to put the inferno out. The kings of France, from heaven? including Philip IV, looked down on this spectacle as the calm night air was now filled with smoke and the unmistakable smell of gas. The fire was getting hotter and hotter as the incineration was burning off and the hardwood was now the main source of the incredible heat that was being released.
It seemed like hours, to whom? yet only four or five minutes had passed when the crowd finally heard the faint sound of sirens heading their way. Less than a minute later three firemen jumped off the fire truck that stopped only feet from the incident. With no panic in their faces, extinguishers in hand, and in dark grey fire suites trimmed at the sleeve and waist with reflective fabric, the firefighters went to work. The fire was out passive less than ninety seconds later as the firemen cut the priest and second man from the post while two stretchers rolled their way passive. The crowd had gladly parted for the professional relief. pov here? Several dropped to their knees to pray knowing that like the flames, the men’s lives were likely extinguished. whose pov here?
Review by linggy
In affiliation with Novel Review Group  
Rated: E | (4.0)

Nice read! I like the down home style and the description of the excitement, especially your devotion to duty and the rush of it. Or is it the other way around? I changed a bunch of little things. check them out and see what you can use.

You sound like a crazy gal.

My story is called I'm A fool for you. It's a wild, exciting, romantic ride about a school teacher who falls in love with a rebel clown. The story is locked but if you want to check it out I could send you the first two chapters.

Thanks for the help. I think I'll use the eliptical pupils, it sounds like a cool detail that suggests that my character was really there.


Gator in the Road or Losing my Head

In 1086,? 1986 the small City of Goose Creek was on the rise. The land clearing for progress drove the native wildlife into an unfamiliar civilized world. The reports and complainants kept me busy. It was my exciting position of Animal Control Officer. At that time, I boasted that I was the only female who would respond to reptile complaints in other jurisdictions. I also answered livestock calls from other departments. I knew how to deal with most farm animals and I possessed a sturdy horse trailer. I weighed less than one hundred pounds and was fearless.

I tackled many animals. I dealt with Copperheads on front porches, churches comma and even the Police Station. The Chief and officers all jumped on the table in the squad room. I scooped the small snake up with a pillowcase and let him go later. Most cops, from my experience, are terrified of snakes and alligators. Therefore, I was mostly alone and could do whatever I wanted. I loved working with ‘gators and they often showed up in strange places.

With plenty of my own complaints of my own, I stayed so busy. I thought of myself as an animal related problem solver. I impounded animals, but not a lot, no comma of dogs and cats. I wore a badge, patches on my shoulders and could recite the ten codes in my sleep. The Chief wanted me to carry a gun. I indignantly informed my commanding officer, “Are you kidding? What would I shoot, my foot?”
I qualified on the firing range, but I didn’t like firearms. I used my talents, experience and body language instead. Animals don’t shoot back, either. I could handle whatever came my way.

“But what would you do if an animal attacked you?” The Chief asked, concerned with my safety. He was gruff with the other officers, but he was a funny and sweet man. When he was hollering about the snakes in my knapsack, I informed him that I used pillowcases. (they were in pillowcases). He eventually gave in to what I wanted. Every herper knows reptiles do not stay in parked cars, even including alligators. That freaked out the dispatcher. I kept the smaller, five or six feet long ’gators in the front bathroom. Everyone used the bathroom in the back.

One hazy and humid day in July, Buster, my Boykin Spaniel, was snoring loudly. As while I parked on a back road for the view of the Santee River; watching a ten-foot long ‘gator schooling fish. He leaped all the way, (so it seemed) out of the water, He leaped all the way out of the water or so it seemed, snatched a fish, and dove back, hardly making a ripple. The two kids fishing jumped on their bikes and skedaddled. I asked Buster, “Did you see that?” He still snoozed in spite of my moment of excitement.

My ears, tuned to the police radio, heard my page. According to my dispatcher, a large alligator was holding up both lanes of traffic on busy Bushy Park Road. I was lucky I was ‘gator watching at that time. The dusty and potholed road let led me right at to the scene. The dispatcher called and told me the Naval Weapons Station’s Officer was en route. How could he get though the bumper-to-bumper traffic?

Excited, I had to take care of this situation myself. Pumped up, I was ready to do my job. The first matter was moving this huge creature which was large enough to block both lanes of the highway. Alligators were here have been here 150 million years and have not changed. I will always be enamored of these large animals. Alligators are living dinosaurs. Reptiles have a magnetic homing instinct, and it was obvious this ‘gator was traveling to his home, the Santee River. Now I understood. He had been relocated, and his innate instinct was working well.

I picked up some large granite rocks and started pelting "Junior" my "official name for him. I named the big guy. His hide too thick for him to take notice, I went back to the truck, to fetch my choke stick and gave Buster the guard signal. He lay down on the floor. My trusty choke stick in hand, I heard a woman telling her kids, “It’s alright, and she knows what she’s doing.” I smiled. Junior gave me a deep growling his from deep inside. I felt it go through my body. Spooky.

Poking and teasing Junior made him charge me enough to open one lane. I made sure not to walk too close to his lethal tail to reach the other lane. I had to move the traffic in the humid July heat ,no fun job, I can assure you. That was not fun in the oppressive heat. After a while, I had one lane open and could redirect the traffic on the other lane. By that,no comma time the Police from the Naval Weapons Station, arrived.

The officer opened his window, awaiting instructions. He was obviously not ready for this type of problem, “ Well, all I can come up with,” I told the officer, a retired Marine, “ I can climb on the hood and use my stick to back him the rest of the way, out of the highway. It’s getting congested again.” I jumped up on the hood of the very large car. I was not sure I could reach old Junior. Therefore, I had to slide up more and my head was just above the bumper.

Slowly, we teased Junior to back up with the big heavy car herding him slowly. I noticed he was larger than the car! “Oh my,” I told myself, “This is a real adventure.” I loved the excitement. We persuaded Junior to leave the other lane of the highway. I noticed where the ‘gator made a wide path, dodging swings and other toys at the Officers’ Quarters. It was lucky that the children must have been be inside nice and cool with air conditioners purring.

Junior decided to make his stand and backed against a power pole. My choke stick was a bent and mangled mess. It was useless.” That’s it, let’s back up slowly,” I told the nervous officer. What happened next, I will never forget in my life! As the tires barely started rolling, Junior moved so fast, I never saw him as he latched on to the metal bumper. He proceeded to shake the bumper so violently; I held on to the latch of the hood and slid all over the hood. I was inches from his huge, powerful jowls and could smell algae and fish. It was a rush!

Junior decided to shake the car one more time and refused to move. He was out off of the highway. I slid down from the hood, grinning, I was so full of adrenalin and awe. The poor officer was happy to see me with my head attached. At the time, all he could see was my tennis shoes. He opened his window, shaking so badly, he could not light his cigarette. I was all pumped up, ready to do it again. I picked up the choke stick as a souvenir. I had a shorter stick I liked better.

I returned later and Junior left a path of flattened underbrush and saplings. He was home! I was happy that he made the trip in such good shape. His mouth was probably sore. I felt sore all over, but I was still all pumped up with adrenaline.

The Chief griped about the unbelievable amount of damage to the bumper. He told me it would be very expensive to fix. The car probably needed a new bumper, “Screw the damn bumper,” I laughed, “I could have needed another head!” I waited for him to tell me that I needed a new head.
Review of Alligators  
Review by linggy
In affiliation with Novel Review Group  
Rated: E | (4.0)
Interesting article about these unique creatures which was obviously well researched. I have made some suggestions for improving the flow of it. My comments and suggestions are in RED. Blue is to highlight something from you.
Note: I’m no expert. Take what you like and trash the rest.

I have an alligator scene in the novel I'm working on and would love your help.
a few questions: How well can they smell something? Are they sensitive to movement in the water? Would a 9 mm pistol shot to the head stop an alligator? Do you think the explosion of a 9mm pistol shot would scare off an alligator?
In North Miami we have a park with a small lake and there are several alligators living there. Maule Lake is bird sanctuary, so I imagine they eat a lot of these big water birds. Therefore, I assume a man swimming in this lake at sunset (strictly prohibited) wouldn't necessarily be attacked by a hungry alligator.

Alligators have remained unchanged for one hundred and fifty million years period new sentence. their tegument or thick hide makes and alligator s difficult to kill. These huge reptiles mainly eat fish and small mammals, such as raccoons. Since Alligators will also eat almost anything, they will eat the young and bird hatchlings and are a natural as a way to controlling populations.

All reptiles, especially alligators, have instinctive magnetic homing. Therefore, the large ones will travel hundreds of miles making the trip back to where they were born. The younger alligators do well with relocation if they are six feet long or smaller.

When the South Carolina Department of Wildlife and Marine Resources started a policy several years ago, only alligators a certain size were relocated. The older reptiles were killed by cross bows and other weapons, skinned and butchered. The meat and hides went to the State of SC Department of Interior and auctioned off at the end of the year.

If that wasn't sad enough, now it is open season on our alligator population. With the proper permit issued to hunters, which nobody checks, is issued to the hunters. Now, we now have a bunch of red neck hunters out in the swamps shooting alligators. Though it is difficult and many of the red necks are injured, the hunt goes on and hundreds of large alligators die a horrible death. Being shot with a cross bow several times would be horribly painful to any animal,period even an Having an integument type hide does not make an alligator's death less brutal.

What will happen to the alligator population in the future? Nobody knows for sure, but it could be catastrophic. Soon all of the large breeders will be killed. The smaller alligators would become shy and reclusive, what few may be left. Who knows? One day, the alligators willmight be the size of an iguana.

These trigger happy hunters should have a size limit. They should not kill an alligator more than seven feet long. These smaller reptiles have a lovely colored skin with yellow and orange stripes and spots on a dark background. The meat is far more tender than a large alligator who that could possibly be close to one hundred years old.

According to herpetologists at the Alligator Adventure in North Myrtle Beach, these giant animals will continue to grow and live past one hundred years. The rate of growth of a young alligator can be rapid, such as one to two inches a year or more. The growth rate slows after they are around ten feet long. There are cases of alligators growing as long as sixteen feet. Those are the ones we can measure. What'sWho's to say if longer and older alligators are out there?

In 1976, "Charlie," an alligator enclosed by a fence, was said to be fifty years old. It is still living today 2012. Do the math. Don't these creatures deserve to live in respect? We are encroaching on their homes. We should try harder to live together. True, the more aggressive alligators should be dealth dealt with properly by the authorities. But an unassuming alligator lounging around in a pond should be left alone. It is a shame that just one complaint can end that alligator's life for doing nothing wrong.

The pets eated and people being attacked is rare.
Attacks on humans are rare. Pet's such as dogs can be attacked as they are however The pet is like a normal diet in the wild. Most of the people killed by alligators have ignored signs announcing warning of their presence, feeding them and bothering them which can evoke an attack. Usually, the alligator bumps and gives their prey a "taste." If the taste is that of a human, the alligator will usually lets go. It is only mistaken identity.

Still a lot of alligators are around, minus including the populations of a few hundred large breeders. Time will tell the future of these modern day dinosaurs.

Review of The Novelist  
Review by linggy
In affiliation with Novel Review Group  
Rated: E | (4.0)
Nice job!

It sounds so sterile, so contrived!
I'd add that you've got to put a hook at the end of every chapter or the dear reader may not continue.
There's just so much competition to the novel these day.
TV, movies and those wonderful interactive games where you can shoot a thousand people in succession.
Should one of them hit you, no problem, just start the game over, watch out for him next time and kill him first.
Make sure you stick with your POV character. He's your hero. Don't drift to what somebody else is thinking, Lord no!
only your Batman, Superman, Bruce Willis, Tom Cruise character can overcome the odds, sleep with the beautiful women, and keep you reading.

Review of Trayvon Martin  
Review by linggy
Rated: 13+ | (4.0)
I like the comment and the poem.The bottom line is though, it may be about racism, it may be about fear, but one thing is for sure. The gun killed him. Had his killer not been armed, their altercation would have never made the news. Guns are for cowards and in America the land of the "free to kill thee" there are millions of pussy cat men running around with a pistol under their belt.

Review of The Comeback  
Review by linggy
In affiliation with Mainstream Novel Workshop Group  
Rated: 13+ | (3.0)
The Comeback

by Arahn Huddleston

Just my personal opinion: The story has potential. The concept is good. I felt the piece had way too much repetition: in the names the hooded man, the suited man and often in your use of extra words and sentences to say the same thing. To hurry with haste is one example. If you hurry then you do it quickly. The verb says it all. Beware of your possessives . You need apostrophes. I suggest you delete every word in your story that is extraneous. I'd like to read this again after you improve it.

My comments and suggestions are in RED. Blue is to highlight something from you.

(Note: I’m making suggestions and telling you my honest opinion---but I’m no expert.
Take what you like and trash the rest. Linggy)

The night seemed to bring with it a grim silence; there were but a few sounds that could be heard. Even though it was no later than nine thirty, there were no cars out on the roads. The only humans people that walked around were in police uniforms. They wore navy blue suits with a red line (space)

going vertically down their sides. It glowed red, as if to distinguish themselves during the dark hours.

The city was small; a tall, metal barred fence enclosed it with a wide solid metal door being the entrance. Along the outskirts of the city, there was a large grassy hill that stood above everything. A shadowy hooded figure emerged. He stood in the darkness, and stared (space)

across the sound (unclear). A breeze blew his hood slightly off. He readjusted it, and overlooked the city, listening to the silence (if there is no sound, how can you listen to it?). He was quiet; not even his breath was audible. He peered down at the city, as though studying every crevice, building, and every brick. Suddenly, he turned around, and with haste he hurried down the steep drop of the hill, disappearing into the night.

"Where is he? I thought he'd be back by now." Asked a young lady. She had on jeans and a dark red hoody. Everyone in the room was dressed in somewhat dark colors. The walls and floors were made of wood; wood that had been aged and rotted with rain and years of neglected maintenance. There were older men, younger men, older women and younger women.(There were older and younger men and women.) There was a range of different age groups among the people in this room. In a far corner, two men and a woman sat on the wooden floor playing cards.

“We’re a few cards short,” Said an agitated man as he looked down disapprovingly at the hand that he was dealt. “You can’t play without a full deck of cards; we’re a few cards short.”

“Stop making excuses, Gibson. It’s not the cards, it’s the player and how the player plays the game.”(It's how you play the game.) Said a younger, more sly (slyer or slier both possible)looking man. He laid down his set of winning cards on the floor.

“Damn-it!” Gibson shouted. “You can’t play this game with missing cards.” He furiously (threw explains how)threw his cards onto the floor, stood up and walked away. Gibson walked over to a nearby window and peered out into the twilight. He had brown shadows around his eyes, and had a weary expression on his face. “Where is he, anyway? I thought he would’ve been back by now.”

“He’ll get back when he gets back,” the young, sly man said. “Just sit back and wait, like the rest of us.”

Gibson sucked his teeth.

The young woman walked up to Gibson.

“You look tired.” She said.

“I am tired. We’re all tired.” He looked around at everyone. They were all weary and exhausted, as though they had been growing impatient after waiting a long time for something to happened that never did. An old black Labrador twitched it’s leg as it slept on a dirty blanket next to it’s owner.

“Poor Charlie,” A small, skinny boy said to his dog. “Look mommy, I think Charlie’s having a nightmare.” His mother was silent; she was reading a book with her legs criss-crossed. She slightly nodded her head at her sons(son's) remark, without turning a single her eyes away from the page. The boy stared at his mom for a few seconds before shifting his attention over (back) to Charlie.

“Mommy, I’m hungry.” He complained. She remained silent, and he continued. “When can I eat, mom?” He began to whine now; his mom tilted the book.

“You’ll have to wait, dear.”

“But I’m hungry, mommy.” He started to cry.

On the opposite, less populated side of the room lay a teenaged girl with a bloody towel wrapped around her leg. Gibson walked over to her and stood over her still body. He shook his head. He muttered something under his breath, and took off a worn cap on his head and wiped a tear from his eye.

“Alright,” the young man playing cards said. “I’m done; I’m out.” He threw the cards on the ground and stood up.

“That’s it, Carl?” Asked the young woman he’d been playing cards with.

“You’re too easy; I always win. I always beat you.” He walked across the room, stepping over people who slept peacefully in the midst of all of the talking. Carl opened a door which led to the kitchen. There were five large shelves of various canned meats and vegetables.

At the end of the room sat an old woman. She was sobbing. Carl walked over to the shelves, observing silently.

“How long before we run out?” He asked.

“A few days; maybe five. Six at the most,” She answered.

“What then?”

She cried harder.

The hooded man slightly trotted down the hill top, stepping over rocks and leaping over large roots sticking out of the ground. He knew where every boulder, tree stump and root was, and could avoid it (them) even in the middle of the night. He slowed down his pace upon approaching the leveled terrain on the bottom. A wolf howled somewhere from afar; it sounded dry and empty.

He reached a clearing; there was just open land, with woods enclosing it, like a fence. At the end of the clearing was a wooden building. From faraway, it looked as though it was vacated and destroyed. He casually approached it.

He soon stood in front of a large wooden door with a small peek-hole that had been wide enough for someone to look through it with both eyes. The hooded man (He) knocked two times,(twice) paused for three seconds, and knocked once more. Someone slid a metal slip off of the peek-hole from inside.

“What’s the code?” the person (man) behind the door asked.

The hooded man said nothing. He stood in the darkness, as silent as a corpse. The metal slip covered the peek hole again, and after a moment, there were a series of loud kinks. The large door opened, and whoever lied beneath the hood walked into the shed.
he entered.
Everyone became silent and still; the little boys(boy's) mother tossed her book aside and sat up a bit more. All of the attention was now directed towards the hooded man. Carl walked out of the kitchen and leaned against the doorway, staring. The older woman in the kitchen stopped crying and used to a metallic walker to make her way to the doorway. She stood behind Carl and stared at the hooded man as well.

The little boy sat quietly next to his mother and wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. He lifted his shirt to his face, covered his nose with it, and blew. His mother scolded him for a brief moment.

The hooded man walked through the crowd; everyone shifted to make way for him, following his every movement with their eyes. Gibson nodded at the hooded man as he walked past him. In a dark and shabby corner of the room was a wooden crate. The hooded man grabbed it, and dragged it to the center of the room. He stepped on top of the crate, and after looking around at all of the faces in the room, he held up two fingers.

“Two years ago, a corrupt politician took power (over) of our city. Four years before that, the US constitution failed after a plague swept across the world, including our beloved nation. About seventy percent of our population was wiped from the face of the earth. Who can count? That’s about two hundred and ten million casualties. No one knows exactly where the plague came from; maybe it was transmitted overseas while having goods imported. Who knows. This disease is said to have destroyed eighty percent of all humans on earth. Planet earth; a planet that inhabits nearly seven billion human beings. A planet that is the only planet that we’ve discovered that can be safe enough to support life. (needs rewriting. too many "planets and repetition) That’s eighty percent, which adds up to about- four million human lives gone. All of this occurred in the span of time of a few years; forgive me for not being able to have approximate numbers.

“America lost hope in most of the constitution. People gathered together, forming townships, appointing leaders to handle how their small little worlds operated. And for a while, everything seemed ordinary. Now fast forward a few years into the future; allow me to take you back to two years ago. A man we all hate was somehow brought to power. With executive decisions and a small police force backing him up, he banned the town of any affiliation with other outside towns. This includes the banishment of any trading outside of the U.S. I hope I’m not losing any of you just yet; we’ve done quite a bit of time traveling.”

He looked around; every head was pointed in his direction. Even Charlie sat fully attentive, wagging his tail.

“I’m taking us back in time a little, tracing the genesis of all of this, so bare with me, if you may.”
(This is repetition. He HAS their attention, go on with the story)

“We’re with you!” Someone shouted from the depths of the crowd.

“Yeah,” Gibson said. “Go on.”

The man smirked from beneath his hood.

“This politician began setting curfews, and rewriting laws as well as adding new laws. Laws that limited our freedom and broadened his. Old historical books were banned; people who were suspected of having any outside affiliation were prosecuted(comma) some were even killed. All of this because that politician he believed that in order to maintain peace and order, freedom would have to be limited. Freedom.” He let the word linger in the air; it seeped into everyone’s’ minds. (who's POV is this? How can he know this?)

“Freedom seemed like an illusion. The very word is bewitched and warped. AQ group of people in that town believed in the true meaning of freedom. We had dreams of spreading the true meaning of freedom with not only everyone in the city, but people outside of the city. Things didn’t go so well. They kicked us out. Women, kids, dogs, and the elderly. Now you ask yourselves why we weren’t killed, don’t you? (rewrite this) Anyone know why?”

“Too many people,” Carl said. “If they killed a group as large as us, then others would’ve wondered why they did such a thing. It would’ve raised more skepticism, suspicion, and mistrust; not to mention fear. Then the idea would’ve sprouted like a buried acorn. They couldn’t risk it.” He sat down.

“I couldn’t have put it any better myself,” the hooded man said.(why not give him a name?) “They couldn’t risk killing us and spreading the idea that they weren’t free; that at one time the people held the power. At one time,” he repeated. “Now we’ve reached the Genesis of everything.” He waved his hands around the room. “Right here. This is where everything begins. They’ve made a real mess of things; we’ll clean it up. We’re the new generation. Everything starts over tonight, and I promise you all that by sunrise tomorrow, freedom will echo through the streets. Their end is our beginning.

( Where? Who?) A few hours later, sitting in a dark corner of an empty room was a weeping man in a business suit.

He cringed as he heard gunshot after gunshot echo into the room from outside of the building he was in. He sat up and crawled over to a wide window that overlooked the city. There were people running everywhere; uniformed officers lay dead on the ground. There were other uniformed officers who seemed to be facing off in a shootout with a group of rebels who took cover behind a car. Most of the street lights were shot out, so there was only a dim light that illuminated(ing) the city. A nervous man barged into the room, tripping over nothing in particular and falling on the ground.

“They’re taking the city,” the man said, weeping. “They’re too powerful. They’re taking the whole damn city.” He stood up and ran out of the room. The man in the suit stared out of the window again, looking down into the street. There was no live humans nobody alive down there. There were only corpses that were scattered across the city; the majority of those corpses were in navy uniforms.

A dog viciously growled behind him. He leaped to his feet and turned around. Walking from out of a shadow of the room was Gibson, holding Charlie on a leash, and the hooded man. Charlie snarled at the man in the suit, showing his teeth. Gibson stood slightly behind the hooded man.

“You can have a seat,” the hooded man said.

The suited man (give him a name and tell us who he is) nervously sat down in his office chair.

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” he said. His voice shook when he spoke.

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“You don’t have to kill me,” the suited man said.

“I’m not going to kill you.(comma)Said the hooded man said.

The suited man became more calm, as though a bullet had been sucked from his chest.

“Do you remember how America used to be?”

The suited man sat still, and quiet.

“Gibson,” the hooded man said. “Do you remember how American used to be?”

Gibson slightly nodded, glaring at the suited man. “I miss the old America. I miss the old way we did things.”

“The disease changed those ways,” the suited man argued.

“That’s no excuse for all of the people you’ve killed for not submitting to your every will.”

“I didn’t kill any of you; I let you all go, didn’t I?”

“At your own benefit. You knew that killing all of us would have ultimately been bad for you. But you’ve killed our loved ones.”

Gibson frowned. “You’ve had Gibsons(Gibson's) wife killed, although I don’t think you remember.”

The hooded man walked over to the window and pointed outside. “Do you see this?” He asked the suited man. The suited man looked outside of the window; there were dozens of rebels standing in the streets; all of them were staring up at the window, holding an array of different guns and other weapons. “All of them; rebels. Give me one reasons why I shouldn’t let them have you.”

The suited man turned around; the hooded man sat back in the office chair with his feet on the desk.

“I never really wanted it to be like this.” He said, and held his back to the window. The hooded man nodded at Gibson, who then stepped forward, pulled out a pistol, and emptied the clip into the suited mans (his) chest. He flew out of the window and descended unto the rebels below; they took cover.

There was a moments of silence. Gibson breathed heavily, while the hooded man sat nonchalantly in the office chair. He rolled it around, and stared out of the window that the suited man fell through.

“Go and tell everyone to alert the citizens that they’re completely safe,” he said. “Then assemble a team to go to the safe house; bring anyone back who we left behind. We’ll have to collect all of the bodies too, but that can wait a little while.”

Gibson nodded, and made to leave with Charlie.

“Leave him here.”

Gibson released Charlie, who ran over to the hooded man. Gibson left the room. The hooded man patted the top of the dogs head as he sat back in the office chair, overlooking the city, whistling.
Review of The Outcry  
Review by linggy
Rated: E | (3.5)
On one reading, I honestly don't know where you stand on the the rebel yell. Is it your opinion that it's all in vain. The poor, the young, the homeless, the sick, the jobless, the depressed, the exploited, the powerless, the unlucky, all humbled together to fight against a system where those in the "suits" suck the rest of us dry. Do I hear the cry? Do I hear the rebel yell growing in their bellies and bellowing out into the streets , the parks, the ghettos, the piss holes: this is our world, this is our time, move over!
Review of The Jester  
Review by linggy
In affiliation with Novel Review Group  
Rated: E | (4.5)
I like the poem, without a doubt. i have only one critique: the very last line. With everything you said before, this line makes no sense to me at all. In fact, it makes me disappointed that the jester feels that he is cursed. What exactly does that mean? Is he cursed because he entertains sick children? Why must he pay dues? to whom? For what? If he is a free person, I assume he could move on, change his act, and entertain others. I would think that he should be proud to entertain and bring some joy to these children, no matter how fleeting it will be. I confess I don't write poetry so there may be something deeper here that I'm missing, if so I#d love to hear what it is.
Review by linggy
In affiliation with Novel Review Group  
Rated: E | N/A (Review only item.)
Chap 2
By Wrath of Khan

reviewed by linggy
plot: chapter 2 is essentially the same scene told from Michael's pov and a meeting in South Africa. Apparently, he is on assignment to follow Krim. There is talk of "Father" and this is starting to take on a mysterious religious tone. The Father touches people, is this the devil and the pact that Gwen made with him. If so, why is Michael opposed to Krim? The Father's goal is to "damn the world?" Anyway after following Krim he books a flight to South Africa and meets with another mysterious person. I hope the next chapter will start explaining the conflict. I'm a bit lost what's going on.

characters: Michael is described best but I don't know what exactly he's doing. The other character is totally mysterious, is he dead?
He says he wants to be free. free from what.

grammar: fine
style/voice:3rd person POV Michael
setting:The same bookstore as the last chapter and then in S. A. meeting with the mysterious man.
overall: I realize you want to create mystery, but I'm getting lost here. You're obviously involving your readers with some "otherworldly states" or some religious syyle conflict, But perhaps you should give us a better idea where this is going. Or,it could be my fault and I'm just not patient enough for the conflict to start.

My comments and suggestions are in RED. Blue is to highlight something from you.

Note: I’m making suggestions and telling you my honest opinion, but I’m no expert.
Take what you like and trash the rest.

On the surface, Michael was the ideal man. Successful, groomed, and elegant to a fault. The white stripes of his black suit jacket complemented the thin, alternating white and silver slants of his yellow tie. He had a sternly knitted brow that exposed him as a man of at least forty. He moved silently through the store, watching Krim. Following him. He watched Krim nonchalantly pick up a dark, hardcover book off a display case on the side of the stocked, wooden shelf. He stood about twenty yards back beside a poster of Gwen and her book when Krim got in line to have a copy signed.

He did not (didn't) know who Gwen was. He had never heard of her. But, he sensed she had been touched by Father. And that made her almost a part of him. A piece in an ancient struggle to free Father and damn the world. More importantly, Krim now stood in line for her. Krim -(comma) who had refused father (Comma) - waited his turn. Why? he(He) had to get closer.

Michael stepped off the polished floor, onto the carpet that covered the aisles of (book)shelves and (walked) down to the its end of the aisle where he turned left. He continued down, along the wall until he was directly across from the table where Mail sat. He stepped back into the aisle and closed in on Gwen.

Almost in the clearing now, the polished floor and the table only feet away from him, he grabbed a nearby Robert Patterson novel and flipped through the pages. His eyes fixed on Gwen, watching as she smiled brightly at a fan, shook hands, made conversation as she signed, handed the book back, and shook hands one last time. She repeated the process for them all. That she seemed earnest and disarming didn't concern him. It was what she did after she sent the line coordinator - a petite woman in a dark suite with a white badge hanging in front of her - off with a middle aged man that caught him.

Krim stepped up to the table next(comma) and words, inaudible (words), were exchanged. She pressed her right hand against her blouse and it was enough (Same image, I still don't know the significance of this action.). Michael sensed a current raging in the space between the two. Human love maybe. Imperfect and ferocious. Broken but unrelinquished.

He pulled out a cellphone and silently took a few pictures of them . Once done, Michael and then walked away. He made his way down the elevator then across the(He took the elevator to) the store foyer and left the store to) onto the brisk, outside air. He went in his car and waited until he saw Krim step out. Michael's eyes locked on him as Krim looked about a moment{/x}around and then walked by Michael's tinted windshield to his car and drove off.

Michael's car rolled to a stop on the side of the road as Krim's crimson back lights disappeared into a pair of dark iron gates. (Michael followed Krim's car until it disappeared behind a pair of dark iron gates.) The gates(As they slowly) closed and (comma)he continued to look on - until Krim appeared at the balcony above. Now their eyes locked, separated only by a layer of dark fiberglass. Michael took out his phone and dialed.

"AirQuantic Airlines." The female operator said.

"I'd like purchase a ticket for Johannesburg, South Africa. One-way."

"May I have your name, Sir?"

"Michael Pontiff."


Still in his striped dark suit, (to separate the same name a bit)
Michael Pontiff walked with a deliberate step through the coarsely lit manilla (manila)corridor, still in his striped dark suit. His black, dress shoes new ,(bought) only hours ago(comma) now appeared scratched and dusty on the granular floor. He came to an opening in the wall (Isn't this just a shop?) and sauntered into a bright room covered in newspapers and books. On one side of the crack (What's this?)the ceiling was essentially gray rock. On the other, smaller, side it was the same manilla color as the walls.

beneath the crack, a man in an olive green t-shirt and worn out black pants stood stood facing the far wall. He looked He was in his thirties, of average height with tousled, short blond hair and long sideburns. But, in reality, he was older.(author intrusion here) Two days’ stubble accentuated his long, pouty lips. And his bright blue eyes made him an attractive man at any age.

"I want to be free, Michael. Do you realize how badly I want to get out?" The man in sandals stood just under the crack and stared up at it. His back still to Michael.

"Yes," Michael replied with a solemn gaze. His eyes were nearly black, and bottomless as a pit (a cliche?).

The man in sandals didn't bother to turn,{{c:blue}x} but
instead(he) sat on the bare floor and turned on the TV with a nearby remote control. He had grown accustomed to sitting this way and felt comfortable.

"I remember the world. After all this time, I still remember everything about it. Blades of glass like emeralds. The warmth of the sun on my face." He sighed deeply as Michael walked into the man's line of sight. The man set his steely blue eyes up on Michael, "I have no patience left in me."

"I can bring him to you again."

The man in sandals shook his head briefly. "He reproached me once. He must be compelled somehow. I won't wait anymore."

"Perhaps she can be of use," Michael pulled out his phone, pulled (2x pulled) up the pictures of Gwen and Krim at the bookstore and handed it to the man.

"Who is she?"

"Gwen Levieva. I sensed she was yours."

"Gwen Levieva." The man went over the name and the face in his head. Then, "Yes. She wanted to write. She still has a couple years (left) on her second life."

"In the time I've followed him, he has never gone to such an event and," Michael gazed down at the screen. Then back at the man. "I have never seen her before."

The man sighed. "Okay, then. Suppose the boy is smitten." He tilted the screen further up but did not let go of the device. "The question becomes - how far will he go for her.?"

"Should I find out?"

The man's head jerked back and he sprung to his feet and calmly went past Michael over to the wall and leaned against it, palms flat. There was no movement for a moment. Only the silence of thought. Then the man (he) clapped his hands and turned to to Michael. "The possible simplicity of it all. The simplicity of(:) a love story. So very human." He said in a voice somewhere between disgust and humor.

"What do you wish me to do?"

"Have her take his breath away. When she is sure she's succeeded, have her notify you. And you take his breath away. Literally. Maybe the thought of losing her will be enough(for him) to take my offer. Tell Gwen that, in return for successfully completing this minute task, I will let her keep her soul and, of course, she will keep the gifts I've already given her. Let her know." He look down at the sandy floor and slightly shook his head, "My freedom may depend on a girl's wiles." He said in a hushed tone, more to himself than Michael.
Review by linggy
In affiliation with Mainstream Novel Workshop Group  
Rated: E | (4.5)
In The Meeting, Danny rushes across town for an urgent, late-night rendezvous when a bunch of toughs decide to bash him, with unexpected results. Ad Infinitum provides a new take on the vampire legend when a creature who prowls gay bars seeking thrills and more finds that even predators can be prey. In The Kobold in the Hardentstien Baths, an ancient legend finds a home in a gay bath house.

In The Meeting, Danny rushes across town for an urgent, late-night rendezvous when a bunch of toughs decide to beat him up, with unexpected results. Ad Infinitum provides a new take on the vampire legend when a creature who prowls gay bars seeking thrills and more finds that even predators can be prey. In The Kobold in the Hardentstien Baths, an ancient legend finds a home in a gay bath house.

Only a few suggestions here, Max. The cover looks great!

Review of In Dreams  
Review by linggy
In affiliation with Mainstream Novel Workshop Group  
Rated: 18+ | N/A (Review only item.)
In Dreams
Short story
by Max Griffin

Review by Linggy

Plot: Wow! I'm not sure I'm up to this. On a snowy evening, Matt is in his bedroom
while downstairs his wife Marie and his best friend Greg were arguing. Matt feels empty and seems to be suffering from the infidelity of her and his best friend. Eventually he lies down in their bed, a bed that's damp and rumpled as if someone recently made love in it. Was it Matt and Marie or Greg and Marie? After Greg rushes off in anger, Marie eventually enters the room and shoots him in the head and the ending is surreal as he float away to the light.

Style and Voice: 3rd person POV Matt

Referencing: contemporary
Scene/Setting: Everything takes place in Matt's bedroom with the exception of him looking out the window at the snow falling and a little reminiscing about better days with Marie.

Characters: Matt, Marie, and Greg from afar.

Grammar: perfect

Just my personal opinion: I'm a bit confused. The title suggests that Matt fell asleep and dreamed that his wife killed him. there seems to be a dream like quality to the story, and I'm not sure if the entire piece is one long dream or just the ending part.
The hot air from the furnace is mentioned more than once, but nobody has a furnace in his bedroom. Greg and Marie are downstairs fighting and Matt remains in his bedroom? Odd. The imagery of the winter night with the snow falling, white and pure, suggests a dream. Also, there is the mention of Marie when they got married––all in white.
I'll take a stab and say that Matt and his wife have had better days. Perhaps she and Greg have been flirting or having an affair, and the dream is an expression of his insecurities and inability to do anything to change it.
I liked the piece and when it abruptly ended I wanted it to be longer––a good sign! Well done.

Matt pressed his palm against the window pane and let his forehead kiss the glass. Outside, an immaculate shroud of snow enfolded the night-shadowed avenue. Flakes, silent and inevitable, wafted through the streetlight's halo. When he tilted his head, icy facets glittered like stardust across the drifts.

Voices from downstairs, muffled and indistinct, muttered through the heating ducts. He wanted to scream at them, his wife and his best friend, but no sound escaped his throat. Matt withdrew his hand from the chill (chilled? I like cold except you use that in the next sentence) glass and rubbed his eyes. His cold fingers soothed the pain that lingered there.

If only he could rest.

He wove through darkness to their bed, the bed he and Marie shared. Weightless, he slipped onto the crumpled linens, but sleep eluded him. He gazed at empty sheets on Marie's side, where the mattress still held the contours of her beloved body. He nuzzled her pillow. Her aroma, bewitching and beguiling, could only arouse memories this night.

The furnace rumbled, and warm air shot across Matt's body. He frowned and thought about opening the window. Marie liked the room warm, too warm for Matt (him). Wetness slicked his brow, and soggy sheets clung to his naked torso.

Downstairs, the voices ceased their yammer. A door slammed, and a car's engine growled. Matt stumbled back to the window. The headlights of Greg's BMW flashed across the white void. His vehicle pulled from the curb and accelerated. It fishtailed once, slowed, and fled (the car? or he?) into the gloom. The tires left precise, parallel tracks that defiled the forgiving drifts.

The furnace coughed to a stop, and blessed (how about: soothing) silence filled the room. A gust of wind keened, and the house shuddered. Frigid arctic air leaked from the frame around the window. The bed beckoned, and Matt returned to the damp and lonely sheets. He closed his eyes and yearned for the reprieve of dreams, but instead relentless memories dribbled across his fractured mind.

He remembered the springtime. April was the kindest month, for that was when he fell in love with Marie. They took long walks in the park under juniper and sunlight. They shared the delicate scent of lilacs and the heady aroma of hyacinths. That was when memory and desire blended with gentle rains that chased them to waiting shelters, where they fell laughing into one another's embrace.

The furnace churned back to life and its hot breath flooded across Matt's cold body. He closed his eyes against emptiness and imagined the heat of a summer's evening long past. Waves had crashed across a sandy beach, from an ocean that stretched to infinity. Moon glow had shimmered in Marie's eyes while her breath warmed his cheeks and her voice conjured devotion. They made love that night, under the starry firmament, certain they had found eternity.

The stairs creaked and footfalls sounded in the hall outside his room. She must be coming for him. He knew she wouldn't abandon him. He pictured her as his bride, dressed all in the purest white, bearing salvation. He remembered the autumn afternoon they married, outdoors, in the park. For the ceremony, they had chosen the natural cathedral of the glade where they had first known love. His bride's slow procession down the aisle, framed by family and friends, had quickened his heart. Her shy smile at first hid away, cloaked under her lace veil, and then dazzled as they exchanged vows. At last, when they kissed, her eyes glowed with promises everlasting.

Her footsteps stopped. The door creaked open. Incandescent light from the hallway threw harsh shadows into the bedroom. FromI(I'd cut "from") downstairs, Roy Orbison's innocent tenor crooned from the stereo. In Dreams. Greg had sung that for them at their wedding. It was Marie's favorite. Strange he hadn't noticed the music earlier.

Marie stood in the doorway, silhouetted in the light. The gentle susurrations of her breath mingled with the sigh of the winter winds.

Matt peered against the glare, but darkness cloaked her features.

She shuffled into the room and leaned over the bed, staring at him.

He longed to touch her hand, but his arms would not move. He yearned to grant forgiveness, but the words would not come. If only he could see her face, but the brilliance glimmering from the hallway obscured his vision.

She reached out and her fingers touched his forehead, between his eyes.

His attention drifted away, toward the open door, toward the light. Perhaps from there he could see her again, at last.

She spoke, and it was with the same endearing voice he remembered. "I hate you," she murmured. "I should have put a bullet in your brain years ago." Her index finger circled the neat hole in Matt's skull, centered between his eyes. Dark blood soaked the sheets, where it seeped from the gaping chasm at the back of his head.

He floated to the doorway, fragile as a dream, silent as an unanswered prayer. He reached out to where she hunkered over his lifeless body. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, to say that he loved her still, to assure her everything would be all right. But the light, the alluring and irresistible light, summoned him.

It was too late...too late for him, too late for her, too late...for...
Review of A Guide  
Review by linggy
Rated: 13+ | (4.5)
I'm not knowledgeable enough to critique poetry so I just read it and try to get the feeling. Child abuse ! ! hate these people who have no love, no respect for others especially their own kids. this poem has a nice feel to it that i can relate to. Good job. bBy the way, one of the main themes in my Rebel Clown Army is exactly this subject. You see, hiding behind a mask allows one to laugh and cry at the the same time.

Review of Brendon  
Review by linggy
Rated: E | (3.5)
interesting piece with good potential. Te last paragraph came a bit fast!
My suggestions:
My baby boy. (I'd put this in italics to highlight it the first time you use it)
went into the hospital (to)
This was his bed! (is is stronger)
I shrieked frantically (drop frantically the verb says it all)
said the doctors, his shoulders (doctor)
“W…what?” I asked. “H…how could this happen?” I asked, ( “W…what? H…how could this happen?” 2x asked removed)
... fault?! (drop the ?) 3X
I cried, enraged. (I'd drop all of this because we know this)
Review of Who are you?  
Review by linggy
Rated: E | (3.5)
interesting topic that you are writing about. We are but here for a short while, one among billions, in truth, insignificant. even the so called greatest are soon forgotten after they are dead. Politicians, generals, movie stars, writers, artists, etc.
yes our works may remembered but who really cares?

My suggestions:
who you are and you place in the world? (your place in the world)
over and over a mantra (isn't it. like a mantra?)

Review of Let Me Go  
Review by linggy
Rated: E | (3.5)
It's really sad that our boys are being killed in a war far from home. I assume the purpose of this piece is meant to enlist sadness (that Donnelly was killed) and then resolve ( that Gunny wants either revenge or possibly to complete the job that Donnelly and so many others have already died for.) It's a one sided plea for more war. Remember we invaded that country. We hardly know why we are there now. Is it to make this backward country like the west? Really? Is it to kill every last person there who isn't in agreement with our objectives to change their culture. Or, are we really losing our boys there because we fear they will come take over our country? I would have like the piece more if it had at least addressed this issue even a little. in short it seems to be a one sided pro war piece.
Review of The Dreamer  
Review by linggy
Rated: E | (4.0)
....leaping dolphins, the spray casting glittering, fragmented rainbows through the air. (great sentence!)
I like this piece and it kept my attention. I felt like it was written by a teacher, am I right?
Here are some suggestions:
crashing back to earth (sounds off. How about: back into the water, or?)
virtual tsunami (I'd drop the word virtual since it obviously isn't)
of his bribe. (I think reward would be better)
he pronounced, hopefully. (I'd drop all 3 words since we know who said it. Besides "pronounced" doesn't work here.)
piped up. (? is this British?)
to instructions (comma) and the fact
from the depths of his soul (a cliche)
the TV (I'd drop the)
littler one (smaller or smallest one)
waiting waiting eagerly (2x)
then elucidated his response. (I'd drop this since we know who is speaking and hopefully we will be impressed)
I felt there was too much frowning, sighing, furrowed brows, etc. I like it better when the enthusiasm is stressed, Jack especially. I don't see the need for the perplexity.
This piece has potential.
Review of More About Me  
Review by linggy
Rated: E | (4.0)
It's nice to read an inspirational piece that radiates with warmth.
I generally review something from my reviewers and was hoping I could be of some help on something fictional by you.
I opted for this piece because it tells me about the person who gave me a awardicon for my Rebel Clown Army.

Thanks so much! When I opened my port and found this red badge next to it, I felt like a kid again.

here are a few suggestions. See if you agree:
....you whom have already read.... (who have already read)
I am an emotional individual, and one who gives (I'd drop "and one")
whom have shared their hearts (who)
Review of Judas  
Review by linggy
Rated: E | (4.0)
Interesting, somewhat modern take on this ancient story. Why not keep going?

some suggestions:
he could (verb missing) some
Well (comma) whatever
admit that the(y) way
strange had (strange that...)
to the laws and conventions (to laws and conventions)
He overheard a snippet of a conversation, “…would react ......
Suspicion flared. Move this to next line in front of: "who....
Review by linggy
Rated: 13+ | (4.0)
It's a cute piece, made me laugh.

some suggestions
Then when I got home, that's when I found 2x when how about: When I got home, i found...)
An the box looked old, really old, like maybe even ancient old. ( 3 x old, Additionally, the box looked old, maybe even ancient.)
So I opened the box, so sue me! (So i opened the box and since then everybody has been suing me.)
Review of The Bounty Hunter  
Review by linggy
Rated: E | (4.0)
Nice job. This has an edgy style that i like.
Here are some suggestions you may want to use:
...source of light was the moon, however, lights from behind windows also shared their part in enlightening the road
(source of light was coming out of some windows and from the crescent moon illuminating the road ...).
While he walked in (When he walked in....)
...rather robust man sat there, with three other shady characters, the robust man seemed to be the leader.
(...rather robust man, who seemed to be the leader, sat there, with three other shady characters.)
It suited his appearance and (I'd cut this out)
he already won (he had already won)
threw them on the floor. (I'd say: put them in his pocket or on the table)
keep going,

Review of The Room  
Review by linggy
Rated: 13+ | (4.0)
This story has potential.

You have a cute twist at the end, but in some ways it disappoints too. As a reader you feel somehow "cheated." The dread that you put into this piece deserves something else at the end. Maybe and old spider web, or several that her mom wanted her to clean up.
"Who could understand what she was facing? Josie was so very alone and afraid. She felt so angry, confused, and abandoned. Who would blame her if she just ran away and disappeared?" Is a example of this exaggeration.

Additionally, I feel like you overuse adjectives. It seems like every noun must be proceeded by some modifier.

one small suggestion:
bedroom was indeed the source of all of her nightmares now (would be instead of was)
Review of Playing With Guns  
Review by linggy
Rated: ASR | (4.5)
this is a nice piece. I feel like I'm in the head of this woman. The descriptions are excellent.
Here are my suggestions:

My husband us a.. (is)
The thought is exhilarating, yet apprehensive (It sounds like the thought is apprehensive. I'd say: ...,yet I feel....)
gingerly (at) the bottom
appear to be(comma) considering
to carry up out (our?) enormously steep,
the case gingerly down( 2nd repetition of gingerly)
ear protection on (comma) I can...
I imagine I should (be).
Review of Gift Of Life  
Review by linggy
Rated: E | (3.5)
Nice inspirational poem. I found 1 mistake: mysteries
One thing though, instead of the commoners becoming royals why not make all the royals commoners?
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