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Posting Speed
  1. Speed of Light
Writing Levels
  1. Douche
Preferred Character Gender
  1. No Preferences

Paste a post into this thread. You can use your own if you want, but it's often harder to see the faults in your creations. So it's better to find someone else's post - so that you're coming to it without any foreknowledge.

Remember, no one in the Writing School is allowed to get uptight and take offence. Only through total honesty and rough love can writers actually improve. So if anyone takes offence they will be receiving a PM from me. >:[

Using the post you've chosen, do the following:

1. Find THREE words and use the [ s] [ /s] tags to cross them out. Then, in red, put "BETTER WORD:...." then an alternative word that makes a more powerful/emotional impact.

2. Find a dead sentence. Cross it out and, in red, write "LIVE SENTENCE:... " followed by a rewrite of the sentence to make it come alive.

3. Find THREE unnecessary adverbs or adjectives and cross them out. In red, write "NOT NEEDED" and offer alternatives if needed.

4. On a piece of description, try to find a metaphor that is shorter and achieves the same effect. Write "METAPHOR:..." then the metaphor.

Here's an example - Diana's recent post in This One Realm


Kargon's odd NOT NEEDED words left Oralia with an unsettled feeling in her stomach. Though, that could have also been contributed BETTER WORD: due to the alcohol that was working through her system. The more she drank to show off to bawdy pirates, the much NOT NEEDED darker her mood was beginning to swing. The conversation BETTER WORD: talk between Prestadeth and Ku-Jon was lost on her until she found her hand grabbed by the elf and dragged across a suddenly uproarious tavern!

Her hazy thoughts realized that this might be the perfect moment for an escape! Oralia jerked her hand free from Prestadeath and turned on a heel. But before she could start running she ran straight BETTER WORD: crashed in to the chest of an fist swinging individual. Her muttered apology died on her lips when he gave a wide toothless smile and went grabbing for her. LIVE SENTENCE: Grabbing for her, his toothless smile dispelled her muttered apologyDucking to the floor before arms wrapped around her head, Oralia darted between his legs. She paused only long enough to yank down his pants before she continue ducking and weaving through the mess of people to try and find the tavern door. METAPHOR: She paused only long enough to yank down his pants and then, like a mouse in a stampede, she scrambled for the tavern door.

This is our first challenge, so don't worry if it's crap (like my metaphor above), or if you can't find 3 of each. Just do your best. As long as you show that you're getting it, that's good enough for me.
Tegan's hair leapt upwards and resettled across her face. And then the Count was no longer in front of her.

Myrnodyn stopped in the doorway as a face constructedBETTER WORD: revealed itself an inch from his. The tension in the chamber reached a high note, each vampire tightening their muscles and ready to pounce.

The Count looked into Myrnodyn's eyes, not breathing him in like the others, but simply watching, as one mortal might watch another.METAPHOR:as an equal.(this isn't really a it?:llama: ) They were only a foot apart and the Count's voice was far too soft for the insults they held for each other.

"So you are him. The Lycan's successor." He took Myrnodyn in with a single sweep of his gaze. "And now we are both leaders without a tribe. Now we both posture on the wasteland." He looked away, ||another gaze dispelling the alarm in his denizens|| (I have a feeling this part isn't really needed), before he smirked a little and stepped even closer to Myrnodyn. "I always thought your kind and mine would die with our hands around each other's throats. But in these strange, strange times, Shifter, tell me... what price did you come here to pay?"

They were now barely inches apart, facing each other down. And again the Count's eyes slipped towards the still-kneelingNOT NEEDED Porg and Tegan. "Just a vial of their blood," he whispered. "No more. You can even watch if you want..."

At the back of the chamber, near the Vault of Coatlbara, a vampire crawled down the wall towards Q, grinning at the man from above as he dropped the M40 onto his lap.LIVE SENTENCE: a vampire crawled down the wall, dropping a gun to it's owner, Q.

Herp derp, lecture me, O enlightened one.
Nope, that's not a metaphor. And in that scene it was Q who dropped the M40 onto HIS OWN lap - not the vampire.

So the living sentence would be: A vampire at the back of the chamber, crawling down the wall, grinned at Q as he dropped the M40 onto his lap.

But kudos for going after the big dog. ;)
50 miles away... near the Endless Highway...

They had taken the Fidelis hover-car west. Soulless knew of a place... an abandoned house where they could rest up and tend to Captain Tain. He had used it sometimes, on his wanderings through the madlands. And so the lunatic child had guided them, Kaze steering the vehicle over rolling hills of bones and valleys of tears. Behind them the Fear Garden was left in flames as the funeral pyre of JackShade, Pirogeth and the others spread for miles around, as if fueled by the departed souls. None of them looked back. In this land the echoes of what was lost drowned all other things.

A few hours later, Tain was laid on a bed in the middle of a barren room, covers of sheepskin tucked around him. Sakura had cleaned his wounds as best she could and had NOT NEEDED seen him through the worst of the fever. Now the captain was sleeping, his soft breath turning into candle-smoke as it slipped through the surreal air. It mixed with the wallpaper, smoke becoming parchment, till it almost seemed that the room was being exhaled by the captain.

But this was the lesser of the insanities in this abode. As Sakura left the room, a bundle of bandages in her arms, she stepped into a hallway of staircases running off at odd angles - up, down, in upon themselves, off into imaginary distances. METAPHORE: As Sakura left the room, a bundle of bandages in her arms, she stepped into a hallway of staircases seemingly designed by Salvador Dahli It hurt her head to look at them, but thankfully Soulless had tied a ribbon to the correct one so that she could find her way. Sakura moved down it, shutting her eyes so the other NOT NEEDED staircases wouldn't make her dizzy.

Through one of the windows she passed, Kaze could be seen on the floating walkway outside. He had parked the Fidelis and was working on it, fixing minor faults and checking the cargo hold. Behind him the Mirror swirled like a curtain before some great performance. It was a wall of eerie purple, wracked now and then by great swathes of light, the ghostly images of text and other worlds barely visible. Soulless had told Kaze not to stare at the Mirror for too long, and the wind-mage had the good sense to comply.

Drake was also outside somewhere, but Sakura couldn't see him. She could hear Soulless and Natalie talking in one of the other rooms, possibly the kitchen, their voices echoing back and forth like haunting music. Again, Sakura did not dwell on it too much. She feared that to concentrate on any one part of this house would spell her demise, her mind lost in the surreal labyrinths for time eternal.

Finally, the girl reached the bottom of the weird stairway and crossed the black and white chequered floors that led to the end room. It was a small chamber suspended over the edge of the tree the house was built on. LIVE SENTENCE: Crossing the black, and white chequered floors, the girl finally reached the bottom of the weird stairway that led to the end room And here, she found Asmodeus.

The angel had his back to her and was stood amid a dozen or so easels where paintings had been mounted. His calculated mutters echoed from the walls of the tiny room, the candlelight dancing back and forth. Sakura could see screwed-up paper on the floor, canvasses torn in half, easels kicked over and scattered paintpots.

Stopping at the doorway, she watched Asmodeus put the finishing touches to Porg's red hair. He washed the paintbrush, muttering all the while. "...hasn't suffered enough. Uninvested. Nothing to lose - no stakes. Why should we care?"

He moved to another painting - a charcoal rendering of Arachnion. "No, no, no." He pulled it down, casting it on the floor next to a half-finished sketch of Soulless.

He pulled an easel into the light, uncovering it to show a red and black painting of Warmaster Death. "Lived in rage... servant. No... maybe. Maybe. Betrayed by everyone. Honour and righteousness." He drummed the painting with the end of his paintbrush then suddenly picked up a drawing of Grandmaster Karsikan, sticking it next to the Warmaster. "Too archetypal.. no depth... unable to embrace the Goddess - NO!" he flung the canvas away.

The next easel was coloured NOT NEEDED completely black, save for a thin strip where the unmistakeable eyes of Palonis had been drawn. "What light... what light? Cares for nothing. Trickster... too cynical. No faith to restore."

He picked up a pencil drawing of Myrnodyn, considering it for long seconds. "Stage five... not yet." He folded it carefully and tucked it inside his robes, before rushing to a painting of several individuals, including Grant and Uriel. "Too late. Arrived too late. But human... all so human. Maybe. But what connection... what past? No." He moved onwards.

Another charcoal rendering showed Torsty in full battle armour. "Servant. Like the Warmaster. There must be a choice. THERE MUST BE... the journey willed." He threw BETTER WORD: flung Torsty away then kicked over a canvas depicting Captain Nic.

"Jumi..." He dabbed a blotch of paint on the image of Jumi, "Cursed lieutenant... speak again.. show the way... maybe..." He stood there for a moment, then a sudden wave of anger came over him. He kicked over the rest of the easels.

"WHO IS IT?!" he shouted BETTER WORD: screamed as he turned, fury etched upon BETTER WORDS: carved into (Got brave, and went for a double) his face.

And then he saw Sakura in the doorway and his features softened. He stared at her, his voice becoming barely a whisper. "Which one is the Hero...?"

I don't want to seem like I'm copying Torsty, but since I really liked reading this post, I thought I'd take a crack at it.