Caveat: I am a terrible writer. I am also a bastard.

Dear _____,

After reading your story, I’ll give you some blunt advice. Your story needs to be re-written. It feels like a first draft and is not ready for publishing. That said, it’s not unsalvageable. Here are a few things you need to do:

1. Choose a point to the story. I read it three times and still can’t nail down any kind of solid meaning. Right now it feels like a vague allegory to ________, but there’s little solid evidence. Find a reason behind all the action and write towards that.
2. Be sure you understand words before you use them. If you’re unsure, look them up. You misuse a lot of words, like _____, ________, ________, ________, ejaculate, and _____ that don’t make sense in the context.
3. “Ten-dollar” words seem forced and unnatural. Words like “________” and “________” scream for the reader to pay attention to your word choice and not the actual story. Remember, you are creating a world with your words; you are not showing off your vocabulary. Watch for spelling mistakes. There are several in your story which make it hard or impossible to understand a sentence, further removing the reader from the action.
4. The dialogue is too stilted. Example: “We have conversation that erodes my stress from supporting him.” This type of wording is awkward and it forces the reader to re-read the line at least once to get the meaning, further separating him from the story. Read your dialogue out loud to see if it sounds like something you would say. If you’re tripping over your words, it’s not good dialogue.
5. Be clearer in describing action. Bad wording makes it hard to figure out what was going on. Also, certain pronouns are not clearly referenced or don’t agree with their subjects.
6. A little bit of research can add a lot of depth.

Despite all of this criticism, the story has merit and could be a great read. Just focus on what you want to say and say it plainly and with confidence. One last tip: wait at least a day before revising. A bit of time away helps you get your head out of the story and see what needs to be fixed.

Sincerely,

PureTwaddle

P.S. I wish I could send this back in time twelve years.

We’re holding a launch party on Thursday, December 16th at WORD in Greenpoint at 7 p.m. Free beer, free readings, and free copies of the magazine. Come on by and check it out if your in the borough.

Wherein our hero decides to undertake a large book

A year ago I ordered A Distant Mirror, Barbara Tuchman’s epic non-fiction account of the “calamitous 14th century.” A few days later the 600-page paper brick arrived from an anonymous Amazon used book monger. I felt I had made a mistake. I rarely read non-fiction or gigantic books – and this was both. So I decided not to read it.

It sat on my shelf for ten months. First I ignored it: it was a foolish, impulsive purchase. Then I rationalized it: I didn’t have time for a huge commitment, and, besides, I knew nothing about the 1300s. I’d be lost reading it an probably wouldn’t enjoy it.

But there it sat, quiet, non-judging, waiting to be read. A few months ago, I finally fell to it’s guilt-inducing existence and began reading it. Here I discovered not the boring, uninspiring textbook recital of events and corresponding dates that I expected, but a gripping account of humanity from the beginning of the first big plague to France’s humiliating conquest during the Hundred Year’s war.

As I blew through the first few hundred pages, I became enthralled with the story of the book’s central figure, Enguerrand de Coucy, whose incredible experiences touched every aspect of life in the late-middle ages. I was obsessed with learning about the needless death and conflict caused by the ignorance of pre-Renaissance Europe. I couldn’t put the book down; that is, until I approached the end.

Pages flew by until I reached the late four-hundreds. I knew from the beginning that the book’s narrative would end when Coucy’s life did and he was aging fast. I sensed the end was near and I didn’t want it to stop. I imposed a ten-page maximum for each sitting to draw the book out. Seven pages from the end, I put the book down and refused to finish. I had become emotionally invested. It was an old friend to whom I didn’t want to say goodbye, and, if I didn’t finish it, I would never have to.

It had been a long time since I felt this way about a book. For most of my adult life I had been reading as quickly as possible. I felt the urgent need to finish one book so I could jump to the next. I only have so much time on this earth and I wanted to consume as many books as humanly possible. Being well-read, to me, was determined by pure mileage – pages under the belt.

I’d burn through a book and, before the cover was even closed, I had picked up yet another short read, only to forget the previous book’s ancillary characters’ names, central plot, and, ultimately, point. Gigantic books would only get in the way. A poor habit and a sad way to appreciate art.

When I stopped reading, Coucy was on the verge of death in a foreign prison, crippled with age and battle wounds. An ignominious end for such a figure, I thought, so I forced myself to finish Tuchman’s book and let the old man die with dignity.

I was left with ambiguous feelings of satisfaction and disappointment; the former from her magical ability to present historical facts with ease and beauty, the latter for never again being able to feel the sense of wonder and new discovery that comes with reading such a great book for the first time. I was in mourning.

I missed that emotional engagement that Mirror gave me so much that I decided I needed to reproduce it. So I am embarking on a new quest – the much heralded, oft referenced, and rarely read The Ingenious Hidalgo Don Quixote of La Mancha by Miguel Cervantes. Another huge book and, I hope, another deep emotional engagement.

In the vein of Mirror‘s subject of the end of an age, Don Quixote concerns an old man’s obsession with the past and recreating chivalry, a romantic ideal that had, by his time, passed from the world. His is a futile attempt at trying to reclaim something lost. Now here is something I can relate to.