Kuiper

@Robinski Certainly! I'll shoot you a PM when the draft is ready (aiming for tomorrow).

Hey guys, I'm putting the finishing touches on a manuscript that I hope to have finished later this week. It's an urban fantasy about people who hang out with the (un)dead in an abandoned tram depot. Current length is under 35k words. Would anyone be willing to give it an alpha read? I can do a swap if anyone's interested. Hoping to get alpha feedback by the end of June, as I'm also going to be hearing back from my local writing group's alpha read by that time.

Kammererite; I'm actually willing to take a step back if you'd rather go, I've decided to do more than a little line editing myself (last night I decided to remove a character and I'm re-writing a lot of dialog because of that).

Can I get in for May 9? (Not this upcoming Monday, but the one after that.)

A lot of people have expressed that they don't fully understand how the magic works. My big question in response: does the lack of information make you feel curious in a way that makes you want to keep reading future chapters? Or does it frustrate you in a way that would discourage you from continuing to read? I am pretty stingy in revealing details of the how the magic works and the world these characters inhabit--part of my intent for this "series" was for each of the vignettes to explore a different facet of the setting. At some point there will be a vignette which is focused more on the nature of the bar itself, and others exploring "mechanics" of the magic system. But I don't want to dole out the information so slowly that people get frustrated and confused. I mentioned this in the opening "recap," where I described the bar as a place "that is open to both the living (who can enter and exit the bar freely) and the souls of the dead." Basically, at the end, Samantha insinuates that she was never dead to begin with. This is a place where living people (who can enter and exit the bar "normally") and dead people (who only have a temporary body for as long as they are in the bar) are indistinguishable from each other as long as they are in the bar, so it's possible for a living person to masquerade as a dead person--or visa versa. That being said, it's possible that Samantha lied about lying--maybe she really was dead the whole time, but decided that pretending that she was alive the whole time would be a good way to mess with faux-Nakamoto's head before she left. Whether Samantha is a living person masquerading as a dead person or a dead person masquerading as a living person is left as an exercise to the reader. The first flashback is weird and jarring: I'm not sure if there's a way around that (though it is certainly possible to minimize the extent of how jarring it is). Actually, the first (opening) flashback is probably the least-necessary part of the story, and it wasn't part of the original draft. The thing I realized is that no matter what I did, the first time I jumped into flashback, it would be a little jarring. So I decided to get the weirdness out of the way at the beginning, to prevent it from disrupting the story in mid-flow. And because the first flashback is unnecessary, the reader doesn't miss out on much if they spend that time being confused. Maybe there's a better way to handle the learning curve, but if there's going to be any confusion, I'd prefer to front-load it. I'm certainly open to suggestions on this. Remarks on Interpol: Shame on me for not doing proper research. My thinking was "Japanese crime syndicate operating in the US, that's international and therefore the domain of interpol, right?" My thought process really did not go any further than that. Based on a bit of Wikipedia research, it seems like the guys actually coming to make the arrest in a Los Angeles bar would be FBI. I believe rdpulfer is correct in that Interpol, if they were involved at all, would likely act by bridging/sharing intelligence between foreign and domestic intelligence agencies, and that the guys actually marching. I'll try to get my facts right next time. Samantha speaking Japanese: "omae wa mou shindeiru" means "you are already dead." (Those who share my affection for 1980's shounen manga may also recognize it a signature line from Hokuto no Ken.) The real significance of this line is Samantha demonstrating that she has the ability to speak (and understand) Japanese, but including the translation for the reader likely adds more to the scene than it takes away, so I'll include the translation it in future drafts.

Hey guys, thanks for all the feedback, especially the remarks on individual details of the story, it'll definitely be helpful on the next editing pass. It also seems like people liked the twist, which I'm really glad to hear; there are lots of finer things that need to be ironed out, but it sounds like at its core, the story is functioning as I intended it to. There are some individual points I'd like to address when I have the time to type up a more substantial response (hopefully within the next 24 hours), but this one probably sticks out the most: Regarding the situation with the bartender: I agree, it is a bit weird in its current form. Eileen the Chinese-American bartender is intended to be a semi-permanent fixture of the setting (I'm actually working on a re-write of chapter 1 that gives her a more proper introduction). The first draft of this story opened with a bit of banter between Samantha and Eileen (and give her a bit more dialog after faux Nakamoto showed up), but in the end I decided that having Eileen participating in the story to that degree distracted from the story I was trying to tell, so I attempted to minimize her role and make her more of a background character, even going as far as to strip out references to her name to emphasize her role as a background character--but I did an incomplete job of that, and so halfway through she suddenly becomes "Eileen." At this point I'm not sure what the best way to handle her role in the story is. On one hand, I feel like giving her a name early on gives her more attention than perhaps she is due, but on the other hand, leaving her nameless could lead to more awkward interaction and narration later on.

Hey guys, sorry to be getting this one up late. As mentioned before, "Thresholds and Footholds" is intended to be a series of vignettes that can function more-or-less independently of each other, but I'm not taking the time to "reset" and introduce the fantastical elements of the setting each time. For the sake of having context for everyone's remarks, I'm curious as to whether you read the first "chapter" before reading this one, and how (not) reading it shaped your impressions of this one, especially since there are key plot points in this story that revolve around an understanding of the rules of the magic as it's introduced in the first chapter.

I just finished a piece, can I get in whenever the next available slot is? I assume that would be a week from now (week of the 25th), but if somehow there's an extra slot free this week after all the dust settles, I'd also be happy to submit today.

Hey guys, thanks to everyone who took the time to read and respond. I do agree that the piece is in dire need of a line-edit, particularly when it comes to repetitive wording, so I appreciate everyone who took the time to point out the places where my language is especially in need of improvement. This was intended to be the "heart" of the story. The crux of the setting is that it's a place where the dead are given (temporary) corporeal bodies, making them indistinguishable from the living. (Though it might have been poorly presented, this was the intent behind Courtney's line about how "as long as you're here, you a physical body with very real blood.") In this setting, dead and living can interact as peers in a way that sometimes makes it unclear who is living and who is dead (both to the reader and to the other characters in the story), and that dynamic is what made me want to write stories in this setting. It's intentionally ambiguous as to whether Ashley is living or dead, up until the end. The "big reveal" was supposed to be that Ashley and Ben step out of the bar, Ben vanishes, and Ashley stays in her corporeal body; for Ashley, life goes on (she was alive the whole time). Unfortunately, I don't think I got this across clearly. I think viewpoint might be a problem for this story: if an "objective" narrator had conveyed the final scene, the contrast between the dead guy who vanished and the living girl who kept existing might have been more apparent. However, because the final scene is third-person limited from Ashley's POV, it's not really clear what is happening. The piece also doesn't capitalize on a lot of the advantages of third-person limited; even though we get scenes from both Ashley and Courtney's POV, we don't get a very clear picture of the motivations and internal thoughts for either of them. I may try experimenting with a more "objective" viewpoint; I don't write omniscient often, but this story might be a place for me to practice with it. This was intentional. The reason that I chose to tell two separate "stories" in this first chapter was that I wanted to set up a contrast between two characters, one living and one dead. The soldier has spent a lot of time feeling "numb" due to being a disembodied spirit for many years, and he contemplates whether hell might be better than feeling nothing. Ashley has spent a lot of time feeling "numb" due to a chemical imbalance in her brain, and has decided that physical pain is preferable to feeling nothing. The parallelism here is deliberate, I wanted things to sort of "rhyme" thematically, but I may have overdone it a bit, especially when using nearly identical language in the dialog for both Ashley and the soldier.

First off, I really liked the sequence of events toward the end, with Idris summoning the different wind spirits. I loved the magic, the explanation of how the demons are born and how they become proper gods. I loved the exchange between Idris and the spirits, and I could feel the grandeur of the spirits as they spoke in about who they were and what their virtues were. I also liked the part where we get Alssia's internal commentary on the demons/gods, particularly the part where she compares Bash-Irem's virtues of justice and retribution to Siad Amak's careful and cautious nature. The exchange with both the desert wind demon and Bash-Irem inspired a real sense of awe and wonder, which in my opinion was the real high mark for this story. The ending line was also great. That said, I didn't get the same sense of wonder and awe from the beginning. The first few pages read more like a prologue, feeling more like summary than scene. This may have been the intent, but I had a real struggle trying to understand the world based on that "prologue." It felt very abstract to me. The entire introduction, Siad Amak didn't feel like an entity that existed in the world, he felt more like an abstract idea. Even though the first page described a battle between Siad Amak and a bull, I couldn't really paint a mental picture of what was happening. What does this god look like? Is he a "super-human," a 7-foot man with incredible strength and powers, or is he a majestic 30-foot monstrosity who towers over entire armies? Is the bull also some kind of "god" or supernatural being with god-like powers? By the time I got to the end of the first chapter, I felt I had a pretty good idea of what the gods were, and what their role in the world was, but I felt mostly in the dark during the story's intro, and even now I couldn't tell you exactly how big Siad Amak is--I assume that he's a bipedal man, but I'm not too sure of even that. I was also initially confused about Alssia's role in the story at first. Her name is dropped in the first sentence, but here's the place where I first became aware of Alssia as a character: At this point, I'm thinking, "Oh, Siad Amak was the god of Belmaladh, he needs to be replaced, and so Alssia was chosen to replace him. She must be some kind of goddess of the hunt, like Artemis." I made it several paragraphs past this before I realized that Alssia wasn't a goddess herself; she was a "regular" person on a mission to capture a new god. I presume that the intended viewpoint is third-person limited, from Alssia's point of view. With that in mind, this line feels like a viewpoint break: How does Alssia know what Idris is thinking about? I feel like pronouns were used a bit too liberally. I was never mislead or confused by what was going on (being that all the female pronouns must be Alssia, and all the male pronouns must be Idris), but there was a point at which I actually forgot Alssia's name, there are places where we go for entire pages without ever reading her name. There's no "hard and fast" rule for this, but generally I'm fine with seeing someone's name the first time they appear in a paragraph, and then after that they can be "he" or "she" for the rest of the paragraph. Otherwise, you get confusing paragraphs that start like this: I know that Idris is a dude, so "she" in the second sentence must be referring to Alssia, but this did force me to do a double-take and pulled me out of the story. On a similar note, I think I could have benefited from seeing more dialog tags. I don't mind seeing the word "said." This exchange in particular forced me to do a double-take and re-read multiple times to make sure I was understanding what was going on: If I understand correctly, the dialog goes: Idris, Alssia, Idris. But there's nothing in the first two lines of dialog to indicate who is saying them. I inferred it based on context (based on the fact that the last line is spoken by Idris, and it must be a back-and-forth exchange, and also it makes sense for Idris to be expressing concern for Alssia at this moment rather than the other way around). This issue could be fixed simply by ending the first line with "said Idris." Overall, I loved the world and the magic, the interaction between the human characters and the demons/gods was great, I think the huntress/priest relationship is an interesting one and it made me want to keep reading. There were some mechanical issues that kept me from getting really into the story until I was fully in the "swing of things," and a few places where things like syntax left some room for doubt, but I think those are relatively easy fixes. I struggled a bit with the introduction, and this felt like a bit of a "slow burn" to me for early on, but I think things really got paid off in the end.

"Thresholds and Footholds" is a new project I'm working on, a bit different from novels/serials that I've submitted to the group previously. It's intended to be a series of vignettes in a shared setting. I'm curious to hear your thoughts on this first chapter, both about how you think it functions as a standalone piece, and how well-acquainted you feel with the setting afterward. Is the first chapter "satisfying" by itself? Does it make you want to read more? I'd love to hear your impressions and remarks.

Hey, it's been awhile since I've shown my face in these parts, but I have a piece that should be ready for submission by February 7th.

General remarks: I enjoyed this story throughout. The description in the beginning that builds the world and the action scenes are both well-executed. However, I didn't feel that they tied together as well as they could have. If I have a complaint about this story, it's that I don't feel like I understand the stakes well enough in advance. It wasn't until Linaeve discovered her fellow merfolk turned dryad that I felt like I really understood exactly what kind of story I was reading. (Maybe this is intentional, and you were aiming for a continued sense of discovery throughout the story. However, as it is, this feels more to me like the first chapter of a larger work than a standalone story.) By the time I got to the point of investing myself in the chemistry between Linaeve and Isidor, the action had ratcheted up to the point where I felt like I was being railroaded through the story at a rather exhausting pace. In terms of events, it felt like things were paced out appropriately, but narrative I felt like this wasn't always the case. Like on page 21, I would have liked a bit of time to catch my breath--ease off the accelerator, and give me a bit more description to provide a foothold before we launch into the next action sequence. Specific issues: Page 29. The line "Amazing." pulled me out. I don't want to be told that the spectacle is "amazing." If this line is to indicate that Linaeve was amazed by the sight before her, I rather would rather see the amazement on her face--a gasp of surprise, or a jaw left hanging for several unblinking moments. (Show, don't tell.) Page 20. The line that begins with "Isidor was so resourceful and fast" really seemed out of place in the context of a line following shortly after that begins with "Hands were around Isidor’s neck." The bit with Linaeve admiring Isidor comes across as contemplative, yet the action that immediate follows has me fearing for Isidor's life. Both of these things are good alone--I want to be scared for the characters, and I want to see Linaeve developing an admiration for Isidor. But the proximity here bothers me--it feels like whiplash. I generally operate under the assumption that in moments of high tension, the characters' instinctual animal brain takes over, and while it's possible for the animal brain to register things like admiration and awe, the point at which she becomes aware of her own admiration to the extent that she's able to begin articulating adjectives like "resourceful" is a moment when I'm no longer in the scene, as I'm more concerned with what is happening inside of Linaeve's head than with the events transpiring in front of her. In general, I feel like there are a lot of elements vying for my attention--the sense of discovery, the action, Linaeve's relationship with Isidor--and that these elements, while all well-represented, are sometimes compressed together in a way that makes it difficult for me to enjoy them.

Hey guys, thanks very much for your feedback. After reading your comments, it appears that my execution did fall short in a number of places, and some of my intentions didn't come across very well. To address this, I'd like to offer some explanation regarding my intents for the story. None of this is intended as justification; merely explanation. The ambiguity regarding the setting is intentional and by design. The soldiers' weapons could be swords, or muskets, or automatic rifles. They could be fighting on earth, on an alien world, or in an entirely different universe from our own. Ultimately, it doesn't matter for the purposes of this story. At its core, this is intended to be a story about two opposing cultures, how they react differently when presented with similar circumstances, and what the consequences of those actions were. My intention was to convey a sense of comedic irony, sort of a la Catch-22. This irony comes in several forms: the fact that the circumstances on both sides of the chasm evolve so differently (yet both sides assume that the other side's behavior is mirroring their own), the fact that the western soldiers that were isolated to the place where they would have the least impact actually end up having the most impact, and the fact that the victory of the "heroes" of the west is regarded with disdain rather than celebration. The entire third act of the story which involves the engagement between the two armies is also intended to be somewhat comedic as well. The effect I wanted to achieve was a comedy of errors in which two sides go to battle by accident. (This is also why the battle scene was not particularly graphic—I didn't want to try to present a comical scenario along gruesome depictions of bloodshed.) As stated before, this is a story about two opposing cultures. Central to this is the manner in which the two sides are presented. The scenes on the eastern side contain absolutely no dialog. None of them have names. For all we know, they may be speaking a different language than their western foes, or be an alien species that communicates entirely non-verbally. (I don't expect the reader to entertain that as a possibility, but it is still within the realm of possibility.) The scenes on the west side, meanwhile, are very dialog-centric. (In fact, in the first draft of this story, I wrote in a very experimental style in which I excluded dialog tags entirely—each side was either 100% dialog or 0% dialog. Some artifacts of this can be seen in the frequency with which Johnson addresses his captain as "sir" and also how often the privates address each other by name—this was originally my substitute for dialog tags, which I phased out because I felt that the stylized dialog took away more than it contributed.) I did not model it as a story about human characters—even the western soldiers who have names are intended to be abstractions to some extent. Williams, in the grand scheme of the story, is not actually a significant player. The collective of bloodthirsty men on the western side do collectively constitute a significant player, and Williams is intended to serve as the "face" of this group. By a similar token, the captain and lieutenant are caricatures of them men they preside over. The lieutenant is competent with a low tolerance for incompetence and for that the bureaucracy has punished him. The captain is bored and mischievous. All of these elements combine to form a volatile powder keg that is ignited by a single cry. So, with that out of the way, on to responses. Specific points: The uselessness of the pass is owed to its inaccessibility (alluded to in the early portions which discuss the difficulties faced by supply lines into the mountainous terrain, as well as the portion toward the end which highlights the disaster of placing your back to a narrow corridor.) The central idea is that the pass is a bottleneck, but once you push past that bottleneck, what awaits you on the other side? Another bottleneck. And another after that, all part of a series of chokepoints in a terrain that is not at all conducive to travel. I'd be willing to concede this point if I felt that it would add to the story, but I like the idea of the easterners giving up the fight solely due to misinformation rather than an actual strategic loss. It was the captain, who was the commanding officer in charge. (I agree this should have been more explicit.) More general responses: I agree that the story is generally lacking in tension and has a definite blandness to it, especially in the no-dialog reports on events of the east; the first half of the story has an atrociously high infodump/action ratio. I really struggled with the first few pages, because while "bored and stagnant" describes the circumstances of the players on the stage, it's also difficult to present in a compelling manner—this is only exacerbated by my choice to shy away from "humanizing" the characters. Perhaps this was a mistake on my part to choose this approach, or perhaps there's a better way for me to capture interest. One thing that I think may be an issue for this story is that the idea of abstracting things so that they could be happening any time at any place between any two nations is holding the story back in a big way. In one of my earlier outlines, I considered modeling the story as a conflict between two different species on an alien world, and described the easterners as a race that communicated entirely non-verbally, explaining their lack of dialog and the inability of the two sides to communicate. The original idea for this story was actually a mutation of an old piece of flash fiction I wrote in a fantasy setting with dragons; after typing it out I decided to remove the dragons and all references to archaic technology. One of the main reasons I decided to go ahead with the abstracted, omniscient viewpoint version I submitted is that I wanted to experiment with different writing styles that I'm less experienced with. It could very well be that the best version of this story is one that uses third-person limited narration in a science fiction (or fantasy) setting. I think that many of the issues you've all noted with the story could to a large part be addressed in shifting to a third-person limited narrative, coloring the soldiers on both sides as more "human" characters with very specific motivations and character traits, and filling in the setting more by building it through action and blocking. (All of the conversations essentially take place in empty white rooms in the current version of the story.) There's a good chance I'll do this at some point, because I still like the core idea of this story and want to find some way to tell it effectively. What I'd like to consider right now is whether it's possible to tell an effective version of this story through omniscient viewpoint. Considering Orson Scott Card's MICE quotient (which describes stories as being based on milieu, idea, characters, or event, suggesting that short stories focus on one), I think the most fundamental issue with my story is that it doesn't really focus on any of these--it's probably closest to being an "idea" story, but the way in which it presents the conflict doesn't really draw any compelling questions or investment from the audience. I'm thinking perhaps it would be better to approach this as a milieu story--the standoff between the two sides is inherently part of the setting, and at the end of the story, that setting is effectively dismantled.

Holding up the North (working title, alternative suggestions welcome) is a bit of an experiment on my part, as it diverges significantly from the kind of stories that I usually write. I'm eager to hear what you think about it.

I have a piece to submit for the week of April 28.

As others have said, lots of telling and not showing. The first chapter seems a bit heavy on infodumps. More than this, I think, my issues with the story boil down to too much being explained to me in explicit terms when I should be able to infer it. Some example passages: The term "unbind" is intuitive enough that the explanation doesn't really seem necessary. Shane is telling Awk that he has gone to the work of spending days to locate Righor, yet both characters should have a mutual awareness of this. While it's certainly reasonable for Shane to express anger at being sent out, it feels unnatural for Shane to articulate his grievance of this manner, since he is speaking to Awk; as it is, it feels more like he is talking for the benefit of Righor or the audience. The same is true of the conversation on the first page that begins with "Let me introduce myself." From an in-universe perspective, I really don't think it makes sense for Shane to explain to Righor how his magic works, unless perhaps it's interspersed with action that implies his explanation is taunting or mocking Righor rather than attempting to educate and inform him. By the end of the chapter, I felt like I was being overloaded with jargon. What I really want from a first chapter is to be introduced to a significant actor and learn what the stakes are--these are things that make me curious and increase my desire to learn about the world. My own experience with this story is that I was being thrust into the heat of jargon-filled action before I could develop that curiosity and emotional investment in any of the events, characters, or other fixtures. It's hard for me to care deeply about magic systems before I understand the context of the world that the magic exists in--the parts about the caste system based on hair color were interesting because they helped to develop the world apart from the magic. Even in the context of a high fantasy where all (or most) of the main characters have magical talents, I want to know what "normal" means in this universe, so unless >50% of the population is DragonBound, I want to know what it means to be a non-DragonBound in order to appreciate what is so special about being DragonBound. As it is, I feel like by the end of the first chapter I know more about the magical aspects of the world than the non-magical ones. Minor miscellaneous issues: I'm not really keen on the use of "facepalm" as a verb. 13 instances of ellipsis in 5 pages feels like a bit much for me. I understand wanting to show pauses in dialog, but if you overuse the ellipsis, eventually I just start to ignore it, and there are a lot of places where it just feels unnecessary and distracting. If you want to punctuate a pause in a sentence, you can interrupt the flow of dialog with blocking. There's a point at which you use an ellipsis and then state "He paused" which just feels redundant to me.

Hey guys, just one last thing that I wanted to articulate regarding the titular wasting room which I realize didn't come across very well in the draft I submitted. My intent was to draw a parallel between Cole's meeting with Rolondo, and Cole's meeting with protag. In explaining the wasting room, protag indirectly comments on the meeting he observed between Cole and Rolondo which led to the lord's demise. Breaking down what I intended to imply through the dialog in this scene when protag is explaining the wasting room to Cole: Text: We are in this wasting room because it's a place that is truly soundproof. If you're going to meet someone privately, you want it to be in a completely private location. Subtext: If you're going to kill someone, you want it to be in a completely private location. Sub-subtext: That "private" meeting you had with Rolondo (where you killed him)? Not as private as you thought it was. And it's at this point that the dance of "I know you know, but do you know I know you know?" between the two begins. There are probably other ways to achieve this besides having the wasting room as it currently is. A less subtle alternative is just to have protag come right out and say, "I know you killed Rolondo, which is a problem for me because we had this heist planned, but no hard feelings, because you can help me salvage this situation," and Cole responds with, "I'll cooperate with you because it sounds like a good way to get rich," when he really means, "I'll cooperate with you because you're the only witness to the murder and I need to find an opportunity to snuff you."

Most of you have pointed out that Cole seems far too trusting of protag, and after rereading the story in its entirety, I realize that this is the case. This is actually the opposite of what I intended to achieve--I originally conceived the relationship between protag and Cole as being one based on mutual distrust--the notion of "keep your friends close and your enemies closer." My intent was for Cole to have an understanding and awareness that protag was witness (likely the sole witness) to the murder, and that he was planning to cooperate with protag only long enough as it would take to find a window of opportunity to backstab protag. In original draft of this story, things unfolded a bit differently. Brief summary of the original concept: Protag explains his plan to Cole as such: protag will hide within the casket with the stolen goods, and escape the event by way of the casket. Cole sees this as an opportunity to betray protag: when the casket goes up for auction, Cole insists that the casket be opened, believing that in doing so, protag will be "caught" and apprehended by the Bastielle guards. However, the casket opens to reveal not protag, but the remains of Rolondo. This would highlight the role of mutual distrust between protag and Cole, as it pits them in a race to see who can backstab the other first--and in a somewhat poetic manner, Cole's betrayal of protag becomes his own undoing. I ended up discarding this idea since it seemed a bit too far-fetched and logically inconsistent with Cole's character. While it makes sense for protag to concoct an elaborate scheme to trap Cole, Cole has no need for such plans--in fact, Cole would rather see protag killed than captured, since dead men tell no tales and his entire reason for working with protag was to eliminate a witness to his crime, and we've already established that Cole has no problems with killing the people he works with. It also has logistical problems: the men handling the casket would probably notice the weight of a person hiding inside. So I ended up writing that out entirely. However, in discarding this idea, I'm now left with the problem that it's no longer clear that Cole's entire reason for going along with protag's plan was to betray him. I'll see if I can rework something like that in; even if it's not the same implementation, I think it's important for the idea of mutual betrayal to exist in the story in some form. In the original draft of the story, I conceived Cole as being a fire adept, and in fact selected the name Cole for that reason. (Cole = Coal) In this original draft, Cole used his fire magic in an attempt to escape when the guards apprehended him at the end; he still got caught, but caused some havoc and destruction in the process. I ended up writing this part out since it felt like just throwing in magic for the sake of magic; either way Cole's apprehension is a foregone conclusion, and I also felt it would be "messy" to introduce a new form of magic in the third act. Cole being a fire adept is also irrelevant to every other part of the story so I decided to exclude that detail. @Robinski--thanks for taking the time to go into such detail; the things you mentioned are all things that I'll fix during revision. To address the specific point about the four adept's rooms, one thing that I didn't make very clear in my world building is that not all adepts possess the ability to manipulate air; this is alluded to briefly in chapter 3 when Cole alludes to the existence of fire adepts, but the magic system is based on the classic model of four elements (air, earth, fire, water), and adepts of all four kinds require aether to exercise their powers, hence the four rooms. That being said, the fact that there are four rooms storing aether certainly isn't trivial (they're likely the only four rooms in the estate where he could obtain aether), and I'll endeavor to make that clearer in subsequent drafts; acquisition of aether should be a more significant challenge for the protagonist. Another idea I'm considering is for protag to resort to looting individual rooms as plan B: he initially intends to steal from a central vault, but this task proves to be insurmountable, so he instead settles for stealing smaller quantities which collectively provide him with a quantity that suffices to fuel his escape. Also regarding "Page 13 – It’s not self-immolation unless he sets himself on fire, which I presume is not the case, just plane immolation." When trapped in the basement, the protagonist is at no immediate risk of burning to death as he is standing well away from the flames; if he is left in the basement, he will simply die of dehydration (and considering that the environment is many degrees hotter than a desert, this is a process that would take hours, not days). However, if he is being left to die, perhaps he may wish to hasten his demise by leaping into the flames--a higher level of pain, but perhaps less torture than being left for hours to contemplate his own mortality while sitting drenched in his own sweat. To anyone who has bothered to read this far, I'd like to toss out a couple ideas for your consideration: I originally conceived the world of this story as being one where adepts are viewed as pariahs. Common people are fearful of adepts (in the same way that some societies were fearful of witches or wizards). Adepts are required by law to register with noble houses, as society at large holds the belief that the nobility have the ability to keep their adepts "in check" and in accordance with common law. Adepts, due to their rarity, are sought-after by noble houses, and are treated well, but they wear (figurative) golden handcuffs, bound to serve at the pleasure of their lord and oftentimes being bound to a single estate for life. Since failing to register as an adept places you in the category of "criminal," the only place you find unregistered adepts (such as the protagonist) is in the underworld. Because of this, adepts are very secretive regarding their talents. (This is actually still reflected in the draft I submitted to the writing group, as the protagonist never reveals his powers to anyone in the story.) For example, an air adept will advertise his services as a freelance criminal not as "John Doe, master air adept" but rather "John Doe, master burglar," with the implication that he may (or may not) be an air adept. Because criminal offenses involving magic are treated more seriously by the state, it is in the criminal's best interest to leave behind no evidence that magic is involved in his exploits; doing so would be considered "sloppy." In another version of the story, I conceived the protagonist as an inquisitor working on both sides of the law. By day, he works as an enforcer of the law, hunting down rogue adepts. By night, he is a criminal adept, because stealing is the only way that he is able to fund his own practice of magic which he sometimes uses in his pursuit of criminals (unbeknownst to the state). As an inquisitor, the protagonist is concerned only with hunting down rogue adepts; non-adept criminals (such as Eril) are just assets to him, and because he conceals his identity as an inquisitor, many common criminals simply regard him as a peer. (Such is the nature of his relationship with Eril). When the protagonist witnesses Cole killing Rolondo, he wishes to bring Rolondo to justice. However, non-adept criminals are outside his jurisdiction. If protag reports what he's seen to law enforcement, he invites all sorts of questions as to why he was lurking about, using magic to witness crimes. So, protag begins pursuing Cole with one of two objectives: trap Cole and force him to get caught for his crimes, or force Cole to reveal himself as a rogue adept. Toward the end, protag faces the inherent irony of his character, as he is employed by the state to hunt rogue adepts, while he himself is a rogue adept. This version of the story was titled "Wizard Hunter." Long before I condensed the story down to its current form, "Wizard Hunter" was actually envisioned as a larger story, of which "The Wasting Room" constituted the first of three acts. At the beginning of the second act, Cole uses fire magic to escape from prison--and because he's now known as a rogue adept rather than just a simple criminal, he is within protag's jurisdiction, setting up a larger story which involves the protagonist chasing Cole across a larger landscape. I began the project by writing out several scenes that I thought would be interesting--the first scenes I wrote were the opening in chapter 1 with protag witnessing murder, and the part in chapter 6 where the protagonist is using magic to control sound as he sneaks about. I decided I wanted to tell a first-person present-tense narrative with limited scope, and The Wasting Room as you've read it is what came out. The ideas above were not pursued because I felt that they distracted from the focus, but I find myself wondering if they could help to alleviate some of the common issues people identified with the story. andyk and Mandamon both remarked on a lack of tension throughout, and constructing a society in which adepts are required to register with a noble house creates an inherent tension as the protagonist's very existence as an adept is an offense that commands a severe punishment; this could be amplified by changing the magic system such that using magic places the adept in a very vulnerable position that makes it obvious to anyone watching that they are using magic.

If I could summarize my intention for this story, it was to create a thriller in a fantasy setting, and to minimize the amount of exposition and requisite world-building by having magic play a relatively minor role in the world. (In the story, the protagonist is the only character that is named as an adept.) The protagonist does use magic to solve some of his problems, but I wanted the protagonist to lean much more on other skills and tools. Mainly, these are his powers of observation, as well as deduction and reasoning. One of the main conflicts I wanted to be present was the idea of a constant tension between the protagonist and Cole as they work together. The protagonist knows that Cole is the killer, but does he know whether Cole knows that he is the killer? Similarly, my intent was for Cole to operate under the assumption that the protagonist knew his guilt in the murder, but was in the dark as to the protagonist's intentions, as well as a lingering "does he know that I know he knows" question. I think this is one thing I may have whiffed on—the entire point of the third chapter (when the protagonist meets with Cole in the forge) was to establish the wasting room as a place that was ideal for a private meeting, but also ideal as a murder location. During that meeting, I wanted to have a constant tension between Cole and Protag, with the lingering question of whether things would turn violent. Based on reader feedback, it seems that I failed at this, so that's something to address in the rewrite. Most of this story was discovery-written, which is something I'm a bit new to. (I'm used to starting with a much higher outline:story ratio.) I had a very broad outline (really just a summary of a few sentences) describing the main points I wanted to hit: Protagonist witnesses murder, protagonist colludes with murderer, protagonist betrays murderer by framing the guilty party. As I discovery wrote this piece, I ran into several pitfalls. Most of these came in the form of inconsistencies and things that just didn't make sense because I mostly invented things as I went along—stuff like the logistics of soundproofing the smithy in chapter 3 by flooding it, and minor logistical notes like the fact that in chapter 6 the protagonist throws roof tiles onto the ground when he is no longer standing on the roof. The feedback I've gotten from this forum has been very helpful in this regard, as several users have done a pretty comprehensive job of specifically pointing out problem passages. I think the other issue that I ran into was that things came out a bit "too smooth," especially toward the end when the plans are put into motion and the protagonist is barreling forward. I will definitely try to introduce more "hiccups" and unexpected problems for the protagonist in subsequent rewrites, hopefully without going overboard too much—while I do want to see the protagonist overcome minor struggles along the way, I didn't want to distract too much from his central goal. Questions for those who read the full story: Nameless protagonist. Good thing? Bad thing? Should the protagonist have more clearly-defined traits? My intention was to portray the protagonist's character through his actions, but would more detail about physical attributes have helped? What about the protagonist's intentions: are they too explicit, or not explicit enough? The protagonist's (and Cole's) exploits tend to take one of two forms: social engineering (acting and smooth-talking to trick the various nobles they encounter), and physical action (sneaking around, using magic to eavesdrop, etc). Which sections did you find most effective, which would you like to see more of? In general: what worked, and what didn't? When did you feel the story was at its best, and which parts were least enjoyable for you?

Here's the fourth (and final) installment of The Wasting Room, which consists of chatpers 7, 8, and 9. Your feedback on the included chapters is appreciated. Also, general feedback on the story as a whole (for those who read it in its entirety) would be helpful as well. Summary of what has happened so far: In chapter 1, the unnamed protagonist uses his magical abilities as an air adept to eavesdrop on a meeting between two suspicious men, and becomes witness to a murder when one of the men double-crosses the other. In chapter 2, the protagonist meets with an information broker named Eril, and learns the identities of the men he saw earlier. The victim was a nobleman named Lord Rolondo, and the killer is Cole, a criminal who is new to the city. Protagonist requests that Eril arrange a meeting with Cole, under the pretense of recruiting Cole for a criminal operation. In chapter 3, the protagonist meets with Cole. The protagonist shares plans in light of the recent disappearance of Lord Rolondo: Cole will masquerade as the missing (deceased) Rolondo and attend a masquerade ball and auction being held by another noble house, Bastielle. According to the plan, the protagonist will use this cover to enter and pilfer goods from the Bastielle estate. Cole agrees to participate. In chapter 4, the protagonist and Cole pose as envoys of the Rolondo estate and visit the house of Hannal, a greedy capitalist nobleman. They strike a deal with Hannal to provide transportation for their fake Rolondo to arrive at the Bastielle event in noble fashion. In chapter 5, protagonist decides to pay a visit to the scene of the murder from chapter 1, observing that Rolondo's body is still as Cole left it. Afterward, protagonist meets with Cole to head to the ball. In chapter 6, protagonist and Cole enter the main guest hall at the Bastielle estate, posing as members of Rolondo. Protagonist exits the guest hall by way of the upstairs balcony, and uses air magic to enter the Bastielle attendant's quarters undetected, stealing all the aether he can find before moving onto his main objective. General story remarks:

I'd like to submit the week of April 14.

Here's the third installment of The Wasting Room, which consists of chapters 5 and 6. I originally planned for this third submission to include the final concluding chapters, but I ended up running pretty far over the recommended word count for submissions, so I decided to separate it into two smaller chunks, making this portion a bit shorter than my earlier submissions. The fourth installment (which I will hopefully be able to submit next week) will conclude the story. Summary of what has happened so far: In chapter 1, the unnamed protagonist uses his magical abilities as an air adept to eavesdrop on a meeting between two suspicious men, and becomes witness to a murder when one of the men double-crosses the other. In chapter 2, the protagonist meets with an information broker named Eril, and learns the identities of the men he saw earlier. The victim was a nobleman named Lord Rolondo, and the killer is Cole, a criminal who is new to the city. Protagonist requests that Eril arrange a meeting with Cole, under the pretense of recruiting Cole for a criminal operation. In chapter 3, the protagonist meets with Cole. The protagonist shares plans in light of the recent disappearance of Lord Rolondo: Cole will masquerade as the missing (deceased) Rolondo and attend a masquerade ball and auction being held by another noble house, Bastielle. According to the plan, the protagonist will use this cover to enter and pilfer goods from the Bastielle estate. Cole agrees to participate. In chapter 4, the protagonist and Cole pose as envoys of the Rolondo estate and visit the house of Hannal, a greedy capitalist nobleman. They strike a deal with Hannal to provide transportation for their fake Rolondo to arrive at the Bastielle event in noble fashion.

I decided to go with first person present narration because I believe it conveys a sense of immediacy and increases the tension of the action scenes. My own experience is that third-person limited perspective is great for telling larger stories with multiple viewpoints, but as I'm telling a smaller story with a single protagonist I wanted to be able to focus on that single character's thoughts and perceptions. I'm not trying to tell a grand epic here; I'm aiming for something closer to thriller pacing.

I'd like to submit the week of April 7.