ollie’s critique to https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7382768/ :0 (799 words im sorry if that’s way too much oopsies) also part 3 of weekly #2

things to work on:
i see some reoccurring small problems with dialogue punctuation and grammar, so for example, check your story for these mistakes: (im doing simple examples so its easier to understand the problem)
problem: capital letter of following pronoun
wrong:
“Hello!” She said.
right:
“Hello!” she said.

problem: punctuation of a period in dialogue
wrong:
“Hello.” she said.
right:
“Hello,” she said.

other heads-ups:
- for internal dialogue when you italicize it, you don’t necessarily need to frame it with “she thought”, but it’s your choice!! <3
- make sure you dont say “has put on” and you say “had put on” or “put on” depending on the sentence
- random, (like all this advice ngl), but you could switch up the sentence structure by mixing it up, like for example, when you write “Then she hopped out of the car. She spotted Joshua waiting outside of the restaurant for her and walked up to him.” you could mix it up by saying “then she hopped out of the car, spotting Joshua waiting outside of the restaurant for her. She walked up to him, *add feeling, like is she nervous, excited, what are her thoughts as she is walking up*”

things i loved/liked that you did:
- at 7:30pm, you used less scene setting and more dialogue/action, signaling a change of pace in the story
- some small quotes i love are:
- “Kris bit back a smile.”
- love the humor — “They were silent until they reached Zinger’s, and Sasha asked, ‘Who’s driving you to the dance?’ Kris replied, ‘Josh’s sister, who actually cares about her brother making it to his date in time’”
- “a shy smile creeping onto her face“
- “Sasha watched sadly from the car as they disappeared into the restaurant together.“ (the adverb was a nice touch too!!)
- “Her pretty face creased into a frown when she didn’t see her older sister anywhere.”
- “his curly hair and endearing smile melting some of the anger in Kris’s chest and replacing it with something resembling butterflies.”
- “Kris grabbed her backpack and slammed her locker door shut. Ugly, fat, lame, dork echoed in a never-ending loop of self-hate. Her anger was like a cloud above her, keeping everyone away.” i LOVE this intro, it’s very straight to the point and written nicely!! i love it so much and i dont know why haha!
- “Kris has put on a long sleeve black crop top with a bow in the back and a heart-shaped neckline. Her short jean shorts were ripped and cute, and her silver earrings worked perfectly with her brown hair. She had swooped on smokey eyeshadow, and her lips were tinted red. She looked like a teenage goddess“ this is an awesome job presenting the character!! she sounds so pretty thoooo
- alright, I could go on, but bottom line im obsessed with all the details you use so effortlessly in your story!!!

plot line/character development thoughts:
not like this is a whole book (ofc not xD) but just thinking about how you introduced the characters, here are my thoughts:
I love how you portrayed kris, and gave her a weakness right off the bat (anger). the reader can tell she is working on that and it is very important to have this negative trait because i find a lot of people who write just forget to add one or it isn’t obvious, but you went above and beyond and incorporated it 1), right away, and 2), later in the scene when kris enters the car. this is amazing work!! another thing is sasha’s character, and i love how you have a nickname for her which kris uses (sassy), but the reader still knows her real name is sasha—you made that really clear. I love when characters have funny/interesting nicknames, and this isn’t just in writing, it’s in tv shows, movies, and so much more! i also love how you did the pacing of the story. even though it’s only a few hundred words, you executed it very well! i love that there is a little mishap, but everything turns out fine. keep up the good work!

okay, final thoughts:
wow. this is really good writing!!! also before I get into the final thoughts, I apologize if i’ve been too harsh or too nit-picky because literally there wasn’t almost anything wrong with this, so i had to put something bahahaha!! I also know this wasn’t some writing competition piece or something you edited in-depth, so i understand if some things i said you already knew or don’t need help with. you are really an amazing writer and you should definitely keep it up, i could see you writing a book or short story!!

Daily 15th July
It’s cabin wars and Sofi is going round the orphanage to check on everyone. She sees A in a corridor, sitting by the door to the dorms.
Sofi: Hi, A, you alright?
A: (Jumps slightly)(Whispering) Yeah, I’m good. But shhh..
Sofi: Why?
A: Cherry’s in the dorms by themself and they’ve not left all day.
Sofi: Oh my gosh! Are they alright? (Moves closer to the door, about to open it)
A: Wait! Cherry’s fine, they’re writing, and concentrating really hard. Don’t disturb them.
Sofi: Okay, but that can’t be healthy. I mean, I’ve seen what Cherry’s been doing, they’ve probably done most of the work out of everyone, maybe, just maybe, they should take a break. (Exits)
Cae: (Walks on, just missing Sofi) Hi A, how are you doing?
A: Oh, I’m fine thanks. If you’re wondering who keeps finishing all the wars for us, Cherry’s in there writing her fingers off.
Cae: Sheesh, are they okay? They must have written, like, five thousand by now. (Calling) Cherry, are you alive?
Cherry: (Mumbled through the door) Yeah, yeah. One thousand more…
Cae: You need a break-
Sofi: (Walks in suddenly, holding a plate of cookies) (Cheerfully) Cookies! Cherry, I’ve got cookies for you, and I’ll eat them for you if you don’t come out right now!
Door bursts open suddenly, Cherry is standing there with a mad grin
Cherry: Cookies! Gimme!
Sofi: Okay, okay! But have a rest, yeah? The others can finish this war for you, and then our shield will be up for a while after that.
Cherry: (Munching cookies) Yeah, okay. I’ll stop- for now. But later I’m gonna write more!
Cae: We’ve got a little while now before our shield goes down again. I say we use the time to finish booby trapping the third floor!
All: Yeah! (Exit, leaving trail of cookie crumbs)

7/15 daily, 639 words
unfinished but posting anyways. the original plan was a script covering the entirety of the contempoetry conflict, but i had a road trip and couldn't write for a while so uhhh,,, putting this here and maybe i'll finish it eventually :P
—-

FADE IN.

EXT - SWC TRAIN STATION - DAY
The train station is empty, though still in decent condition- as evidenced by the freshly-painted SWC Station sign outside-, and quite certainly still functioning, even with the lack of staff. A moment passes, and then the Contemporary Wandering Library- a slick, modern pink-and-blue vehicle with white accents- slows to a stop in the train station. The doors open, and an excited crowd of Contemporary cabinmates climb (or, in some cases, jump) out, their presence suddenly filling the train station with cheerful chatting. More than one of them is wearing some piece of theater merchandise. Finally, the Wandering Library's LEADER steps out, dressed in the unconventional conductor's uniform of an outfit composed solely of Hamilton merch. She looks around, surveying the scene for a moment with a hand over her eyes to block out the sun and a smile on her face, then heads inside.

INT - SWC TRAIN STATION - DAY
Two Contemporary campers are going through a stack of cardboard boxes- presents from other cabins. CAMPER ONE, holding an exacto-knife, looks inside a freshly-opened cardboard box and gasps.

CAMPER ONE
Mangoes?!

CAMPER ONE takes out one of the yellow fruits as they speak, smiling cheerfully, as though the fruit has just made their day. And knowing the importance of mangoes to all SWCers, it probably has.

CAMPER ONE
Don't mind if I do!

CAMPER TWO
Wait!

CAMPER TWO tugs the mango out of CAMPER ONE's hands.

CAMPER TWO
Those are from Steampunk, our enemy! You don't want to eat those- what if they're poisoned? They could be trying to make us fall asleep so we can't write!

True to CAMPER TWO's words, the cardboard box is labelled “From: Steampunk”.

CAMPER ONE
Oh, you're right. I didn't notice that.

CAMPER ONE laughs. CAMPER TWO, now that the danger has passed and CAMPER ONE is aware of the potential for poison, sets the mango back in the box.

CAMPER ONE
Good thing you stopped me- Steampunk won't be getting the better of us today!

CAMPER ONE picks up the box.

CAMPER ONE (cheerfully)
Let's go outside and burn these!

CAMPER TWO produces a lighter, and their eyes glint. Though neither of them can have mangoes today, there is something that SWCers like perhaps even more than mangoes, and that is arson.

CAMPER TWO
Sounds like a plan!

EXT - SWC TRAIN STATION - NIGHT
The Contemporary campers are sitting around a fire crackling away merrily in the firepit, where the burning Steampunk mangoes can be seen. CAMPER ONE and CAMPER TWO are sitting together and tending the fire, which several campers are warming their hands to. Nobody is roasting marshmallows, for fear of contaminating the marshmallows with any poisons potentially released by the burning mangoes; it's a rare possibility, but they wouldn't put it past Steampunk to anticipate that they would burn the fruits.

CAMPER ONE
I'm a little sad- nobody else sent us mangoes. Since Steampunk sent us some, I got my hopes up, but… Nope.

CAMPER TWO
Well, if we aren't given any, I guess we'll just have to take some. How does robbing, say, Poetry sound?

CAMPER ONE
Isn't Poetry one of our enemies?

CAMPER TWO
Yep- but that just means we won't make any new enemies with this crime.

CAMPER ONE
Okay, then. I'm in.

EXT - POETRY LIGHTHOUSE - NIGHT
The Poetry Lighthouse is a grand structure, a red-and-white tower located on the coast. While the nearest town isn't for a few miles, the Wandering Library's railroad network is sprawling, and the closest train station is well within view of the Poetry headquarters. The Contemporary Wandering Library, which the two have taken on an off-the-records trip for their heist, pulls into that station almost silently. CAMPER ONE and CAMPER TWO, both dressed in stolen Poetry uniforms, step out and survey the scene before them.

for today daily

poetry//she/they


Title: The Lighthouse Girl

Act 1

Scene 1

Setting: An island in the middle of the sea. The stage is set up to look like a small village on the island, with a lighthouse in the background.

Characters: The Lighthouse Girl, Villagers

The Lighthouse Girl is standing on the edge of the stage, looking out at the sea. The Villagers are milling around in the background.

Lighthouse Girl:
There's a boat out there, stuck in the ocean.
Traitors are tracking their motions.
I have to decipher the clue,
Before they come ashore.

Villagers:
What can we do to help you?
How can we keep them away?

Lighthouse Girl:
We have to light the lighthouse,
And keep it shining bright.
It's the only way to warn them,
And keep them out of sight.

Scene 2

Setting: The lighthouse. The stage is set up to look like the inside of the lighthouse, with a large light in the background.

Characters: The Lighthouse Girl, Villagers

The Lighthouse Girl is standing by the light, adjusting it to make it shine brighter. The Villagers are gathered around, watching her work.

Lighthouse Girl:
I have to make it brighter,
So they can see it from afar.
It's the only way to save us,
And keep us safe from harm.

Villagers:
We believe in you, Lighthouse Girl,
And we'll do whatever it takes.
We'll keep the traitors away,
And keep our island safe.

Act 2

Scene 1

Setting: The village. The stage is set up to look like the village, with the lighthouse in the background.

Characters: The Lighthouse Girl, Villagers, Traitors

The Traitors have landed on the island and are making their way towards the village. The Villagers are standing in front of the Lighthouse Girl, ready to protect her.

Lighthouse Girl:
We have to stand together,
And keep our island strong.
We can't let them defeat us,
Or do us any wrong.

Traitors:
We're here to take what's ours,
And we won't be stopped by you.
You can't keep us from our goal,
Or make us change our view.

hello hello! partial proof - although not much, most of the writing was personal - for the big block of words i added after coming back from holiday (as there are a lot of words and I would probably ask campers for partial proof if any of them added this much in one go so I should stick to that myself afhjafn)
bear in mind that most of this was written on a 5+ hour flight in my notes app while I was running on 2 hours of sleep so it is an absolute mess xD
please don’t read this sfbshbcj, will be deleting soon

(+1094 for starting to write fanfic entry, word count will be slightly less for this as I’ve edited slightly since it was counted)

The Queen's old chambers are always dark.

Down here, one never knows what time of day it is - or what day it is at all. Minutes bleed into hours, melt into days, creep into months. And the months slowly drag themselves into years, stacking up and up and up until the wasted time is stifling, until you can almost choke on it.
Ophelia had been here 15 years, 11 months, 3 weeks and 2 days - or around that. She stopped counting at one point, but it wasn't long before she started again - counting and estimating and guessing and assuming what the date was was one of the only things that kept her somewhat busy in her ornate-framed prison cell. Staring into the same shadowed room from behind the same cloudy glass got a little old sometimes.
Not even the servants came here anymore. The place had fallen into disrepair long ago without them to polish the marble floors or dust the gilded furniture. Now Ophelia's only visiter was the Queen herself.
She came once a day, always asking the same question, to which Ophelia would always respond with the same answer.
Until it all changed.

The door at the back of the room swung open with a scream of hinges, a sliver of light spilling onto the floor. Ophelia looked away for a moment, the sudden brightness blinding her unaccustomed eyes.
The door fell closed.
A familiar clipclip-clipclip of footsteps, echoing on the dull marble floor. Followed by silence.
A breath.
And then –
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who's the fairest of them all?”
Ophelia glared from behind the glass.
It was ironic. How every day Ophelia would reassure the Queen of her beauty when really, she couldn't see a thing in this darkness. Maybe it was intentional, and it was why the Queen always left this place in the dark. Or perhaps she kept it black because she could not bear to see the face of the figure imprisoned (trapped?) in the glass. Or she didn't want to see her own reflection stading beside Ophelia - the only place they could ever be together now, on opposite sides of a mirror.
“You, my Queen, are the fairest of them all.” Ophelia sighed. She often had the fleeting urge to say something different, a small act of rebellion against the woman keeping her trapped here - but she never went through with it. Although she hated to admit it, she was too afraid of the Queen's punishment.
A small green glow flickered in the Queen's hands - her magic, Ophelia realised. The light played across the Queen's fingers, twisting and flickering in the darkness. It was mesmerising. And it was terrifying.
Ophelia had not been born with the gift of magic, much to the Queen's disappointment. As a child she had always been fascinated when the Queen used it. Not anymore. Not now that she knew the horrors it was capable of.
The green flame exstinguised suddenly as the Queen closed her fist.
“I am getting sick of this family,” she complained, her voice filled with poison. “That Snow White and her singing - can barely hear my own thoughts over it. I want that girl gone. Ugly little brat.”
Ophelia stayed silent. She had heard this rant many times before - no matter how many new men the Queen married or how many new families she brought into her castle, she could never be happy.
“Her father used to keep her out of the way but then he went and got himself killed, stupid man.” the Queen continued. “And the servants are going on about how the castle's getting run down, how we're running out of money. They don't know what they're talking about, the castle is fine. If it gets worse I can always enchant the stones into coins like last time.”
She laughed, harshly, coldly. A flash of anger shot through Ophelia - at the unfairness of it all, at how the Queen could get whatever she wanted through nothing but tricks and illusions just because she happened to be born with sparkly magic and old money.
Ophelia suddenly realised the Queen was speaking again.
“- need to hear it one more time. My sweet, sweet, daughter - mirror, mirror, on the wall - who's the fairest of them all?”
Ophelia clenched her fists. How dare she call me her daughter, she thought. And the words were coming out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“You, my Queen, are fair - it's true. But Snow White is far more beautiful than you.”
Ophelia froze, realising instantly what she had done. Not in all her 15 years, 11 months, 3 weeks and 2 days had she said anything the Queen didn't want to hear.
But did it matter what the Queen did to her now? She had nothing left to lose.

Ophelia reached up to the glass,
and smashed the mirror.


❄️❄️❄️

● 29 years earlier ●

❄️❄️❄️


“Our daughter is beautiful. Isn't she?”

Queen Invydia smiled at her husbands words, not taking her eyes off toddler Ophelia playing on the lawn. Ophelia - the only name they had both agreed on. She was two now, and it already felt like she was growing up so fast.
“You sound sad.” Invydia said, continuing to watch her daughter. “Oh no, she's tearing up the grass, the gardeners won't be happy about that. I better tell them, you keep an eye on Ophelia.”
Dante sighed as Invydia rushed off, burying his head in his hands. He had been looking for an opporunity to tell her for while now - but he never seemed to find the right time.
He lifted his head, gazing at the little girl who was now trying to eat the grass she had ripped from thier pristine lawn.
“I'll miss her,” he whispered.

❄️❄️❄️

Midnight.

Dante stuffed the last thing in his bag, looking over his shoulder as the guards switched shifts and left the castle gates clear. Now.
He stood up, shouldered his bag -
“Where are you going?”
He turned around.
Invydia was hurrying towards him, eyes bleary with sleep, confused.
“Why do you have a bag?”
“I- I can explain!” Dante protested, as Invydia yanked the bag away from him.
He looked away as the realisation dawned on her.
“You're… leaving?”
He snatched the bag back. “Look, I never wanted this. Our parents arranged this marridge when we were children and I didn't want this to be my life, I… I though it would be easier for both of us if I just… left?”

7/15/2023
- art by me
- other photos found on pinterest, bottom left one was photographed by yours truly
- song lyrics from king by lauren aquilina
- writing overlay by me

Weekly Part 2

https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7379630/ - @strange_skies’ workshop

“I’m going out for a bike ride.” Myra tugged her dirt smudged trainers onto her feet.
“Okay darling, we’ll have tea when you get home.”
“Alright. Don’t wait for me if I take too long. Bye,” and with that, she was out the door. Less than a minute later, she was getting on her bike and cycling away. Myra’s bike rides were the only time she ever got to herself, and they were precious minutes too. She and Ellen had been bickering again. This time, she had been looking for string in Ellen’s drawers, and she had come in and started almost screaming at her for looking at her private things. First of all, Myra didn’t think string was very private, and you’d have to be really stupid to hide something really secret in a desk drawer. Second of all, what’s the big deal anyway? Ellen had gotten into a bit of a rage, and there had been lots of door slamming from her. Ellen had a very hot temper, and when she was angry, Myra knew it was best not to say much, although hundreds of cutting remarks whirled through her head. Occasionally, though, one slipped out and they wouldn’t talk for days.
Myra found herself cycling instinctively to the cemetery. She didn’t know anyone there, except the fish in the pond, of course, but it was nice to be totally and utterly alone. People generally kept themselves distanced from a teenager all by herself in a cemetery; Myra despised the ‘grumpy emo teenager’ stereotype, but sometimes it worked in her favour.
She rested her bike against an iron railing, then looked into the pond to see the fish. There weren’t as many as usual, but there were a few at least. She sat down and let her thoughts spill out.
“Yeah, Ellen’s angry again. She punched me this time, I don’t think there’ll be a bruise. She gets angry too quickly these days- I think it’s her friend Isa. She’s always talking about her, and she seems to have taught Ellen to be stubborn and what she thinks is heroic.” Myra sighed. Ellen could never seem to get it right. She felt her life was a movie, and Myra was some kind of villain. She closed her eyes for a few minutes, thinking about nothing at all, then got up to cycle home. She had been out for long enough, and she didn’t want questions when she got home for taking too long.
4 hours later
At the dinner table, Ellen and Myra stared at each other coldly. Myra tried not to take too much notice of Ellen’s drama queen antics, but sometimes she would say something totally wrong and put the entire conversation askew. This time she was recounting a story about someone vomiting. Myra tried to look into the distance and pretend not to be listening, but she heard every word, and her parents trying to smile and nod, and it was all she could do not to lash out at all of them. It was all so fake. She left as soon as she finished her food, leaving the room without a word, and lay down in her bed listening to music. She could imagine mum cuddling Ellen lovingly as she recounted tearfully how horribly Myra had looked through her stuff. It made her sick. But she just lay there in silence, smiling secretly to herself.
It could be worse.
(575 words)

Part two of weekly #2 and I'm using @lizard-breath's Workshop about Character's Depth which I found really helpful and I'm writing a Short Story based on my newfound Knowledge and once again thank you so so much Scratch Writing Camp for giving me this wonderful opportunity so without further ado, let's dive into my new found knowledge story.

( It was a foggy day, All the people stayed indoors because of the fear of getting lost in the eternal fog)
Miya said, “ Mum, When will the fog be lifted? It's been nearly a week and I want to play outdoors with my friends.” Miya's mum, Not knowing how to answer and was still in a puzzled state when Miya's older sister, Carmi spoke up, “ Miya, don't worry Everything is going to be okay and wanna play a game of Chess? Let's see who will win?” Miya sprinted towards her room to get her Chess board and coins and Mum was still worried as the groceries at home were getting over and was confused on how to get all the important stuff when they were supposed to stay indoors. Carmi sensed her mum's worried expression and thus reassured her mum that she and her mist will go out for that and then disappeared into thin air. Mum understood her and when Miya came she played Chess with her.
The Mist was a secret spy agency founded by Carmi to protect those in need. The mist consisted of Carmi( The leader and a spy)The Eternal Fog seemed suspicious and bank robberies have been taking place across town. This was worrying everyone and the mist even more. They had to do something about it and Every person in the town were counting on them to protect them from this eternal fog and make sure it is gone for good. With this high pressure, the question is, “ Will they Save the town from the Eternal Fog?” Well, This was the same question which rose in the heart and mind of the team members of the mist.

The mist was made up of 4 members, Carmi-The leader and a super stealth spy, Davian- The Hacker, Rose- The Doctor, Hawk- A Robotics engineer and a weirdo who wanted to be a spy and so spy in training.

The mist arrived at their Meeting point–The Shop. It was actually like the head quarters of the Mist, It consisted of a main place to discuss, A lab for Rose, A workshop for Hawk, A Techy room for Davian and a Training room for Carmi.

They all came to the Head Quarter or HQ of the Shop. Carmi started the conversation, “ We all know why we are here so same the speech I guess o What should we do about the eternal fog, Any Ideas?” Rose Spoke up, “ Well, I can test the gas of the Eternal fog so that I can find a way to remove it.”
“That's Excellent, I will get a Sample for you to test.” said Carmi.

(Now they had somewhere to start it so I guess The End where it is just the beginning of a new Venture.)

Using the character voice workshop


Name: Vesper Novak– Vesper was originally named Kit Warner. Her mother didn’t want her but her older brother Bram thought she acted like a raccoon kit he had heard about in stories, so he called her Kit. When they were young their mother sold them and they decided they wanted new names and a fresh start. They chose the name Novak because it literally means new. Bram became Sebastian and Kit became Vesper because she often enjoyed sneaking into the church to hear the hymns and prayers. Vesper is also considered to be less than human due to certain circumstances, so by calling herself Vesper, she finds a little bit of holiness in herself. Even though everyone around her says she isn’t and she has to fight dirty for just a scrap of food sometimes.

Looks: Vesper is small and slight, partly due to the fact that she is malnourished. She has light brown skin with a cool undertone and it has many scars from knife fights as well as scrapes from taking quick escape routes out of dangerous situations. Her hair is short and coily with colors such as bronze, brown and gold. Vesper wears simple clothes. She can’t afford bright colors and even if she could she wouldn’t want to be noticed too easily. She needs clothes that are easy to move in and ideally have lots of places for concealing things. Vesper and Sebastian survive by doing many illegal things and while the police in their part of the city are too corrupt to do much, they still have many rivals who want them dead.

Goals: In the slums where Vesper lives, there isn’t exactly much room for dreams, but Vesper constantly sees the effects of the plague around her and while she deals more in poisons, she wishes she could find some way to heal the city. She understands that the city has suffered under the plague and the women known as La Marionnettiste. Now make no mistakes, Vesper is far from the kind and gentle sort of person you would expect from a healer, it’s more of a burning anger inside of her that is giving her the desire to free the city. After all, it’s the only home she has.


Darkest Secret: Due to Vesper having to survive off of a life of crime, she’s done a lot of bad stuff and hurt a lot of people and in this city, feeling guilty doesn’t fill your belly. But there is one thing Vesper did when she was younger that she will never forgive herself for or speak of to anyone, and that is when she poisoned an entire family including the little children so she could steal their stuff. She knows that she and her brother needed their stuff and would have died without it, but she still won’t forgive herself, because she could see some of her own pains and struggles in that family.


What is Vesper’s style in writing

Vesper notices a lot of thing and generally tries to stay aware of what’s going on around her because otherwise somebody might sneak up on her and k*ll her. She notices people who seem a little too friendly, she notices who’s watching who, various smells, anyone who seems like they might be coming toward her, and of course anyone whose pockets might be easy pickings. She notices many things at once, but generally can’t afford to get too wrapped up in one tiny detail. Even if she focuses on one small thing, she still must be aware of the rest. Vesper, for the most part, doesn’t let guilt weigh her down and often thinks about k*lling as just an everyday part of life. Okay maybe not everyday but definitely every month. Anyone who lets themself be controlled by emotions, guilt, morals, or need for revenge is soon dead, though she certainly does have a deep hatred for a few people. Vesper has morals yes, but more often she is simply led by logic and thinking: what will keep me and Sebastian alive today? Her narration is typically in long sentences with a lot of detail but they flow nicely.

Weekly Part 3
Critique for Reese (@TheBibliophile7 )
https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7383977/
Overall, this is a brilliant piece, and it flows really well. There’s lots of beautiful imagery throughout, and little bits of repetition within the verses which link it together nicely.
In the first verse, you immediately mentioned a relationship from a long time ago with “the strings that used to bind us.” This gave context to the rest of the poem and made it simpler to read since it all made sense the first time, rather than having to search for the meaning.
I did notice a small spelling error, I believe in the fourth line that ‘taunt’ should have been ‘taut,’ but that’s easily fixed ^^
The way that there’s a half finished sentence before the beginning of each section, and then the first line completes it makes everything fit together, and it introduces the theme of each verse. In the third verse, the repetition of questions feels really fitting, and emphasises that sense of looking back at the past which you portray throughout the poem with lots of little details. However, there was a phrase here which slightly confused me:
“That gentle sensitivity,
Feeling the blunt blow,
Of every whispered word?”
I would say that ‘blunt blow’ sounds quite violent next to ‘gentle sensitivity,’ and it throws me off in terms of what it’s trying to convey. It’s also not something I would usually associate with whispering, so maybe something more like,
“The light ripples caused
By every whispered word?”
I don’t know why I went for the idea of ripples here but I just feel that something softer would work.
The fourth verse has lots of emotion but I’m not sure it quite fits the vibe of the rest of the poem. The main focus of the poem is the past and reflection on childhood, and then there’s a sudden hit of angst and almost frustration, which isn’t quite linked to everything else, and feels a bit out of place.
In the sixth verse, I love the descriptions of their childhood, and the mention of the ‘toy kitchen’ and ‘running free’ are very relatable and give that feeling of nostalgia.
And then the very last line, ‘I miss you,’ is a lovely ending. It’s really simple and effective, has a quiet impact, and sums the entire poem up in three words.
All in all, your poem has a wonderful structure that flows nicely. It’s easy to read and has lovely metaphors and imagery. Amazing <3

weekly part 3: critique for @extrovertedd (425 words)

First of all, this story is really interesting! I love your writing style and the concept was super original. The story was very good overall, and I could hardly find anything to critique xD but here goes!

Things I liked:
-I really liked the descriptive language you used! It really gave the story style and helped readers envision what you were talking about. The first couple of sentences especially were very fun to read, and I think it takes a lot of skill to write like that, so good job!
-I thought it was great that the man communicated with the rock. It was funny and really gave us information as to Mr. Fredricks’ character.
-The world was very palpable for such a short story. I think you did a really good job with setting, and I really thought your concept of the Highest Depths was super cool! I love me some contradictions hehe
-Your grammar and stuff was really well done! *claps*

Things to work on:
-A couple of sentences were a little contradictory. For example, in the first paragraph, you wrote-

Clumps of clouds lingered on a gray canvas, deciding, once again, not to stray from their usual monotone selves. The sky was not always this exhausted, the old man knew, for over six decades he had been living in the same town. The old town of Sharnwick presented itself with a history of anything-but-sunny-weather, but the past month had been unusual–even the clouds themselves slunk by with a mopey air.

The problem with this, to me, is that you started out by saying it’s usual, but then later on said that it’s unusual weather. So maybe a change in word choice?
- In the next sentence, you said

After surrendering to the depressing state of Sharnwick, the old man, Mr. Frederick

andI believe there should be a comma after Mr. Fredrick, but that’s just a small thing. Another tiny thing I noticed is the error in this sentence:

He glanced up at the person, rather, a human-shaped thing, made out of metal, but– He has no head.

it should be “had” instead of “has”. One more thing:

Soon stepping became wading, and wading became bobbing, and bobbing became swimming, through the pearly blue sea.

I don’t believe you need a comma after swimming. ^^
- I also think that in Mr Fredrick’s conversation with the metal thing, you could have established more of his thoughts. For example, Mr Fredrick could have questioned where the voice could have possibly come from, when he has no head, or you could have said that he didn’t even bat an eye. Those two options would have given us more insight into his character.
-In the part with the metal guy’s perspective, I think some more background would be helpful. How is this guy made of metal related to the fish in the Highest Depths? Why has he been looking for them? Why is his head a fishbowl?
-Finally, I think you could’ve explained the Highest Depths a little better. I think you could have explained what it looked like once the robot dude got there, because it was a little confusing.

Well, that’s all I have! Again, this was a splendiferous story! <33

Weekly
Pt 1
Short Stories and How to Write Them


What is a short story?

Short stories are simply a shortened, less detailed version of a novel. The only requirement to write a ‘short story’ is to have a fully developed theme. These mini-novels are fun to both read and write- especially write. A famous short story is ‘The Monkey’s Paw’ by William Wymark Jacobs, which I will be referencing throughout the workshop -warning spoilers ahead. Please remember there are many ways to write a short story and if you do it a different way that is completely valid! This is only how I write them. (Do not find it necessary to read all the bits and pieces if you only want to learn how to write a descriptive or action piece)

How do you approach writing them?

Firstly, like in any story, you need inspiration. However, unlike in a full novel, you don't always need a full plot from the get-go. In fact, it can even be a singular word that kick-starts your writing.

Secondly, you plan what you are going to write. Again, and I can’t stress this enough: !THIS IS NOT A NOVEL!
Now, you probably know that but there is still a high chance you will write it like one. With short stories, less planning is needed. You don’t need to build a world- but of course you can- due to the fact that this style of literature is short and doesn’t require a full-on understanding of every detail. For example, it is -probably- unnecessary to know what the typical food in the neighboring countries are if you are writing a short, horror story.
Keeping that in mind, you will still need to know what you're writing about, even if it’s only a vague idea that you are going off of.

The last and final step before writing is -and this is the same for writing anything- FIND MOTIVATION TO WRITE IT! I’m sure everyone has an experience with writing with no motivation: it almost always turns out badly. So, get into the headspace and don’t push yourself to write something when you don’t feel like it; doing that is a good way to get burnt out. I cannot stress how much motivation is key.


How to write a short story:

After the preparation stage, the writing starts. On the whole, I find short stories quite simple to write because they are usually no longer than 10,000 words. This means a lot less commitment, so they are easier to finish. As I mentioned before, not too much planning is needed -but can of course be used- so you do have slightly less structure which can be frustrating to some people. If this is you, I would advise you to have a vague plan.

The first step when it comes to the draft is, obviously, the opening. However, remember that this is a SHORT story. This will impact how we craft the writing as we develop the plot points. Say if you were writing a piece with a lot of action, there couldn't be too much of a build-up due to how concise the piece is.
This means that when we open the story, we want to move relatively fast onto the main point.
The Monkey’s Paw starts with a boy and his father playing chess, and the mother knitting by the fire. Now, although this does not sound like it is reaching the point, less than a page later, a new character is introduced. This character is a peculiar man who plays an important part later on.
This gives us a great example of a quickly moving story.

However, if we were writing a descriptive piece, it would be a more vague view of the overall picture. What is happening? How does everything fit together?
DO NOT go into too much detail for the opening as that may take from the story as a whole.

Next, is the build up -for an action story. For a descriptive piece, you would ‘zoom in’ on a specific detail. I have separated the build up and the zooming in into two different sections.
BUILD UP: After the opening, like in most novels, there is a build up. This leads up to the climax and, in some cases, creates suspense. Again this is not an overly long part of the piece- usually around 2-7 paragraphs.
If we look at W.W. Jacobs piece, the peculiar man runs into the house in a state of distress. He tells them about the monkey’s paw and reveals it, telling the family he had his two wishes. He then tries to persuade them to burn it. Even giving them a warning about how it only causes more pain. The father still takes the paw and makes a wish. However, it seems as if the wish didn't come true.
This creates an ideal build up because it has the readers wondering why the paw didn't work. Why did it work for the man but not the family? Was the man lying? Did THEY do something wrong?

ZOOM IN: When you ‘zoom in’ in a piece of writing, you focus on one detail. While in the opening you were vague and showed the picture as a whole, in this build up, you find a detail.
For example, if you were describing a Viking Mead Hall, you may talk about the music. Is it energetic? Does it give the room life? Or is it gloomy? Does it foreshadow something?
By picking out one detail, the reader’s image will further develop. Continue this 3-4 times.

Next is the conflict. This step is very similar to writing a novel. Whether the story is descriptive or full of action, you usually need to have a conflict. However, how this is viewed varies. For example, in a descriptive piece, there might be something that doesn't feel right. Or there might be the corner of a bloody knife peeking out from under a tablecloth. In contrast, in an action tale, a bomb might go off, or a loved one dies. Either way, something bad or unnerving happens. This is what the entire story has been leading up to.

This step is optional because not all stories need a resolution. In fact, it is important that not all stories do because if they did, we wouldn't worry about who was going to win! There would be very little suspense.
It is actually quite common for short stories not to have a solution at the end of them

Finally, we have the ending. No matter if there was a resolution or not, all short stories need an ending. The ending just ties off your story and completes it, cliffhanger or not.



You may or may not have learnt something from this workshop, or you might have disagreed with everything that I said, but either way, this is a way of writing short stories quickly and simply.

Word count: 1093 words

Link to Monkey’s Paw pdf in case you want it: https://www.kyrene.org/cms/lib/AZ01001083/Centricity/Domain/2259/The%20Monkeys%20Paw%20-%20text.pdf

pt 2

Credits to @wilde-gray for their workshop on Free Indirect Discourse.



A small, fluffy, white cloud flashed through Okal's vision as she was running. Of course it had to be a lovely day as she was about to die. “Egghghghgh” A zombie-like groan echoed from behind her. He was catching up. Ignoring the shiver of fear that ran down her spine, Okal pushed herself harder; she had survived this long and she would rather drink a bucket of bleach than fall to a child.

Unfortunately, Fate was not on her side today and a small hand clamped down onto Okal’s shoulder.

“TAG” A little boy’s voice cried joyfully, “You're it!”
Okal groaned in frustration. She had to lose to her little brother the humiliation! However, a small grin hid behind her frown, and even Okal’s little brother noticed that she wasn’t truly upset.

Fully grinning now, Okal sprinted off after the rascal, positive she was going to tag him. However, before she could, once again, give Jamie the title of ‘it’ once again -a title he very much deserved-, a bone-chilling wail sounded throughout the American country-side.

Confused, Okal glanced at her brother to see if he had any idea what that was about. No luck: he looked about as confused as she felt! Americans really were weird. There were no such wails in Norway.

The confusion mounted as their mother rushed out. Streaks of fear were evident in her cloudy gray eyes. “Inside. NOW!” Okal’s mother yelled, terror lacing her tone. What was making her so upset? For the life of her, Okal couldn't figure it out. However, she did think it had something to do with the peculiar wail that had sounded only moments earlier.

Dutifully -a bit reluctantly-, Okal and Jamie slouched inside, annoyed that they had been pulled from their continuous game of tag. Their mother ushered them in hurridly, and started to lead them to the very place we never go in: the dark, creepy, basement.

“Why did you take us down here?" Okal questioned. What could have warranted going down to the basement on such a sunny day? Has something happened? Was it dangerous?
“Now I need you both to listen to me,” Their mother ordered, flicking on a light switch “Go under that table and cover your head with your arms”
“But whyyy?” Wined Jamie, and Okal could help but join his confusion. What was the point in going under a table? Frankly it all seemed ridiculous to her.

“Okal can I talk to you?” Her mother requested, ignoring Jamie’s protests. Okal nodded in confirmation and followed their mother, “I didn't want your brother to know but there is a tornado heading straight for us. We need to stay in the basement. Do not let him leave, ok?”
Taking a deep, scared breath, Okal nodded to her mother. She was going to protect her brother. For now, all they can do is pray. Well, pray and keep Jamie from suspecting that this isn't a game. He can’t find out.


Word count: 504


pt 3

Critique

Credits to @blu3coder for their story! The story link is https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/694457/?page=3#post-7350322

The plot was, in both pieces, full and well-rounded. The ideas put in were truly exceptional and each one had a clear beginning, middle and end.

The First (Story) Plot

In the first story’s plot, what stood out to me was how the writer did not overlook the fact that Avery would not have been able to run in her (or their/his) condition. He has been hospitalized the majority of his life and such an extensive movement has much potential to put him into critical condition. It is very important that the protagonist themself cannot rescue the girl by themself.

Something to work on in this specific one is how Will’s feelings about being abandoned could have played a much bigger part. This could have added a failed resolution or a moment of hesitation.

Another strength in the plot was how as the condition grew, so did rthe visions. This Almost gives the impression that either the visions were a side effect or, and more plausibly in this world, the condition was due to the visions.

All in all, the first story had a strong, brief plot with a clear direction and path. Maybe work on having a smaller problem (a hinderance to the task) within the main one (e.g. Will’s feelings). And the incorporation of magic and visions was so fun!


The Second (Play) Plot

The scond story had very detailed points with a solid story. It was truly fascinating the incoprating of myths and legends into the world. The supposed victory and the turn for the worst really entice the reader, giving a false sense of security. (As a reader, it is the type of writing I always complain about but love with my heart and soul). The different stages in this piece were a lot more clear than in the other one and that really stood out.

While the ending is amazing, there are couple points with slight room for improvment, as there always is. In the “disaster moment” Aylin is pressumed to be in the underworld (yes that is Greek sue me) yet they make an apperance during victory (this may just be me misunderstanding). Another (small) typo in the ending, unless the character joined, was that someone called Ava killed a god. This again is proberbally a typo, or there may have been a characer enterance eariler on that needed to have been mentioned. Finally for this little bit, in the very ending when they head back to the tribe, it is possible that more celerbration or detail could have been used in the plot just to thicken it slightly. However, all of these things are tiny and som arent even necissary.

In conclusion for the second piece, the plot was well distributed but there are a couple minor touch-ups that may be useful to do!

Overall

Throughout both pieces there was clear direction and very few plot holes. This piece is definatly a piece to be proud of!

Word count 516



Complete word count: 2113 words

Weekly Two, 1,393 words total
@unhinged_musings

Part One: Workshop, 581 words

Writing Different Character Voices

Introduction
Developing different character voices is an intrinsic part of characterization. I’ve heard it said that a truly good writer, at least in this respect, has character voices so distinct that if you were to remove everything but raw dialogue from the page you would still be able to discern which character was speaking which lines. Distinct voices help give all characters strong personalities and an identity on the page. Different character voices can also allow for better comedy, since characters can interact in more memorable ways. Also, each character can have their own sense of humor, so even if one joke doesn’t land for the reader, another one from another character might. Finally, distinct voices can help make certain characters feel more real, or even relatable, to the reader. They can bring a sense of creative passion and love into your piece that wouldn’t be there otherwise. This workshop will, ideally, help you accomplish this task! I’m not an expert, though, so take everything I say with a grain of salt.

Part One: Creating Personalities
Before a character can have a unique voice, they have to have a distinct personality their voice can convey. Are they moody and grouchy? Positive and bubbly? Distinguished and aloof? Are they cowardly, or brave? Smart, or a bit air-headed? Arrogant, or humble? They need something that makes them them, that makes them interesting and substantial. This is what will give you fuel for giving them their own recognizable voice.

Part Two: Creating Speech Habits and Gimmicks
Next, you must come up with a character’s vocal mannerisms. There are many areas in which people speak differently. For example, how often they speak and how much they say when they do speak. Another area for variety is word choice. A character can be anywhere from annoyingly flowery to devastatingly primitive. When making decisions in this area it is important to take into account a character’s background. A scholar well-versed in the language would most likely make use of more advanced words, while a refugee from a foreign country first learning the language would probably speak much more simply. Another thing that could vary from character to character is how politely they speak - whether they say whatever is on their mind, regardless of how it affects whoever hears it, or are always kind and respectful no matter who they are speaking to and how they feel about them. In short, there are many different ways and styles of speaking, and a good author utilizes many of them.

Part Three: Implementing Parts One and Two
The final part of this workshop is implementing the above two parts. When writing dialogue, remember to always keep every character’s way of speaking in the back of your mind. There’s no point in developing the previous two parts if none of it is used in your writing. Try not to stray too far from your original concept - inconsistencies are sometimes very noticeable and can take away from the character’s identity. This doesn’t mean to not give your character an arc or development, but to make sure any change in their personality and speech has a reason behind it, and is believable.

Conclusion
I hope this workshop taught you a few things, and that those things will help you improve your writing. Feel free to ask me any questions, or to look deeper into this subject yourself.

Part Two: Short Story, 537 words (referenced workshop: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7373951/)

In the dark midst of the unmapped forest, a tall tree stood, clawing at the sky with black, gnarled branches. It was dead, all traces of leaves gone. The tree was just the same as all of its neighbors, a wooden skeleton in a world that was itself a skeleton.
In this tree, however, lurked one last sign of life. A young girl balanced between two thick branches, shaking, fearful of the death that surrounded her.
It had gotten everything in the forest. It wasn’t touching her, however, for some strange reason. That reason didn’t matter, though. What she did know was that she had to warn everyone of what was coming, what had begun.
She clutched the string wrapped around her neck, and the pendant on it. She’d found this necklace buried underground. It was what had started this all, the destroying of all life on Earth. She’d touched it, and it had awoken. Or something along those lines.
Yes, she’d made this happen. And she had to stop it.
She’d raced up onto this tree in a panic, throwing the necklace over her head, foolishly thinking that perhaps high ground would save her. But as all the leaves surrounding her withered and decayed in seconds, she realized that she was safe for other reasons. Reasons much more mysterious than altitude.
She had a theory, though, that it had to do with the fact that she was the one who had found the necklace. She didn’t want to think about the implications of the necklace finishing its dark work and leaving her all alone on a husk of a world.
The death and destruction was still spreading out from its origin point, the hole the girl had found the necklace in. She watched its boundary line move out of eyesight, and decided that she had to start heading out now. She climbed down the tree slowly, pausing to steady herself every few seconds. She didn’t want to die that way.
She touched down on the brittle ground, orienting herself. The next village would be Noreth, which was north-west of the mountains. She'd gone there before a few times, and knew the way fairly well.
The girl forced herself not to think about the fact that Noreth was three days away, on foot, from her current location.
She began to run, ignoring the sharp pricks of dead wood and bones poking up from the ground. She had to get there before the darkness, somehow. She had to warn them. She had to save them.
And so she ran, her quick steps pounding against the ground in quick succession. Her arms pumped, her lungs gasped. Her muscles tightened and loosened until they started to hurt. Her eyes teared up, both from the air blowing against her face and the frustration she felt as she realized that she was never going to make it. Not in time. Whenever she would get there, she wouldn't find anyone. There would be no one to warn.
She started to slow down. What would warning them have done, anyway? Made them panic? Made them terrified, in their last few living moments? Because there was nothing they could do.
No one could stop death.

Part Three: Critique, 275 words (of Part 2 of this post: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/584038/?page=6#post-7382016)

I love this piece so much! You pull off the stream-of-consciousness style very well - it feels natural and flows smoothly, but is also easily understandable. The descriptions you use are very vivid and beautiful, leaving just enough room for my imagination. I really feel the desperation in paragraphs two and three. I also love the opening - the sentence fragment “Kneel down on the faded cushion” is intriguing, and pulls the reader right into the story. I also like the choice of the second person point of view, it makes the story feel even more abstract (in a good way).

My only critique is that it feels like the theme and movement of the story - if that makes any sense - is somewhat lost at some points, especially the fifth paragraph. It seems like a somewhat unnecessary intermission, and made me feel like the narrator had suddenly become stagnant, in a way. I’d try to find some way to incorporate this in what seems to be the grander “motion” of the story - trying to find God, giving up, leaving. The paragraph previous to the one regarding the piano does a similar thing, but it somehow feels less intrusive. In the one following it, the narrator is leaving, so it feels more purposeful. In the fifth paragraph, the narrator is simply staring, not having moved or done anything since the last paragraph.

This critique is very picky though, and relies more on personal feeling than anything, so take it with a grain of salt. This piece is nigh poetic, regardless. It carries a powerful theme, and it’s very expressive and fluid. As I said before, I love it!

weekly 2

part 1 549 words

how to drop hints on worldbuilding without simply info dumping https://scratch.mit.edu/users/ForestPanther/

Worldbuilding is an incredibly fun activity with endless room for creativity, but even if you have the most interesting fictional world ever, it won’t necessarily make your story amazing. When creating fictional worlds, it’s easy to get carried away on fine details and the history of the place six thousand years ago. The world you create is the backdrop for your story. It should be interesting and it should affect your story, but typically the most important thing in a story is the plot and also the character arc. Therefore, the worldbuilding you incorporate into your story should be relevant to the plot or the characters. There are many different types of worldbuilding, so let’s start with physical worldbuilding, describing what the land and climate are like. You’ve just created a complex map of your world, with all sorts of climates from hot sandy deserts to humid jungles to frozen tundras, but if you just list all the regions that will bore your readers. One thing you could do is have children talk about it in lessons, but that is often hard to do naturally, so try to figure out what is relevant to your character. Maybe they are from the desert so you can describe how the sun beats down on them and how they wear loose clothes and something over their nose and mouth to keep the sand out. If it is relevant to the plot for this character to perhaps travel to the sea, describe the effect the sea has on this character. In most modern fiction that I have read, even if a story is told in third person, it is still told in the point of view of the main character, so to really show worldbuilding one good thing to do is get in the character’s head, experience their world through their eyes and their ears, et cetera. What is normal to them that they will hardly give a second thought to? What is something they find strange in their world? Now obviously it’s important for you as the writer to know a lot about your world, such as the laws of magic, all the various cultures, history of wars and such, ecosystems, and more, but ask yourself: If I’m writing a story about a rebel group trying to assassinate the king, do I need to go into detail about the history of farming? Probably not, but maybe the rebels are farmers and then you can find a way to show how the king mistreats farmers. Here are some more ideas: if many people are wearing wool, it suggests that either there are many shepherds or they have allies from whom they import wool, it also suggests that the characters live in a cooler climate. Culture can be shown through the character going to an important festival and something affecting the plot can happen at the festival. Culture can also be incorporated in very simple things such as making food. I know you want your readers to know everything about the world, but you can always make a companion book for that. What I suggest is making a list of what different characters know about the world in the beginning, and what they end up finding out. How does the world affect your story?



part 2 705 words warning considerably dark

Using the character voice workshop


Name: Vesper Novak– Vesper was originally named Kit Warner. Her mother didn’t want her but her older brother Bram thought she acted like a raccoon kit he had heard about in stories, so he called her Kit. When they were young their mother sold them and they decided they wanted new names and a fresh start. They chose the name Novak because it literally means new. Bram became Sebastian and Kit became Vesper because she often enjoyed sneaking into the church to hear the hymns and prayers. Vesper is also considered to be less than human due to certain circumstances, so by calling herself Vesper, she finds a little bit of holiness in herself. Even though everyone around her says she isn’t and she has to fight dirty for just a scrap of food sometimes.

Looks: Vesper is small and slight, partly due to the fact that she is malnourished. She has light brown skin with a cool undertone and it has many scars from knife fights as well as scrapes from taking quick escape routes out of dangerous situations. Her hair is short and coily with colors such as bronze, brown and gold. Vesper wears simple clothes. She can’t afford bright colors and even if she could she wouldn’t want to be noticed too easily. She needs clothes that are easy to move in and ideally have lots of places for concealing things. Vesper and Sebastian survive by doing many illegal things and while the police in their part of the city are too corrupt to do much, they still have many rivals who want them dead.

Goals: In the slums where Vesper lives, there isn’t exactly much room for dreams, but Vesper constantly sees the effects of the plague around her and while she deals more in poisons, she wishes she could find some way to heal the city. She understands that the city has suffered under the plague and the women known as La Marionnettiste. Now make no mistakes, Vesper is far from the kind and gentle sort of person you would expect from a healer, it’s more of a burning anger inside of her that is giving her the desire to free the city. After all, it’s the only home she has.


Darkest Secret: Due to Vesper having to survive off of a life of crime, she’s done a lot of bad stuff and hurt a lot of people and in this city, feeling guilty doesn’t fill your belly. But there is one thing Vesper did when she was younger that she will never forgive herself for or speak of to anyone, and that is when she poisoned an entire family including the little children so she could steal their stuff. She knows that she and her brother needed their stuff and would have died without it, but she still won’t forgive herself, because she could see some of her own pains and struggles in that family.


What is Vesper’s style in writing

Vesper notices a lot of thing and generally tries to stay aware of what’s going on around her because otherwise somebody might sneak up on her and k*ll her. She notices people who seem a little too friendly, she notices who’s watching who, various smells, anyone who seems like they might be coming toward her, and of course anyone whose pockets might be easy pickings. She notices many things at once, but generally can’t afford to get too wrapped up in one tiny detail. Even if she focuses on one small thing, she still must be aware of the rest. Vesper, for the most part, doesn’t let guilt weigh her down and often thinks about k*lling as just an everyday part of life. Okay maybe not everyday but definitely every month. Anyone who lets themself be controlled by emotions, guilt, morals, or need for revenge is soon dead, though she certainly does have a deep hatred for a few people. Vesper has morals yes, but more often she is simply led by logic and thinking: what will keep me and Sebastian alive today? Her narration is typically in long sentences with a lot of detail but they flow nicely. She’s also very good at deceiving people

part 3 Critique 231 words: https://scratch.mit.edu/users/krizpii/ While I would normally advise against this type of exposition, it’s very clearly meant to be in a fairytale-like style, so I think that it works for this. There are some spelling and grammar mistakes but you said you want me to focus on the plot. Most of it is pretty easy to fix anyway. There was one part that confused me: and at the statement it was said to come true. I would also recommend putting in paragraph breaks. This story is a little confusing but you use very interesting word choice and writing tools in this. The sudden change in writing style is interesting and I like the mental picture the second part paints. I’m not really sure what is the best way to give critique on the plot, i feel like everything happened in a very sudden manner and there were parts where you used more telling than showing. A story about a fairy landing on the moon and finding out it’s made of cheese is fun, but I definitely think there is room for improvement. Rather than saying that the fairy godmother lied, I would just show it. I also might suggest giving your readers good reason to trust the fairy godmother or at least think we can before we find out that she lied. I’m also not fully clear on what the consequences of this are.

july 16th - critique
245 words

general feedback—the story is clear and nicely worded. I can see what you're attempting to convey to the audience. though, I will say, I've noticed that there are a couple of sentences where words are stated improperly, unnecessary words/quotations, etc. as well as that, there needs to be more emotion and descriptions added, in order for it to feel complete. if there's anything I've said that was too nitpicky or in a way, rude, I truly apologise. you're a great writer and I'd love to see more work <3

“Get down here!”

I understand writers usually add in sentences where a voice calls, screams, etc. though, in this case, perhaps you can try adding some emotion? ex: “get down here!” the voice of my mother echoes through the halls.

What did I do now? I slammed my sketchbook into my drawer. Great! My only time to sketch. I stomp to the door and stop myself. I can’t show any sign of weakness to my mother. Quietly, I rush down the stairs.

“what did I do wrong now” or “now, what was wrong” sounds more proper. also, I don't think you can realistically slam a sketchbook into a drawer? maybe change the wording a bit into something like “ I slammed my sketchbook shut, shoving the papers into the bottom drawer”.

My mother squinted at my fake cheeky smile. “Guess what! You forgot to add the milk. For! The. Last. Time!”

here, you need to stick to one—either use periods, or exclamation points, not both (or nine if you'd like)

I looked at her with betrayal in my eyes.

As she's supposed to be angry, you can add in something else. like maybe she glares or scowls, etc.

“Wake aaaaaaaup!” My mother sang.

if you already stated that she ‘sang’, you don't need to add the ‘aaaaaaaup’. simply, use “wake upp,” my mother sang / my mother called in a beautiful sing song voice.

For critique, for the weekly. https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7383377/ about how to make characters more realistic was the inspiration.

When Ambrosia was a little girl, her mind could never be contained.

Ever since she was so little, late hours were her epiphany, as she always used to lose herself in the comfort of her digital devices, drawing away at the screen and waiting for her creations to become something beautiful- something she was proud of- and that was enough.

However, as the years went by as fast as the neighbour who raced along the streets on her bike every morning.

Back then, her parents loved her art. They were always so supportive, so cheerful, and so enthusiastic when they encouraged her to embark on her dreams, and draw all the colours of the myriad which decorated her tapestry of success. As a girl, Ambrosia loved it, grateful beyond words that her parents were able to aid her art journey and self discovery, much to her unrefuted glee.

This continued relentlessly. Years of bubbling childlike enthusiasm as the colours danced across every page she drew: years of excitement decorating every nook and cranny in the denouement of every school day. There was always a small joy to look forward to in all of it.

It was beautiful: everything the little girl needed to stay positive, calm, and happy.

The ridiculous visage in that awe-stricken notion was almost hilarious to that little girl now.

She shuddered, a weak laugh decorating her face as she scribbled the next string of words into her vacant document. Ambrosia was eager to finish her job quickly, because time sifted through her hands as fast as her breathing; just thinking about her circumstances made her cackle to herself.

The document of a thousand words which previously laughed at her face was suddenly taciturn. The cacophonic throb of laughter from the little girl alone decorated the room, polished all the furniture, scrubbed at every wall, vacuumed every floor, and perfected the barriers of her own periphery which was hers alone.

Art was a lost cause to the once little girl. Years back, her parents took autocracy over her own happiness, constantly belittling her to being an outcast amongst her high-achieving cousins, relatives, family friends, even pure strangers on the street who related a studious desire from their //expression. Therefore, she forced herself into something better, something worthwhile, something pleasurable, reputable, smart, calculated.

Her life was shackled by the chain of somebody else, but everything was okay.

Ambrosia was a writer. Writing- to her- used to be the frenetic idea of characters sifting onto the page surreptitiously swift before her mind could even clock what she wanted from them. She hadn’t any control, and it was absurd how her life was oriented around refractory ideas, but she was praised at the least, and that was what mattered.

They tried to place her mind in a jar. They tried to imprison the flicker of the candle in her head in a chamber, which jeered at her every move, and tackled her to the ground like she was a helpless puppet in the show of a lifetime.

Yet, her childlike fire could never be extinguished. She always remembered: her mind could never be contained as a kid. She just had to stay hopeful she would be free someday. That was enough for her.

CD looked around. They were in a dense forest of white birch trees. The sun was bright, and animals could be heard in the distance. It was a great place to begin a new life.

But that life was yet to come. There were trials and tribulations that any new person would have to face before settling down and becoming comfortable where they were. CD knew this. They decided to take their adventures slowly. So they walked.

The day was spent collecting wood from trees and food from unfortunate animals. By sunset, CD was happy with their collection of basic resources. It was more than adequate.

But the sun went below the horizon too soon, no matter how prepared they were. The night was dark, and the threatening growls of monsters began to accumulate throughout the night. CD didn’t stay in the open long enough to be hunted.

Instead, they found a cave. It looked safe enough- wide and comfortable, gently sloping, with only one passage to explore. No monsters could creep up on them now. So CD relaxed, lit the area with burning torches and began to cook their food in a furnace.

If only they’d known.

The fire crackled in the furnace, slowly cooking pig’s pork. A crafting table and a chest stood nearby- the chest was already half-full of junk that CD had collected. The cave was lit up until this camp, but farther down it stretched into darkness, unexplored.

Noise echoed through the cavernous chamber. The fire crackled aggressively. The sound of breaking stone could be heard as CD mined a larger area around their camp.

Perhaps it was all this noise that concealed the faint hiss of a neon green monster that slowly creeped up on CD from the darkness.

CD whirled around just in time to see it approaching rapidly. They shrieked and jumped as far away from the creature as they could, but it was too late. The monster whisked in a breath and then exploded with all the force it could muster.

CD was knocked back off their feet. They landed hard on the floor of the cave. Their head was hit hard by a boulder, and they passed out cold. But when they woke all too soon, they wished that they hadn’t.

Laying in immense pain, CD could barely make out the crater in their camp that the explosion had caused. Their things were strewn out over the ground. They didn’t want to look down at their legs. It would be too painful. They knew what had happened based on the sticky substance that they were lying in.

Closing their eyes again, CD exhaled for the last time, much like the green monster that had killed them. But apart from their body and the red stains on the floor, there was no evidence that anything had happened. The chest was full of things waiting to be used. The fire crackled in the furnace. The pork finished cooking and began to burn.

Cae's Weekly Part 2 (posting this here so it's easier to read for whoever is critiquing it)
Based on a workshop by @smalletoe on writing a complex villain

“We aren’t so different, you and I.”
Morwenna had just taken a wooden plank to the face after a less-than-graceful landing on her enemy's ship.
“If you’re referring to the way I just face planted on your boat I have to say I agree,” Morwenna spat. Doyle chuckled.
“This is exactly what I mean. Do you think heroes go around making snide remarks and hijacking people’s ships?” Morwenna pulled herself up to her feet, ignoring her nemesis’ comments. She unsheathed her sword with a swift motion and held it at the ready.
“If you think I came here to chitchat you’re mistaken,” She growled. Doyle did not ready his sword in return.
“Let the record show that the great hero, Morwenna, drew her sword first against an unarmed opponent,” Doyle held out his empty hands in front of him before continuing, “You may think you and I are different but deep down we’re both pirates. I’ve seen you plunder shops and seize ships. I know you think you’re doing it for the greater good but there’s blood on your hands, Morwenna.”
“I would never do the things you’ve done. Now draw your sword.”
“You young people, always in such a rush. If you think about it you really owe me one. I was very generous to you after your ship went down-” Morwenna cut him off.
“You were the reason our ship went down.”
“Silly girl, pirates should know not to sail out into storms.”
“Yeah right, and just let you get away? What do you take me for?’
“You put your crew in danger. You were reckless and it led to their capture.”
“I’m not putting up with this from you. Now you can either let her go or I swear I will kill you where you stand.” Morwenna stepped forward menacingly.
“And what makes you so sure she wants to go with you?” For the first time in this conversation Morwenna faltered. Doyle continued, “Go on, see for yourself.”
Morwenna did not need to be told twice and angrily stormed over to the trapdoor which led to the underbelly of the ship. Throwing it open she saw her dear friend and crewmate, Cordelia, underneath Doyle’s right hand man, locked in a passionate embrace.
“Get the hell off of her!” Morwenna shouted. She did not give the boy time to follow this instruction before she violently threw him off herself. She was winding up for another punch when Cordelia grabbed her hand.
“Morwen, stop it!” Morwenna could’ve easily ripped her arm from Cordelia’s grip and
continued her beating but she did not. Instead, she addressed Cordelia.
“How dare you? All this time I thought you’d been kidnapped and you’ve just been
outhere snogging the enemy!”
“It’s not like that! I-”
“Did you ever wonder where we were? We were thrown from the boat in stormy seas
and you were just perfectly happy fraternizing with the enemy who may or may not have killed us?”
“Morwen I know you better than that. You're the perfect captain and a capable swimmer. I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to your crew.”
“Yeah? Well clearly I don’t know you at all.” Morwenna turned to leave. “I’m going now,
with or without you. Consider yourself lucky I don’t kill Doyle up there and let you two lovebirds sink.”
Morwenna walked away and Cordelia did not follow. Nobody spoke but Doyle gave a
light chuckle as Morwenna climbed back onto her own ship.

writing to be critiqued

2 weeks before Mom’s disappearance

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Windows are terrible things. At first glance, they might act as a portal of inspiration, an opening to a world of insight. For many people, windows welcome a thoughtful air into a room; perhaps that is understandable. But one small soul would have to disagree. Windows are temptations, she’d say, reminders of her life before. A time when grass stains and skinned knees were the epitome of her problems. A time when parents could argue and it would be funny, when weekly family time actually happened every week. But it hurts to be reminded of a simple life, at least for Viv, so she avoided the “window corner” of her small room.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Ironically, most summer days she spent inside her room. Gone were the old days of sports and friends–Viv’s definition of fun was listening to “sad girl” playlists and hanging old band posters she found stowed away in the attic. On an especially rainy day in Concord, New Hampshire, Viv’s definition of fun was in full effect when she heard the door creak open. Pausing her poster-hanging marathon, Viv climbed down from the desk she used to use to study and sat down on the floor, the corner opposite the window.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀Mom left the door open as she entered the jungle of Viv’s room with a dazed look on her face. “Mom?” Viv prompted.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Her eyes snapped back to the present, returning to look at her daughter. “Did Dad hit you again?” Viv asked. Mom nodded to the remark, wanting to change the subject.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ All of a sudden, Mom appeared to remember the reason she was here to begin with, and she bit back a smile. Mom never smiled anymore. “Vivi, I know I’ve been busy with work lately, and I’m so sorry, but I wanted to show I care about you.”
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Viv didn’t know where this was going. “Okay, and…?”
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Mom finally grinned and hurried over to crouch next to her teenage daughter. In the time it takes for a volcano to erupt, she squealed, “You’re going to sleepaway camp in 3 weeks!”
Viv chose then to pause the music and take out her earbuds. This could not be happening. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Mom’s smile faltered as she peered down at Viv, who had compacted herself as much as possible into the corner of her room with her head between her knees. Viv wouldn’t dare cry in front of anyone, so she looked up again. “I mean, it’ll be fun, I guess, to go to sleepaway camp,” Viv attempted.
Between the tangled hair and fidgeting hands, Viv’s mom knew right away this was not something Viv wanted. The silence grew louder as her mom returned to the open door, grabbing the handle. “It’ll be a good escape from your father.”
The sound of broken glass chose then to ring throughout the house. Cursing followed, guaranteed like pain after injury, and Mom shot a pointed look at her daughter. That was enough to make Viv rethink the decision she’d subconsciously made two minutes ago.
“Vivian, you’re going to go no matter what. It will be good for your…mental health,” Mom said.
“To be out in…the wilderness, with friends,” Viv suggested.
“Right.”
“Right.”
Viv’s mom took Viv’s lunch plate from yesterday off of the dresser, saying, “If you ever need anything, I’m always here to help.” Usually, their rare conversations did not stray from the usual, but Viv, instead, chose a contrary goodbye.
“Yeah, actually, there is one thing you could do.”
“And that is?” Viv’s mom wondered, a curious look fostering on her face.
“Could you buy me some blackout curtains?”

Weekly 2 for Real-Fi

Part 1 (556 words)
How to character plan efficiently and stick to their personality throughout your novel // A Workshop

One of the most important parts of a story, besides from the plot, is the characters. Writers put a lot of thought into their characters, but one of the most important things to remember is that, no matter what type of person- or creature- you're writing, you have to stick to their personality and character traits throughout the whole story. For example, if a character is cold and unwelcoming in the beginning of the story, you can't have them be loving and kind to every person they meet 3 pages afterward. It could also be something as simple as changing their hair from blond to brown simply because you forgot why you chose the color blond.

Everyone does this, and there's no reason to worry about it, but there are some easy things you can do to improve how you portray your characters and make sure this doesn't happen.

Tip 1: Planning out your characters neatly and in a way that's easy for you to remember.
There are lots of ways to plan out your characters. Some people simply write it down in a notebook or on a piece of paper, some email it to themselves, while others create entirely new emails for their characters! You can do it whichever way works best for you, but making sure that it's neat is proven to help your brain remember it more. You should also make sure you put it in a place where you won't lose it because you do NOT want to have to rewrite every single character. Putting it in a safe place near where you work on your novel can also help you keep the consistency of your characters because you can refer to it easily whenever you need to.

Tip 2: Making sure you're efficient with your character planning.
If you're not efficient with character planning, it could take you days to figure something out and get it written down on paper. You also might always be adding on to your characters, even when you're halfway through the novel. You want to get it done and stick with what you have. One way to do this is coming up with a format to use for every character. You can find great character building pages online, but you can also just come up with a base yourself. Some of the things to make sure you have are: physical description, personality, past, family, present life, and their dreams for the future. You also want to put a specific amount of your “novel time” into character building, or maybe even one character per day.

Tip 3: Reread your chapters.
Reading each chapter after you write it, especially if you don't have a professional editor, can help you make sure you're sticking to the same ideas and not starting to lead into something else. It also gives you a better opportunity to cross check your writing with your character sheet because you have your whole chapter laid out in front of you, instead of just a paragraph or two at a time.

Thank you for reading my workshop! I hope these tips help you with your character building and staying consistent with your characters' personalities. There's a lot more about this topic that I wish I knew, but for now, I hope this is helpful to someone!

Part 2 (508 words)
I walked into the library, holding a tower of books that went higher than my head. My little sister followed closely behind me. “Could you /please/ move?” I asked, exasperated. “You're as annoying as someone talking during a movie.” She frowned, confused. “But we're not in a movie theater!” I rolled my eyes and set the books down on a nearby table. “It's a simile. That means I'm comparing you to something just as tiresome as you are.” She crossed her arms, making a comical ‘humph’ sound. “That's mean.” I smirked. “There are other ways I can do it, if you didn't like that.” “Like what?” she asked suspiciously. “I can just say, ”'You're annoying,'“ or I can use a metaphor, like you're a pain in the neck.” A curious look crossed her face. “What's a metaphor?” I paused as I thought of a way to describe it. “One second. Let me go return my books real quick.” I picked up the tower and brought it over to the book drop, which was right by the librarian's desk. “Do you have any books on metaphors, similes, or any other literary devices?” I asked. “Yep!” she said, getting up and leading me over to a shelf. “This section right here should help you.” She pointed to a small area on the shelf with 5 or 6 books on it. After scanning the titles that each said things like personification, metaphors, and similes, I grabbed all of them and brought them over to the table with my sister. “Whoa,” she said, her mouth open wide in awe. “That's a lot of books. Am I gonna have to read them all?” She seemed scared at the thought of reading so many books. I laughed, but I couldn't blame her. I probably would've thought the same thing when I was her age. “No, but they will help you understand what I'm talking about with metaphors and similes.” She wasn't paying attention anymore and had moved on to reading the titles of the all the books I had brought over. She gasped when she got to the second one in the stack. “Personification? Is that turning animals and plants into humans?!” I smiled. “No, silly. Personification is giving animals, or non-human things, human qualities. An example of that is ”' The wind howled in the night'''. Wind can't actually howl, but we say that because it sounds like it's howling.“ She looked scared. ”So wind is alive?!“ I sighed.” No, but the point of personification is to make it seem like it's alive.“ She paused for a second before responding. ”Ohhhhhh, I get it! Personification is making things seem like they're a person!“ Finally, I thought. ”Yep! Good job.“ She smiled, proud of herself. ”Now, what are metaphors?“ I sighed internally. ”Are you sure you don't want to learn this tomorrow?“ ”Yes," she said firmly, a determined look on her face. After all, I had brought this on myself. Yet, I couldn't help but feel proud of her as I opened the next book.

Part 3: (critique for @charliesunset) (308 words)

It was twisted in pain, the type of excruciating pain that you couldn’t pinpoint to a place but that weighed every part of you down to the ground sobbing.

Instead of writing “It was twisted in pain, the type of excruciating pain that”, maybe you could write ,“It was twisted in the type of excruciating pain that,”. I feel like this makes it less repetitive, although how you have it right now definitely makes it more dramatic.

Was it already too far gone? Was this in her hands?

I think writing "Was this in her hands now would make it more clear to the reader that it hasn't always been in her hands.

The same fear had gripped me sometimes in the dark hours of night, but… I never let it get in the way.

Since the comma before “but” makes the you pause, maybe get rid of the “…”?

she’s getting tall

getting taller? I don't know how tall she was before, so I'm not really sure.

“Do you know, some of the interactive businesses in Delmonta that have gone against the law for as long as we’ve been around… did you know they’re going to try to expand the… the market?”

Instead of “do” at the beginning and then “did”, it should be the same conjugation for both. Do and did both work, so you can choose whichever.

This is the flame that has sustained me all these years, through the crushing expectations and the excruciating nights alone. And the fears that the piece of paper in Xenilla will someday authorize people to hurt me, my family, my friends and the people who used to be my friends.

Do you mean that the fears sustained the character as well as the flame, or that the flame got them through the fears? If it's the fears that sustained the character, then I think you should include it in the first sentence, like “This flame, as well as the fears that the piece of paper in Xenilla will someday authorize people to hurt me, my family, my friends and the people who used to be my friends, had sustained me all these years. It had survived through the crushing expectations and the excruciating nights alone.” If the flame helped them get through the fears, instead of writing “And” at the beginning of the second sentence, you should put something like “As well as,” or “It had even survived my fears that…”

Hold on to me

Hold on to myself?

This is really, really good! It's amazing how you put so much detail into a short scene. I don't know if it is or not, but it seems like an excerpt from a great story, like what you'd find on the back of a book cover.