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- Aug 2, 2006
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I've begun to ask this question ever since I finished the last chapters of my novel.
Exactly how much violence is too much?
My novel is World War II, so yes, violence is expected. But in my research, through every references in the library, the internet and the old footages in DVDs and in youtube, I suppose I've become numb. I don't know what's violent and what's not anymore (and I suppose reading Philip Margolin and David Lindsey didn't help either).
It used to be that my sister (my first and foremost beta reader) would hold me back but she's several nautical miles away.
And so again, my question.
Exactly how much violence is too much?
Here's a sample (unedited so please be gentle):
and
And that's one of the less violent segments.
Am I going overboard? If so, how can I stop it?
Exactly how much violence is too much?
My novel is World War II, so yes, violence is expected. But in my research, through every references in the library, the internet and the old footages in DVDs and in youtube, I suppose I've become numb. I don't know what's violent and what's not anymore (and I suppose reading Philip Margolin and David Lindsey didn't help either).
It used to be that my sister (my first and foremost beta reader) would hold me back but she's several nautical miles away.
And so again, my question.
Exactly how much violence is too much?
Here's a sample (unedited so please be gentle):
The devastation made her gasp. Houses had been destroyed, the ruins still smoking, while other homes, though spared like theirs, suffered broken windows and shutters. The street was a mass of black craters. People were running around, crying and yelling as they poked through the debris and extricated bloodied bodies.
Juanita covered her mouth and turned away, only to see a woman being brought on a stretcher. Where there should have been legs were only clumps of dark red flesh. On another side was a little boy, crying over the shrapnel-holed body of his father.
Wails and shouts, blood and mutilation, Americans and Filipinos sharing in the same shock and grief--death was everywhere, and Juanita suddenly found herself rushing to some bushes to vomit.
and
A warm splatter on his face and the thud of a body made him turn to his side, only to see a fellow soldier, eyes wide open, a cavernous hole where an ear had once been.
Swallowing, Kazuo scrambled up the dunes and towards a barnacle-infested rock formation. He cowered in its protection, clutching his rifle as the wind whipped him with rain, and carried in its howls the sound of explosions, shots and screams. And through it all, his mind centered on the image of that soldier, his eardrum splattered at the side of his face while his death-shocked eyes remained open.
And that's one of the less violent segments.
Am I going overboard? If so, how can I stop it?
