Crit the Writer Above

Nice idea. Many of the entrants probably aren't checking back in, though, so it won't work for everyone, but it's certainly a start. And I know some of the non-entrants have volunteered to do some critting... jump right in, please!

Actually, I would. I would love a critique of my piece. It is half of a chapter I've written for an upcoming book on entertainment history in Cincinnati. Since this will be published in the book, I'd like to know if it reads OK and what work it still might need. Here's the link.

And. . . . it's not fiction, so please enjoy.

underthecity

MacAllister said:

I'd be happy to do a crit--is anyone feeling particularly anxious for feedback? Or shall I just look at all the 230+ stories and go eeny-miny-moe....

(I'm not automatically going to Wills', because I don't have an entry for the writer who follows me)

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I'd love to have my piece critted. I find it very hard to get perspective on my own work.

Keeping 'er going.

Great idea, wills, or at least great benchmarking of an idea.

Here's my take on yours:

There's word repetition in the first paragraph (and extending into the second) that makes it difficult for me to get into your piece. You use the word "life" four times in the first 'graph, then once quickly in the second. Try reading it out loud -- it's distracting, at least for me.

If "life" is a theme in your novel, consider using the word as little as possible. Find other ways to understate your point. Pointing frantically detracts from the power, IMO.

...a Lark...
Not sure if you need to capitalize this.

...you did your best trying hard to relate it to things that I knew
"trying hard" is superfluous. Axe it.

...but you cannot describe a bird for me
"cannot" switches the tense to present, where before you were in past. I understand that you're retelling an event that already occurred, but still it can be jarring. I'd stick with one tense throughout, if possible.

...between my thumb and the one finger I can control.
Which finger is that? Details! Let us see it.

I can’t measure the size of anything, but if you place it on my stomach or my thighs, I feel its weight and sometimes I can perceive its size.
Slightly contradictory. First you say this person can't measure size...but they can perceive it? I'm confused by the distinction.

Like colour, it is just a description measured against other descriptions, a Lark is brown...
You'd do better with a period in place of that second comma, methinks. The clause seems to end there, not continue.

You have given me so much and yet I still sometimes think it would have been better if we had never met. In showing me how to be a person, you showed me how to love.
Good. Deft way of saying "love is dangerous" without trumpeting it.

That whole spine tingling, heart stopping whirlwind that rips through me...
Overwrought, IMO. This sounds like a twitterpated teenager, and I don't think that's the image you want for your protag.

I can hear what clothes you are wearing as you move round the room and immediately know what the weather is like.
Confusion here. As written, it sounds like the therapist is moving 'round the room knowing what the weather is like. I know you mean that your protag can infer the weather through the therapist's garb, but that should be clearer.

...and that funny ‘phut’ sound you make with your tongue when you are concentrating.
Nice.

The way you used to rub my thigh when things work out.
work-ed out. Another tense shift.

And then four years ago...
I'm not a fan of "And then..." One of the two can most always go. In this case, I'd suggest keeping "Then."

When I called your number...
Earlier you said your protag can't hold anything, which would preclude handling a phone and dialing numbers, I think. Maybe not. It could also be that you've explained this earlier. 700 words is rather limiting, especially when you have two chapters ahead of this one.

I admit I'm puzzled by the passage of time. How does the four years play in? The twelve months?

it took me that long to realised you had moved on.
realize. Er...realise. Another tense shift. Did you write this in one tense and change it afterward?

I don’t need to paint it any clearer.
Cliche.

I need to love you for everything you have given me not to hate you for not returning my love.
I read this three times and I'm still scratching my head. It's a circuitous sentence, which lessens the oomph you're trying to achieve. Consider splitting it into two or paring the one down.

I don't want to comment on structure, organization, or flow, since this is only a small part of the whole. But I will say that, on its own, I found this an enjoyable, if slightly disjointed, piece.

If your goal is to funnel everything to the mini-climax -- "I need to move on" -- consider cutting some of the description of how the protag senses the world. Chances are you've built up to it by now, in chapters one and two. It sounds too much like you're talking straight to the reader. If the protag and the therapist have had this long a relationship, I'm sure the therapist already knows this information.

I hope this helps, wills.

For whoever comes next, my entry is number 218.

underthecity said:

Actually, I would. I would love a critique of my piece.
underthecity

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I hope this works. I tried to put everything in red and parenthesis that I found made me hesitate in reading and I'm hoping the cutting and pasting takes here. Very nice story. Take what suggestions you think will work for you (if any) and dump the rest of my suggestions. (I came back to add that I remember my grandmother talking about burlesque, and reading your excerpt sounded just the way she described it. I think you did an excellent job here.)

This is the "Burlesque history" part of my Burlesque/Vaudeville chapter from my upcoming book on entertainment history in Cincinnati.

A century ago instead of “stepping out,” many folks enjoyed entertaining at home. Families gathered in their parlors and played their pianos or organs, or wound up their Victrolas and played Billy Murray and Ada Jones records, or invited their neighbors over for sing-alongs and lemonade. When it was time to step out, live entertainment in the Queen City was just a streetcar ride away. Variety shows of all kinds could be found downtown at a number of places at nearly any time of day.

When folks wanted (to) see a variety show, laugh at dirty jokes and watch sexy girls, they went to burlesque. In burlesque theater during the Victorian era(,) characters onstage mocked and lampooned society’s attitudes, conventions, language barriers, and anything involving the upper classes. Performers wore minimal costuming, and the routines moved fast and used simple “low brow” humor. In the Victorian era of huge dresses and hoopskirts, audiences of society(ally)-repressed men watched(ing) the young ladies singing and dancing onstage in little more than their undergarments. This was a mighty powerful draw.

The format of burlesque shows was based loosely on three-act minstrel shows. In act one, the ensemble sang and told jokes; in act two, an olio of variety acts with singers, comics, and skits; and in act three, a complete one-act musical show with parodies of Shakespeare, Gilbert and Sullivan and other routines from popular legitimate stage. Routines took place in settings and situations familiar to the working class audiences such as courtrooms, street corners, and doctors’ offices. Sexual innuendo was worked into the show, but the focus was on making fun of sex and what people were willing to do in its pursuit.

The top banana was the lead comic in the burlesque company. Sidekicks including the third banana took the falls and slipped on banana peels. The lower they were in the “bunch,” the more likely they were to get pies thrown in their faces or seltzer water shot down their pants. With all the shenanigans (going on) onstage, vaudevillians considered it a disgrace to appear in burlesque and looked down on (burlesque) performers. However, beginning actors used burlesque to break into the business so they could eventually move into vaudeville.

By the early 1900s, burlesque had become synonymous with sex, ribald humor, and scantily-clad women. The goal now was to reveal as much of the female form as laws allowed and still put on a funny show. In August, 1916 Mayor Puchta warned Cincinnati theater managers not to permit any improper shows in the coming season. He expected managers to obey the “rules of decency and decorum” and keep the Queen City from developing an undesired reputation. To keep with the mayor’s dictum, the Heuck Opera House added “high class” burlesque in 1919 with its own local stock company.

Big burlesque companies organized vaudeville-style show circuits at the turn of the century, and entertained nationally until they finally closed in the 1920s. After losing their touring shows, desperate theaters offered something vaudeville, radio, and picture shows lacked: striptease. Already infamously risqué, strip shows gave burlesque a sleazy reputation. Uniformed police officers patrolled theaters like the Empress on Vine Street, waiting for the first sign of indecency. Simple accoutrements and G-strings, named after the longest string on a violin, concealed just enough of the female body parts to avoid arrest.

Scandal broke out at the Empress in September(, )1934 when twelve underage girls were arrested for working as chorus girls at the burlesque house. The 13 to 18 year-old girls were encouraged to go onstage to perform strip numbers, and one girl explained that the wardrobe mistress beat her for refusing. (she was beaten by the wardrobe mistress for refusing. )

By the 1930s burlesque houses had completely shed the old minstrel-show format. They now featured only bump-and-grind strip routines interrupted by bland comedy bits. Since the male audiences went only to watch the strippers, the comedy was dropped altogether. Now the burlesque houses only featured sexy girls. One frequent customer summed up his experience: “In the long run, the best thing to do about burlesque is to buy a ticket at the box office, check your brains with your hat, and have a hell of a good time.”

This is a great idea! The two above me haven't logged on since March 19 and 16, respectively, so that takes me up to Jill, whose piece I loved. Not much of a crit, but I'm falling asleep at the keyboard, and I promise I'll actually analyze/evaluate it in the morning.

Not sure about the woman who posted below my entry - she was here a couple of days ago, but she's only posted her entry (shy, maybe?); below her is Mags, who I know is around, so Mags, if you read this, go for it! (If you want - no pressure)

-Sarah

Hey all

I would enjoy a crit from anyone who wants to give it. I'm #108 on the 5th page. It's a rough draft of my 1st chapter. Feedback is very welcome.

Oo! Oo! Crit me!

I'm #137 on page six, "Quest". The excerpt was from an older WIP, so I'd be interested to see if the writing still holds up...

Thanks! I'll give back as much as I can with crits...

Ohhhhhhhhh, I get it! Wait, Wills' idea was smarter than I realized. I thought he (he?) was saying that people should crit the entry above their own in the auditions thread... but no, that's not what he's saying. (Some of you realized this, and some were thinking what I was thinking.)

He's saying you should crit the entry from the person who did the last crit.

In other words, since Wills posted the first critique, the next person who posts has to critique Wills' piece. Then the next person critiques the person who critiqued Wills... make sense?

I'm all for this. It makes it a lot more "fair" than everyone just jumping in and saying "I want a critique." In short, do a critique and you'll get a critique. And it can keep going around as many times as you want, so you can get more than one critique.

P.S. Mac hasn't posted an entry, so this means that the next person to post should critique Mandiric's entry, then we need someone to catch us up and crit Joanne's entry (jdkiggins).

I'm up for it, but can you confirm whose piece I should look at (I think it should be Caitlink18, but I may be confused - it's early still). I am #216 on p.9.

I think this is a really good idea. As it stands there will be 230 who do not get through to the finals (and no doubt quite a few more entries will posted in the next 2 days). While just entering the competition is a great experience in itself (gets you writing, editing, tinkering, etc. as well as working to a deadline and a word limit), getting the chance to have some feedback will considerably add to that usefulness. Well done wills!

Crit/line-edit of CaitlinK18’s piece (#137 on p.6). [I went ahead and did this, so if I was supposed to do a different one sorry. And perhaps Caitlin will be happy to get two crits!]

I may well have gone overboard here! I can get carried away sometimes. Some specific points: I have cut out some of the more ‘flowery’ language, but I have left quite a bit of it in. In fantasy, descriptive language with imagery can be quite useful in painting a picture of the different world in which your story is set. But if it’s overused it can be quite annoying and get in the way of the actual story. I think the elements that work here are where Archeon is looking out to admire the beauty of his world – floweriness is good here. In some places, I have expanded on it or changed it slightly (hopefully) to make it stronger. Something I have noticed in a lot of the entries I have read is the repetition of the protagonist’s name, which you have done quite a bit. Particularly here, where there is no dialogue, it is probably better to make much more use of ‘he’. Repeating the character’s name can seem as though you’re trying to bang it into the reader’s brain. I have also tried to put across Archeon’s age a bit more in the language (though I might have cut out some of your intended humour in doing so, so perhaps that was wrong). I have changed the wording a bit here and there to make it (hopefully, again – this is only one opinion!) flow a bit more naturally and cut out the odd bit that seemed unnecessary.

One thing I haven’t changed (except for the wording) but that I think might warrant another look, is the implication that the spell is a difficult one. When the actual casting of the spell is described, it doesn’t really come across as having been difficult. Perhaps you could show the toll it has taken on his strength and health?

It seems like the story that is to come will be an interesting one. I would certainly like to know what havoc Archeon’s little error will play in this world.

The bits in orange are meant to be crossed out (there doesn't seem to be a code for strikethrough - if anyone knows of one, please tell me and I'll edit the post to put them back, and make it clearer). The bits in red are added. I have posted a full edited version in blue at the end, so you can read it through without the 'crossings out'.



Archeon, Tenth Mage of the Order of Rasputin, stood in his garden and looked down.He saw on the frozen white gleam of the Hoar Mountains to in the east and the inkblot of Mabog’s lava peaks to in the west. The great blue azure blade of the Iris River cleaved them apart and the green verdant and , fertile expanse that was the land of Draconia lay exposed to Archeon’s his gaze. All this he could see He saw all of it from his home on Top O’ the World, the highest peak on the continent[maybe name the continent, instead of say ‘the continent’?].

For a moment he felt able to observe purely for, the mage imagined he was just looking at the beauty of the countrysidehis surroundings. ThenBut a high wind whipped across the tiny patch of vegetation, flapping Archeon’s his worn robe open and reminding him of his age, his arthritis and the slight chill he was currently battling. that he was an old man, one with arthritis and a bit of a chill. As Tenth Mage of the Order of Rasputin, he had a job to do, and staring into space like a bloody idiot didn’t finish it any faster.

Once upon a time, Archeonhe had thought the entire business of being athe work of a mage very glamorous,;with all the staffs, theand robes, theand chanting, all symbols of power. Wiser now, he just wanted to getonly for this unsavory task to be over with. He’d doneHe had cast the same spell five times in the span of sixty annums, last sixty years and it never became easiereach time was as hard as the last. In fact, Archeon’s finely aged wine-keg of wisdom told him the entirewhole thing was probably bollocks, and that he should go back inside, fix a bitpot of jasper tea for his ailmentscomplaints, and leave the fate of Draconia in someone else’s hands.

The flaring of Mabog’s volcanic fires seemed to indicate agreement.The volcano fires of Mabog flared, as if in agreement. “That’sis the way of it, it isindeed,” Archeonhe muttered, turning and shuffling back towards the door of his sturdy stone cabin. He was almost inside whenbefore the youthfully impetuous cider-barrel of his mage pride won the argumentover.

Archeon grunted. DHe was damned if he failed he was going to be the first Mage of Rasputin to fail in his duty. He was the Tenth Mage of Rasputin in as many centuries, and not one of them had ever gone derelict on this particular magic before. He wasn’t goingfelt disinclined to go down in history as Archeon The Incompetent One Who Buggered Everything Up. The magic represented tradition, duty and the Order’s sworn oath to the Draconian royal family,. Not to mention unspeakableunthinkable torments in this life and several subsequent ones for the mage who dared break itthe oath.

HeStretcheding out a scrawny, scarred arm,andhe called his staff. It came floatingfloated lazily across the garden at a lazy speed and settled into his hand like an insouciant, very wooden snakein the shape of a snake. “Rascal,” Archeon scoldedhe said. The staff promptly turned itself into a long loaf of bread. “No, no!” he shouted, beating it against a fencepost until it resumed theits proper shape.

Very cold now,He raised his arms, mumblingand hastily mumbled the words toof the spell quickly and withincantation, none ofeschewing the ceremony that an history-changing enchantment that could change the face of history probably deserved.

TherequisiteForbidding purple clouds gathered over the mountainspeaks of Mabog. Archeon supposed If heWere he more theatrically inclined he might have uttered a peal of sinister laughter. But there was no-one to hear him save the this far up Top O’ the World except mountain goats, and theywho never deigned to talked back anyway. Archeon letLetting his staff float away, heand hurried back inside to the warmth just as the first snowflakes began to fall from his conjured clouds.

Had he done his magely duty and stuck aroundstayed to see the full results, Archeon would have noticed the magic bounce off an errant mote in the atmosphere and come down in precisely the wrong location.

But he didn’t not, and that’s why so this story is must be told.



Archeon stood in his garden and looked down on the frozen white gleam of the Hoar mountains in the east and the inkblot of Mabog’s lava peaks in the west. The azure blade of the Iris river cleaved them apart and the verdant and fertile expanse of Draconia lay exposed to his gaze. All this he could see from his home on Top O’ the World, the highest peak on the continent.

For a moment he felt able to observe purely for the beauty of his surroundings. But a high wind whipped across the tiny patch of vegetation, flapping his worn robe open and reminding him of his age, his arthritis and the slight chill he was currently battling. As Tenth Mage of the Order of Rasputin, he had a job to do.

Once he had thought the work of a mage very glamorous; the staffs, the robes, the chanting, all symbols of power. Wiser now, he wanted only for this unsavoury task to be over. He had cast the same spell five times in the last sixty years and each time was as hard as the last. In fact, Archeon’s finely aged wine-keg of wisdom told him the whole thing was probably bollocks and he should go back inside, fix a pot of jasper tea for his ailments and leave the fate of Draconia in someone else’s hands.

The flaring of Mabog’s volcanic fires seemed to indicate agreement. “That’s the way of it, indeed,” he muttered, turning and shuffling back towards the door of his sturdy stone cabin. He was almost inside before his mage pride won over.

He was damned if he was going to be the first Mage of Rasputin to fail in his duty. He felt disinclined to go down in history as Archeon The Incompetent Who Buggered Everything Up. The magic represented tradition, duty and the Order’s sworn oath to the Draconian royal family. Not to mention the unthinkable torments in this life and several subsequent ones for the mage who dared break the oath.

Stretching out a scrawny scarred arm, he called his staff. It floated lazily across the garden and settled in hi hand in the shape of a snake. “Rascal,” he said. The staff promptly turned itself into a long loaf of bread. “No, no!” he shouted, beating it against a fencepost until it resumed its proper shape.

He raised his arms and hastily mumbled the words of the incantation, eschewing the ceremony that a history-changing enchantment probably deserved. Forbidding purple clouds gathered over the peaks of Mabog.

Were he more theatrically inclined he might have uttered a peal of sinister laughter. But there was no-one to hear him save the mountain goats, who never deigned to talk back anyway. Letting his staff float away, he hurried back inside to the warmth just as the first snowflakes began to fall from his conjured clouds.

Had he done his magely duty and stayed to see the full results, Archeon would have noticed the magic bounce off an errant mote in the atmosphere and come down in precisely the wrong location.

But he did not, and so this story must be told.

I too would love to hear what others think about my writing. (But do be gentle, this is the first time I've had the nerve.) I'm number 15 on the first page.

I've never critiqued anyone's writing before so I'm not sure i'm the right woman for the job. Even so, I wasn't sure who was next on the list either. Maybe I'm just one of those people who are easily confused. (At least I didn't post my entry in the wrong thread though.)

DTNg-

You would crit TashaGoddard, who indicates she's #216 on pg. 9. Then whoever posts after you would crit your piece (which, by the way, I read and enjoyed, but I am not competing and this is an exercise for contestants).
Good luck!

Melina

Kaytrin's Wish by Hummingbird

Well, since the person above me did not critique. I have decided to crit the lady who is above me on the idol submissions thread. I am #78. She is #77.

Growing up as a young man, I was never as into unicorns as a young lady might be, but I found new respect for the unicorn by reading this excerpt. The power of this mythological creature, the fire coming from it and the ways that the unicorn is able to defend itself. Nothing wussy about that. LOL. I liked the realistic dialogue, pacing and the surprises in this piece. Very good work.

Coming up next...HOPEFULLY...a critique of my work...entry #78 on page 4...'Alien Boy volume 2: the other alien boy'.

Chad Miles Descoteaux
www.dahcstudios.com

I'd like to give this a try, though I don't know how good I'd be at doing line-by-line critiquing. My excerpt, "Dark Destiny", is #127 on page 6; please let me know whom I should critique. Thanks!

MacAllister said:

UnderTheCity, I thought Joanne did a very nice analysis of the few technical niggles I noticed in your piece.

Overall, I liked it quite a lot--your voice as our "guide" is very smooth and professional. I did notice that the sentence and paragraph lengths could be varied a bit more, to maximize your command of the subject matter, and your control of the reader's attention.

Overall? I'd definitely read more.

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JDKiggins and MacAllister,

Thank you very much for your crits, they do mean a lot! As for the technical issues, I didn't really consider what I posted here as the "absolute final product." I've written the chapter, proofread it, rewrote it, rewrote it, and rewrote it; and have moved on to other chapters. When all chapters are finished, I will be going through them all very carefully again, fixing all the things I missed the first times around. I always miss the little things in my first rounds of revisions, and jdkiggins has made my next step a WHOLE lot easier.

The step after that will be my editor at the publisher to further revise. But what am I saying, you guys already know all this!

If you guys liked the burlesque half of the chapter, then you'd love the vaudeville half, written very similarly.

But if you think my writing is on par with what you'd hear as voiceovers for pieces on the History Channel, then--well, I'm just speechless. Thanks, that's high praise indeed.

Who's story am I supposed to crit? The OP said you are supposed to do the one before you, but nobody was before me. Please advise.

EDITED: I'm critting Will's piece.

And thanks again!

underthecity

Delirium Author, it seems that you should actually crit DTNg's piece, which is #15 on p.1.

KimJo, you should critique Delerium Author's piece with is #78 on p.4.

Whoever is next, should critique KimJo's piece, which is #127 on p.6.

[Hope I'm not giving wrong instructions here!]

Underthecity, I think you need to crit wills' piece, which is #227 on p.10.

Okay, I am going to critique KimJo's piece below.

Please take my critique for what it's worth, take from it anything you think might help, and leave any suggestions you dislike. I thought the piece was really good, and there are only a few changes I thought you might want to consider.



Dark Destiny climax scene 689 words
You should not have come here, Blake.

“I wondered when you’d show up,” I muttered. I think you should stick more to just "said". it almost reads as if you are avoiding the word, since you use told, replied, etc. so often. Not a problem every now and then, but if it's throughout the whole novel, it could get distracting.

You should not be here, the darkness repeated.

“I’m here because Faith’s here,” I replied.

She was to come alone.

“Blake isn’t here to help me,” Faith said. “Only to make sure I do what I’m here for.”

You will fail.

“Arrogant,” I told it. “Isn’t that what you always accuse me of being?”

When she has lost, I will send you back. You will watch as I take your friends.

“If Faith loses, I’ll keep fighting you. If you try to take my friends, it won’t be easy. I’ll fight you until there’s nothing left of either of us. Anyway, Faith will win.”

She has never been strong enough before. Always, she has only watched.


“Always, she has helped us,” I replied. “Every time she’s come with one of us through the portal, you’ve lost. This is the last time. This is when you lose for good.”

You should not have come here, it told me again. You will cause her to lose.

A second too late, I realized what it meant. You might want to consider leaving this first sentence off. Just my opinion, but I think it might have more of an effect. You tell later what it meant, and it is already obvious that it is too late, so all this sentence does is make the reader wonder what you are talking about, which distracts some from what is actually going on. And then the full force of the darkness’s power hit me. I had blocked my mind, but it tore through my block, shredding my mind, laying every part of my being open for anyone to see. “No!” Faith shouted. “Leave him alone! I’m the one-”

By attacking me, the darkness hoped to upset Faith enough that she couldn’t focus. It knew that she loved me, and was using that love against her. I wasn’t going to let it happen. The pain in my mind was excruciating, but somehow, I managed to focus, to reach a small part of my mind into the darkness’s, and began to draw its power as it was drawing mine. “Faith, now,” I said. I think this should be written different. It doesn't get across any kind of urgency as it is. You could consider doing something like "Faith! Now!" I tried to yell to her, but it barely came out above a whisper. She heard me, though, and...

I was barely able to speak above a whisper, but Faith heard, and I sensed her pulling herself together for the battle. Briefly, her mind touched mine as she entered the darkness’s mind through the opening I had made. I pulled back, allowing her to force her way further into the darkness.

Before, in the darkness’s world, I had caught glimpses of Faith’s aura. Seeing auras was Topher’s ability, not mine, but in the world of the darkness, anything was possible. Now, her aura grew brighter, until I could barely see Faith for the light that shone from her. The darkness released my mind, and I collapsed to what what was it? what did it feel like? obviously different than normal ground, but how?passed for the ground here.

Before me, light met darkness. The black aura of the darkness briefly eclipsed Faith, but she fought back, reaching into herself to draw on the strength that had always been there, but which she had been unable to use until now. Her light blazed still more brightly, but still the darkness battled her. It and Faith were evenly matched; I could almost see the division where its darkness met her light, exactly between them. It could not defeat Faith, but neither could she defeat it.

My ears were filled with a roaring that I could not find the origin of I would leave this phrase out. this phrase makes it sound like you searched for the origin of the roaring, and my eyes ached from looking at Faith’s light. But I couldn’t look away; I had to know which of them would win. It looked as though the battle would end this way, neither of them able to defeat the other. And then I knew what I had to do.

“Faith!” Calling to her, I reached out my hand. I sensed her hesitation, then she took it and reached into my mind, drawing on my strength to increase her own. I didn’t know whether this was allowed; Faith had said she had to fight this battle alone. But I knew somehow that without me, she would be unable to do what she had been sent here for. As I shared my power with her, her aura became so bright I had to close my eyes against it, and even then, it was blinding. suggestion: I knew now that the roaring I heard was the darkness's pain and fury, and it just got louder as Faith's...Now the roaring I heard was the darkness’s pain and fury, as Faith’s light eclipsed it entirely.

Then the light was gone, and there was silence.


Great story, from what I can tell from this excerpt. Thank you for letting me crit it.

For the next person who comes to crit, my piece is on page 2, #46. Please be gentle.