I give up. I'm done. For a year now, I've been trying to find the flaws with my writing; I've taken several courses and bought several books, but none have managed to solve these problems. I can almost hear your scoffing by now. What an impatient newbie. What an amateur. He's never gonna make it in writing. But, you have to admit, if you had tried developing a skill for a year, a whole year, twelve months and three hundred and sixty five days, without much result, you would feel at least a little dishearted, wouldn't you?
My writing feels boring and stale. It's not just boring to read and edit, but it takes me hours to write only a thousand words.
One year, and I still haven't learned how to write well. I honestly don't even know what the f*** I'm doing anymore.
Please, if you have the time, take a look at the piece below (it's something I just scrambled together for you to see what an awful mess my writing is) and reply with some critique. I don't know what else to do.
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She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen the town as such: tiny. Emily looked down at the photo again, as if she had hallucinated. Wow. It had really grown over the years, hadn’t it? It was almost nostalgic seeing the old town again, when it had just been a couple few houses with a hundred, give or take, citizens who traded wares and gathered each Friday in the village’s around a campfire.
The town was now nearing the thousand-citizen-counter. The cracked, grey walls were now webbed into dry twines, and the white paint all the buildings were drenched in had started to crack.
What had happened? What had gone so wrong? It was so full of life, been so innocent and, y’know, cared about the people who lived there. But, now, you couldn’t step foot outside without seeing a poster stamped with big letters, revealing that a young child had disappeared, or that some recent murder had taken place, or a robbery.
It didn’t matter what the government said. It didn’t matter how much they tried to calm them. She refused to believe that the town was innocent. A feeling of something not being quite right had followed her ever since she was a child. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t. Why would such a seemingly perfect place be without flaws, without secrets? Of course there were.
But no one ever said anything about it, because everyone knew that it meant death.
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My writing feels boring and stale. It's not just boring to read and edit, but it takes me hours to write only a thousand words.
One year, and I still haven't learned how to write well. I honestly don't even know what the f*** I'm doing anymore.
Please, if you have the time, take a look at the piece below (it's something I just scrambled together for you to see what an awful mess my writing is) and reply with some critique. I don't know what else to do.
#
She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen the town as such: tiny. Emily looked down at the photo again, as if she had hallucinated. Wow. It had really grown over the years, hadn’t it? It was almost nostalgic seeing the old town again, when it had just been a couple few houses with a hundred, give or take, citizens who traded wares and gathered each Friday in the village’s around a campfire.
The town was now nearing the thousand-citizen-counter. The cracked, grey walls were now webbed into dry twines, and the white paint all the buildings were drenched in had started to crack.
What had happened? What had gone so wrong? It was so full of life, been so innocent and, y’know, cared about the people who lived there. But, now, you couldn’t step foot outside without seeing a poster stamped with big letters, revealing that a young child had disappeared, or that some recent murder had taken place, or a robbery.
It didn’t matter what the government said. It didn’t matter how much they tried to calm them. She refused to believe that the town was innocent. A feeling of something not being quite right had followed her ever since she was a child. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t. Why would such a seemingly perfect place be without flaws, without secrets? Of course there were.
But no one ever said anything about it, because everyone knew that it meant death.
#
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