My book. Tell me how it is and if you would read it.

[Maracus]

Excellent analysis. So much of what bothered me while reading it is explained out in your post.


Note to Vash. Much of the conversation from Patsavana has been edited out as a result of the excessive amount of vulgarity used. This begins immediately after Hetta's first comment, and then continues all the way to when TA banned him. Invitations to have sheep take liberties with your person are amusing certainly, but not appropriate for the public domain. If I had to compare it to a real-world example, it would be like going to a book reading by a group of well-known authors, and then shouting explicatives at them from the audience. However the authors are the ones with the microphone, and can't really be blamed for wanting to expend a little retributing to the heckler. Not to mention have the security throw him out. I don't have a whole lot of sympathy for anyone who invites criticism, denies he needs help, and then insults everyone who tells him he's being petulant.

[Ghostbear]

My advice for Pat would be to read more- not crap one our age reads for enjoyment like Fantasy, but real classics like Wodehouse, Jane Austen, and Shakespeare. Then read books in the area you are going for, and then start with an outline of the story, and a framework of each character. Only then start writing- Authors comment on how a story took them by the neck- tahts not because they just sat down one day and started writing, its because the planned each character out, and they just imagined them interacting and put it to paper. The final advice form me is to take your time- This story is obviuosly writen in less than an hour. I have been writing a story for 5 years now, and it still hasn't reached completion. With time you can get familiar with the world you create, your characters and the "feel" of the story. If you're seventeen, I would seriuosly work on your writing under time restrains. The first writing SAT portion is taken next year. I should reword that-UNTIL you are done with your SATs, I'd work on timed writing. After that, you probably will never have to write an essay till college, and h-e-double-hockeysticks, you can start that NOW.

P.S. I suppose i partly agree with Vash in that the explosion seemed too aggressive to deal with a teen age troll having issues not getting his own way. But i should say, as maracus pointed out, that i have not seen most of his posts.

P.P.S. The theme of Good V Evil is a common one in most cultural mythos. For example, we have a famous one in Beowulf where beowulf uses a magic sword to kill Grendel's mother, or the intrigues of the Bhagvad Gita. As techno said, it takes bringing something new to the table to get an audience in the category.

Ghostbear edits: This is a rather dour and...odd? subject to reach fifty posts no?

[steveo]

[steveo]

[Maracus]

I'm going to agree with the morbidity that causes us to produce one of our longest posts(and in so short a time), based on the chimp-like outbursts of a thin-skinned author. Still, the story wasn't bad, just the writing.
_________________
Those who ask themselves "why?", to the same questions are lacking in creativity. Make something up.

[Vash]

He gave me his book to fix and finish, I can post the rest and you might get a better point of view on it if you like.

[Vash]

Chapter I
The discovery
Cuba
September 20, 2006

It was a dark night and we were on our mission. My name is Randy; I am a Lieutenant Colonel of the mercenaries. I work with the best of the best of the military. We work for a secret branch of the Government that our only job is to assonate the people that they tell us to.
“Shhh…. Shut the hell up and follow my lead.” I whisper to the others after we climb from the wall that we had to climb. We run up a lawn to a big house where we are to kill the Cuban drug lord who lived there; my trench coat flows in the wind. I run up to a statue at the patio, m-16s in hand. I do a signal and the rest follow me to the statue.
“The target is on the second floor, the guards are at the door, on the stairs and on both sides of his bedroom door.” I say to the others. “The only form of attack is through the roof, so Mike, Jay, and spider go around the back yard, don’t get seen, I’ll go on the roof and shoot him in his sleep.” They all nod at me while I pill out a military style berretta from its holster.
I motion the three to move and they run to the other side of the house. I begin to clime on the roof when a hand grabbed my shoulder. I spin around to stare at the barrel of an ak47. “Don’t move,” the Cuban says, “or I’ll rip you a new one.” Before he could do anything I grab the gun giving off a single shot. Within a split second I had a knife in my hand and I stab him in the chest and he falls over dead.
My friends come running around the corner of the house yelling,”What the hell did you do! The Cubans are after us!” I pull out two Lugers from by back pockets and get behind a rock. The Cubans come running around the corner and we open fire. The Cubans run for cover and return fire. Shooting as fast as I can I take down two and ten replace them. I pull out my m-16 and open fire, shooting as fast and aimlessly as I can. Then I got shot in the arm, I give a muffled cry of pain as blood gushes out of my arm.
Suddenly from the very depths of my sole something snapped, something awoke inside of me. I suddenly get up pull out my knife run towards the Cubans. They see me and open fire, but I can see the bullets as if they are going slow so I can dodge them. I jump in the air but the only thing is that I went twenty feet in the air.
I land in the middle of them stab one through the side of his head drop the knife, throw one of them into a rock splattering him all over the place. I punch another in the face so hard that his head caves in and leaves a huge hole where his face was.
Then my anger rose so high that I burst into a greenish black flame and all of the sudden the rest of the Cubans were on fire, running and screaming in every direction. I don’t know why I did it, but I raised my hand toward the building and a huge greenish- black fireball shoots from my hand and blows up the house.
“What the hell!!” Jay yells over the roar of the flames. “How the hell did you do that?” He didn’t have time to get an answer. Fifty or sixty Cubans heard the explosion and have come in to fight. Without thinking I started running towards the wall so fast that everything was a blur around me. I run up to the fifty foot wall jump up, kick off the wall and do a flip over it.
I land on the ground and pass out.



Chapter 2
The Changes


I wake up in a white room, a doctor standing over me. “Doc?” I said groggily “How did I get here?” He looks at me in a puzzled sort of way. “I think what happened to you was a psychotic anger disorder. It caused all the things that your teammates said happened.”
I look at him and smile. “You don’t know, do you?” He looks down in shame. “No.” “I didn’t think so,” I say smugly.
The doctor slams his fist on the table in frustration. “I have always been able to explain everything and now I am stumped,” he points at me. “I am holding you responsible.” All of the sudden I feel an anger fill my chest and I punch the white metal wall with half my strength and like thin paper my hand goes through. The shards of medal slice into my arm so deep that I could see my bone when I pull it out.
“Damn it!” he yelled in anger. “Now I have to give you stitches!” I look at my wounds the blood seeping down my arm, onto the floor. To my surprise I noticed that the blood started to go in reverse. From the ground, to my arm and back into my wounds. Then the wounds disappear.
The doctor just stares at my arm with his mouth open. I try to act as if I knew I had this ability all the time and smile. “You better close your mouth; it’s starting to gather dust.” The doctor closes his mouth and grabs my arm, examining it. “It looks as if it never happened, but the hole is still in the wall.” Then he looks at the wall as if it just showed up behind him. “How the hell did you do that?” he asks shocked, “That wall’s metal is at least a foot thick of steel.”
I look through the hole in the wall and I see Jay looking back. Everyone thinks he is strange because of his trench coat and “Gothic” attire. “Hey! What’s up?” I say through the hole. He nods and says, “Nutten much, just clearing up the fact that our mission was a success and a failure at the same time.” He looked at me and I could tell that he was going to ask me a question about last night. “You want a beer?” I nearly laugh with relief. “Ok, Thanks” He hands me a beer through the hole.
“Oh! I forgot,” Jay says slapping himself in the forehead, “I can’t go home; I’m getting it painted so how about we spar?” “Ok I’ll do it, but not for long, I have to get home to my wife and kids.” I said with a small smile. “Where do you want to go?” “Well… We got caught sparing at the mall, let’s go to the forest.”

The forest was an hour drive away from the city. I went behind a tree and changed into my fighting cloths. I wore a long trench coat, a very black shirt, very baggy black rave pants, a pair of motorcycle gloves with the fingers cut off, and a pair of black steel toe boots.
Jay, wearing a lightly shorter trench coat had a black shirt with a hand giving the middle finger. “Sooo… You want to go at it?” Jay says with a smile. “If you’re ready to meet your maker.” I say with a smile.
Jay jumps at me trying to kick me in the face, but I duck and I let him land before kicking him in the back of the legs. He falls to the ground and springs right back up.
Again he runs at me this time throwing punches, I block every one but one. It hits me in the face and blood starts running down my lip and I smile. He punches at me again, I grasp his arm throw him into a tree and he bounces off and kicks me in the chest. I fly back and hit another tree ten feet away. I drop down to one knee panting. “That… was a … cool trick.”
Jay looks at me and glares. “I’m glad you like it.” He runs at me. Throwing punches faster then I could block. I looked in his eyes and I noticed that the color has changed. They were a dark, glowing blue. I drop my guard and he punches me in the ribs so hard that I fly fifteen yards and hit a tree. There was a loud screech as the tree I flew into fell over.
I get up winded and I here a sort of growling. I look at Jay and I see that the growling is coming from him. “Jay… you okay?”
Suddenly he springs to his feet and starts punching at me. I try to block them but he hit me in the face three times. “What the hell!!” I punch him in the gut as hard as I could but it didn’t do a thing. He grabs me by the throat and starts strangling me. I could feel my neck beginning to break. I desperately punch at his empty face. Nothing.
All of the sudden the anger rose inside of me and I punch him in the face again and he flies back ten feet but lands on his feet and runs at me again. This time I was ready I jump in the air do a round house kick and I hit him if the side of his face and he spins five times in mid air then hits the ground. He doesn’t get back up.
I run to his side and I feel his pulse, he’s fine. Just knocked out. I breathe a sigh of relief, “You’re lucky we didn’t kill each other.” I tell him though he couldn’t hear me.
I pile him in my car and I get a bad feeling in my gut. I look up into the sky and I could see a face. It is blurry, then it clears up and I see… “SINDY, VASH!!” My wife and son are in trouble. I rush into the car and drive down the road going ninety miles per hour. It took me fifth-teen minutes to get to my town.

Chapter 3
The destruction
I drive as fast as I could to my house and right away I could see holes in my wall. I jump out of my car and I run as fast as I could. So fast that I run through the door. I stagger a little and I could see four strange figures in the dark and there was a smeel of rotten flesh. I turn on a light and what I saw scared me stiff.
I stare in horror as I look into the eyes of one of two people with half of their face missing. The scary thing was that they were still alive another was a young looking man with long white hair, very bright blue eyes, and a stare that sent chills up my spine. He wore a long trench coat but it was white with red and gold flames going down the sides.
“Ahhh… We meet at last.” The man says with a sly, creepy sort of a smile. “You must be the one and only Patsavana.” I look at him confused, then angry. “Who the hell is Patsavana?! More importantly, who the hell are you and where is my family?!” He picks up my family picture. “My name is Sir Isondor Von Hilder, and I am a demon.” “Hold on a sec… A demon?” He gives me a smile. “Yes Patsavana, a demon.”
I shake myself from my stupor. “Where is my family?” “Well… they are fine... for now.” I look at him in disbelief. “What do you want?” I ask with fear. “All I want is you… dead.” He says nodding his head to the two of the three. Two were dead looking and smelled of rotting flesh like zombies, and one was another handsome person with long silver hair. The two zombies advance on me, cornering me in my living room.
“Kill him.” Hilder says calmly. The zombies run at me and I jump over them with a flip and I land behind them. I elbow one in the back. My elbow goes straight into his back, making a big hole. He turns around and grabs my neck, trying to bite it. I grab it on the head and I pull as hard as I could, pulling off his head and he fall to the ground dead. The other pulls out a knife and swings it at me. I dodge it and I kick it in the face and its face splatters.
I stand there shacking the blood off my shoe. “I want my family NOW!” I advance on Hilder. He nods to the brown haired guy. “This is Sir Vincent. He will kill you now.” Vincent walks toward me and I punch at him. He grabs my arm and throws me in the wall. I feel a sharp pain in my side when I tried to get up and I fell back down.
“Come on Patsavana, you’re stronger than that.” Hilder says practically laughing. “I am not Patsavana.” I yell. He gives me a strange look. “Well we’ll just have to find out.” He says. I feel a surge of fear when he brought out my wife and son. “ I do hope you forgive me for this.” He pulls out a beretta 9 mm and points it to my wives head.
“Sorry.” He says and pulls the trigger. “NOOO!!!!” I scream as my wife falls to the floor dead. My son turns on Hilder and tries to punch him in the face. Hilder grabs his arm and then his neck. “It is your turn.” He says when he squeezes his neck, breaking it.
I scream so loud as my son falls dead that the walls around me shatter with a loud bang. Then a pain runs up my back and into my chest.


It ended here. But I was thinking of him turning into this demon monster and destroying major cities and then going after other demons.
What do you think on that? Any pointers?
I would be happy for any advice.
Thanks for reading

[JIM]

What does Dr. Jekyll's potion taste like, exactly? I've always suspected cherry, but my evil twin insists it's more like vanilla.
_________________
Unitedheroes.net - We're not lazy, we're... um... productivity-challenged.

[lyle]

Chapter I
The discovery
Cuba
September 20, 2006

It was a dark and stormy night and we were on our mission. My name is Randy James Randy; I am a Lieutenant Colonel of the mercenaries, because it's important to have 05 pay scales in a blood-thirsty band of thugs for hire I work with the best of the best of the military particularly the ones that are willing to break rank and kill for hire. We work for a secret branch of the Government that our only job is to <strike>assonate</strike> (which is like assassinate, but involves more Astroglide) the people that they tell us to. We're not quite sure what the difference is between this job and simply shooting people we've been ordered to shoot like we normally do in the military, but it doesn't keep us up at night.
“Shhh…. Shut the hell up and follow my lead.” I whisper to the others elite, highly trained, well paid soldiers who are too stupid to keep their mouth shut and follow silent hand orders so we don't tip off everyone within ear shot that we're here after we climb from the wall that we had to climb and apparently climb a few walls we didn't have to climb. We run up a lawn to a big house where we are to kill the Cuban drug lord who lived there alone, by himself, the head of a massive drug cartel without a single patrolling guard, spotlight or survelance camera; my trench coat flows in the wind which looks far sexier than that bulky, silent body armor. I run up to a statue at the patio, m-16s in hand , I like to carry a several 20lb fully automatic machine guns in one hand, in case I drop a few on the way. I do a signal because that's what the kids are calling it these days and the rest follow me to the statue. Some complain that I'm bogarting the signal.
“The target is on the second floor, the guards are at the door, on the stairs and on both sides of his bedroom door.” I say to the others. “The only form of attack is through the roof, so Mike, Jay, and spider go around the back yard, don’t get seen and for God's sake, stay off the teeter-totter this time, I’ll go on the roof and shoot him in his sleep.” They all nod at me while I pill out a military style berretta from its holster.
"Couldn't we have just used a sniper if we know where he is and can get a shot at him from a single location?" I over hear Johnson mumble. I chuckle beneath my breath. Rookies and their new fangled ideas. He doesn't look half as good as I do in my trenchcoat as I remove the child saftey cap for my prescription firearm.
I motion the three to move and they run to the other side of the house. I begin to clime on the roof when a hand grabbed my shoulder. I spin around to stare at the barrel of an ak47. It fires as an alert is sounded across the compound... oh wait, nevermind. “Don’t move,” the Cuban says, “or I’ll rip you a new one.” "Ok, geez, mister, I was just going to get my frisbee off your roof. You don't have to be so darn harsh." Before he could do anything I grab the gun giving off a single shot. An alert sounds across the compound as a rain of deadly fire rains down from the druglord's men, dammit, wait, nevermind... Within a split second I had a knife in my hand and I stab him in the chest and he falls over dead. The point blank shot, apparently, not being enough to kill him.
My friends come running around the corner of the house yelling,”What the hell did you do! The Cubans are after us!” "You Asshat, I told you we could have used a sniper!" I shoot Johnson, he was starting to annoy me. Well, that and the fact that he always got higher scores on Splinter Cell. I pull out two Lugers from by back pockets and get behind a rock. It felt good. Mostly because having guns in your back pockets makes it particularly hard to sit down. I know I should invest in a pair of holsters for the things, but they ruin the whole trenchcoat look. The Cubans come running around the corner and we open fire. The Cubans run for cover and return fire. Shooting as fast as I can I take down two and ten replace them. Suddenly remembering that i have something far more accurate and able to deal with larger groups than a pair of lugers, I pull out my m-16 and open fire, shooting as fast and aimlessly as I can because those things are heavy and the best thing to do in a situation like that is to waste ammo. Then I got shot in the arm, I give a muffled cry of pain as blood gushes out of my arm.
Suddenly from the very depths of my sole something snapped, damn fallen arches something awoke inside of me and it smelled like flounder. I suddenly get up pull out my knife run towards the Cubans because Daddy always said I should bring a knife to a high-powered assault gun fight. They see me and open fire, but I can see the bullets as if they are going slow so I can dodge them. I make a mental note to go back to that junkie. I jump in the air but the only thing is that I went twenty feet in the air. I make a second note to check the terrain map the next time I decide to go leaping about
I land in the middle of them stab one through the side of his head drop the knife dodge, perry, spin and THRUST!, throw one of them into a rock splattering him all over the place. I punch another in the face so hard that his head caves in and leaves a huge hole where his face was. Those bastard Cubans were using My Size Ken dolls to do their dirty work
Then my anger rose so high that I burst into a greenish black flame and all of the sudden the rest of the Cubans were on fire, running and screaming in every direction. "Yeah, sorry. Gotta watch those beer farts of mine." I don’t know why I did it, but I raised my hand toward the building and a huge greenish- black fireball shoots from my hand and blows up the house. Johnson, his body still not quite dead yet, called out "See? Sniper. You should have used a sniper!"
“What the hell!!” Jay yells over the roar of the flames. “How the hell did you do that?” "And why the h-e-double-hockeysticks didn't you do that before we became the piñata of choice at this little shindig?" He didn’t have time to get an answer. Fifty or sixty Cubans heard the explosion and have come in to fight. I suddenly realize, that instead of five, we're now up at around seventy Cubans. I snap my head back and scream, "Damn you bad math skills!"Without thinking I started running towards the wall so fast that everything was a blur around me. Including the fate of the soon to be ex men under my command I run up to the fifty foot wall jump up, kick off the wall and do a flip over it.
I land on the ground and pass out.
Mary Lou Retton, eat your heart out


Chapter 2
The Changes


I wake up in a white room, a doctor standing over me. “Doc?” I said groggily “How did I get here?” He looks at me in a puzzled sort of way. "So you're saying this is not your beautiful wife?" “I think what happened to you was a psychotic anger disorder. It caused all the things that your teammates said happened.” Well, what's left of your team mates, once the brigade of Cubans finished turning them into tamales
I look at him and smile. “You don’t know, do you?” He looks down in shame. “No.” “I didn’t think so,” I say smugly.
The doctor slams his fist on the table in frustration. "I'm an accountant Dammit!" “I have always been able to explain everything and now I am stumped,” he points at me. “I am holding you responsible.” All of the sudden I feel an anger fill my chest and I punch the white metal wall with half my strength and like thin paper my hand goes through. The shards of medal slice into my arm so deep that I could see my bone when I pull it out.
“Damn it!” he yelled in anger. “Now I have to give you stitches!” Oh yeah, and get new lead walls too. I look at my wounds the blood seeping down my arm, onto the floor. To my surprise I noticed that the blood started to go in reverse. From the ground, to my arm and back into my wounds. Then the wounds disappear. "You know," the doctor said in surprise, "that's not horribly sanitary."
The doctor just stares at my arm with his mouth open. I try to act as if I knew I had this ability all the time and smile. “You better close your mouth; it’s starting to gather dust.” The doctor closes his mouth and grabs my arm, examining it. “It looks as if it never happened, but the hole is still in the wall.” Then he looks at the wall as if it just showed up behind him. “How the hell did you do that?” he asks shocked, “That wall’s metal is at least a foot thick of steel.” "Wait, ship hulls are only a few inches thick, yet can support several tons of pressure per square inch, So why do you have that sort of steel wall in a hospital?" The doctor looks back, "magnets. We just love those novelty fridge magnets."
I look through the hole in the wall and I see Jay looking back. Everyone thinks he is strange because of his trench coat and “Gothic” attire. His coat isn't as pretty as mine. “Hey! What’s up?” I say through the hole. He nods and says, "Thanks for abandoning us to fight our way through ninety odd heavily armed Cubans, you total and complete bastard!" “Nutten much, just clearing up the fact that our mission was a success and a failure at the same time.” He looked at me and I could tell that he was going to ask me a question about last night. “You want a beer?” I nearly laugh with relief. “Ok, Thanks” He hands me a beer through the hole. I decide not to ask why he's sitting in a beer cooler. Or for that matter, why there's a beer cooler next to my room.
“Oh! I forgot,” Jay says slapping himself in the forehead, “I can’t go home; I’m getting it painted so how about we spar?” “Ok I’ll do it, but not for long, I have to get home to my wife and kids.” I said with a small smile. “Where do you want to go?” “Well… We got caught sparing at the mall, let’s go to the forest.” "I hear the squirrels have a great Hot Topic." "wait, who's speaking?" "I am." "Oh, ok, I was getting confused."

The forest was an hour drive away from the city. I went behind a tree and changed into my fighting cloths. I girded my loin in excitement I wore a long trench coat this one was made by Stevens of Bel Aire, a very black shirt, very baggy black rave pants, a pair of motorcycle gloves with the fingers cut off, and a pair of black steel toe boots. because you want heavy, entangling clothes when your fighting. No, really, that's why ninja's wore plate armor
Jay, wearing a lightly shorter trench coat from Mr. Blackwells had a black shirt with a hand giving the middle finger. He opted for no pants. “Sooo… You want to go at it?” Jay says with a smile. “If you’re ready to meet your maker.” I say with a smile. Ah, homo-erotic banter always put me in the mood. For fighting. Yeah, fighting. not naked mud wrestling with a man wearing no pants.
Jay jumps at me trying to kick me in the face, but I duck and I let him land before kicking him in the back of the legs. He falls to the ground and springs right back up. for some reason a large, glowing "50" appeared above his head.
Again he runs at me this time throwing punches, I block every one but one. It hits me in the face and blood starts running down my lip and I smile. He punches at me again, I grasp his arm throw him into a tree and he bounces off and kicks me in the chest because being beaten and knocked against rocks tickles I fly back and hit another tree ten feet away. Impressive since I obviously weigh far more than he does and he hadn't really built up that sort of momentum. I drop down to one knee panting. “That… was a … cool trick.”
Jay looks at me and glares. “I’m glad you like it.” He runs at me. Throwing punches faster then I could block. I looked in his eyes and I noticed that the color has changed. They were a dark, glowing blue. I drop my guard and he punches me in the ribs so hard that I fly fifteen yards and hit a tree. There was a loud screech as the tree I flew into fell over. Trees have horrible brakes
I get up winded and I here a sort of growling. I look at Jay and I see that the growling is coming from him. “Jay… you okay?” No, and cut out the "Silent Bob" cracks!
Suddenly he springs to his feet and starts punching at me. I try to block them but he hit me in the face three times. “What the hell!!” I punch him in the gut as hard as I could but it didn’t do a thing. He grabs me by the throat and starts strangling me. I could feel my neck beginning to break. I desperately punch at his empty face. Nothing.
All of the sudden the anger rose inside of me and I punch him in the face again and he flies back ten feet but lands on his feet and runs at me again. This time I was ready I jump in the air do a round house kick and I hit him if the side of his face and he spins five times in mid air then hits the ground. He doesn’t get back up.
I run to his side and I feel his pulse, he’s fine. Just knocked out. I breathe a sigh of relief, “You’re lucky we didn’t kill each other.” I tell him though he couldn’t hear me.
I pile him in my car and I get a bad feeling in my gut. I look up into the sky and I could see a face. It is blurry, then it clears up and I see… “SINDY, VASH!!” My wife and son are in trouble. They were obviously part of some underground Hentai Wild West... thing... I rush into the car and drive down the road going ninety miles per hour. It took me fifth-teen minutes to get to my town. Taking the expressway would have saved me time, but I didn't want to pay the toll.

Chapter 3
The destruction
I drive as fast as I could to my house and right away I could see holes in my wall. I jump out of my car and I run as fast as I could. So fast that I run through the door.Apparently, trees aren't the only thing with bad brakes I stagger a little and I could see four strange figures in the dark and there was a smeel of rotten flesh. I turn on a light and what I saw scared me stiff. I was pretty sure it wasn't left over from fighting a man with no pants.
I stare in horror as I look into the eyes of one of two people with half of their face missing.The other person sold Mary Kay in Schenectady. The scary thing well, other than half of his face was missing was that they were still alive another was a young looking man with long white hair . Meaning that the other person, not that there was more than one scary thing. Which I guess there sort of was since it was all pretty scary even though I'm a trained mercenary who's discovered he's apparently invincible, very bright blue eyes, and a stare that sent chills up my spine. He wore a long trench coat "Geez," I thought, "I haven't seen this many trench coats since Sergio Leone left town, but it explained all the trenchcoat shops that had sprung up downtown recently. but it was white with red and gold flames going down the sides provided by Fredericks of Hollywood
“Ahhh… We meet at last.” The man says with a sly, creepy sort of a smile. Half head apparently wasn't the smiley type “You must be the one and only Patsavana.” I look at him confused, then angry. “Who the hell is Patsavana?! More importantly, who the hell are you and where is my family?!” He picks up my family picture. “My name is Sir Isondor Von Hilder of the Wellington Von Hilders, and I am a demon. I bought the knighthood on ebay” “Hold on a sec… A demon?” He gives me a smile. “Yes Patsavana, a demon.”
I shake myself from my stupor. “Where is my family?” “Well… they are fine... for now.” I look at him in disbelief. “What do you want?” I ask with fear. “All I want is you… dead.” "So the bit about my family being fine?" "Ok, I was lying. I sent them to Branson." "You BASTARD!" He says nodding his head to the two of the three. Two were dead looking and smelled of rotting flesh like zombies, and one was another handsome person with long silver hair. The two zombies advance on me, cornering me in my living room.
“Kill him.” Hilder says calmly. The zombies run at me and I jump over them with a flip and I land behind them. I elbow one in the back. My elbow goes straight into his back, making a big hole. It was like huge and stuff. He turns around and grabs my neck, trying to bite it. It was then I realized I was dealing with the zombified version of Oobi I grab it on the head and I pull as hard as I could, pulling off his head and he fall to the ground dead. Uhm, well, more dead. Less undead. The other pulls out a knife and swings it at me. I dodge it and I kick it in the face and its face splatters. I realize I probably could have just waited for his face to do that.
I stand there shacking the blood off my shoe and wondering if I can scrape zombie brains off like the pile of puppy love i hit on the way in. “I want my family NOW!” I advance on Hilder. He nods to the brown haired guy. “This is Sir Vincent. He will kill you now.” Vincent walks toward me "Hi, I'm Vincent and tonight's specials are..." and I punch at him. He grabs my arm and throws me in the wall. I feel a sharp pain in my side when I tried to get up and I fell back down. Damn Chumba-wumba ear-worms.
“Come on Patsavana, you’re stronger than that.” Hilder says practically laughing. “I am not Patsavana.” I yell. He gives me a strange look. “Well we’ll just have to find out.” He says. I feel a surge of fear when he brought out my wife and son. “ I do hope you forgive me for this.” He pulls out a beretta 9 mm and points it to my wives head.
“Sorry.” He says and pulls the trigger. “NOOO!!!!” I scream as my wife falls to the floor dead. My son turns on Hilder and tries to punch him in the face. Hilder grabs his arm and then his neck. “It is your turn.” He says when he squeezes his neck, breaking it.
I scream so loud as my son falls dead that the walls around me shatter with a loud bang. Then a pain runs up my back and into my chest.
"Dammit, it's not fair!" I scream in twisted fury, "How come they get to leave the story already?"

It ended here. There is a God.But I was thinking of him turning into this demon monster and destroying major cities and then going after other demons.
Well, you might get some complaints from Studio Tojo...
What do you think on that?
I need more liquor?
Any pointers?
Read more. A lot more.
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--
I need new software
for my
PC.

[chuck]

[TechnoAtheist]

Lyle, you're an ass.

Ok, for the critique.

The story still suffers from many of the same problems that the prologue did (disjointed tenses, poor character motivations, etc.), so I won't focus on them.

In this story, the problems I see are:
0. Don't name your characters after yourself, unless you're doing it to be funny. It's called doing a <a href="http://www.angelfire.com/tn/AIB/marysue.html">Mary-Sue</a>, regardless of the genre.
1. Everyone wears black trench coats. It's like there was a killer sale over at Penny's or something because EVERYONE is wearing them. It's particularly jarring because of the fact that Randy spent time discussing details of appearance.
2. Suffice to say, these are not the tactics that one would take to infiltrate a drug lord camp, partly because the Cuban army would have already solved the problem. Say what you will about Castro, but he doesn't like competition in the drug arena. It's far easier to set up operations outside of Cuba, say, Columbia, Argentina or Peru.
3. It's also really, really sloppy. Seriously, if these guys are deep covert elite military forces, they'd have more than enough intel to be able to handle the situation. h-e-double-hockeysticks, anyone who's played paintball would be able to handle the situation better. I know that things are supposed to be bad, and get even worse just so that the guy can "awaken" but if this guy had pulled these sorts of tactics, about the only thing he'd be commanding would be a squadren of potato peelers.
4. I guarantee you that unless the only degree the doctor had was in philosophy, he would have immediately put Randy into intense study. This man could be the cure for hemophillia. In addition (and again I know that Mr. Cooke wanted to make a point) having a foot thick steel wall just so happen to be located next to where Randy was being treated is just strange. Partly because, why would there be a foot thick steel wall there? The mass alone would make that wall weigh at the very least half a ton, and (since the wall stood rigid to the hit and burst at the puncture point) had to weigh something on the order of several tons, balanced on a pressure point of a 1x15 surface, which could crack cement. (Bank vaults, which are often far less massive than that, distribute the weight across a larger surface area, but still aren't located above the ground floor.)
I won't go into the physics required to induce a shearing point in a foot thick sheet of steel, or the dynamics of how metal bends under stress. Suffice to say that Ryan must be capable of delivering a directed force equal to several hundred tons, or in more visual terms, can hit with the impact equal to that of a fast moving locomotive engine. This is important later on. (I'd also note that the metal cutting his skin would be the least of his concerns. Most of his hand and forearm would liquify from the concussion.)
5. Because when they're sparring, and whacking each other about, I presume that they're pulling punches. Otherwise, the moment either of them struck with a several ton force they would have been knocked back pretty darn far, figure on the order of 40-50 feet if you don't consider angular momentum. Also, since Randy's established that while the bone structure is apparently far more cohesive than the rest of him (although he healed quickly, he was injured for a period of time) there would be a good deal more damage since the impacts would again, liquify a fair portion of whatever they connected with.

I could go on, but suffice to say that there are several points that need to be addressed.

What I'd tell Mr. Cooke is that he's obviously very interested in conveying a story. He needs to start small. The story he's trying to write is simply too large to hurry.

Instead, work on smaller stories. He could try his hand at a few stand-alone scenes, not involving super-powers or impossible skills, and work his way through the details. Writing is deceptively difficult, but can be incredibly rewarding.

I'd also, again, strongly urge him to read. Understand how published authors put together stories. Find a style he likes, or even just one book, and really study it. Note when and how the author introduces people. Pay attention to what is said, and not said, when describing a scene or a person. What attracted you to a given character? What made you hate a character?

Eventually, this could be a top notch story, but it's going to take a lot of work. The good news is that once he'll invest that sort of effort, it'll more than pay off.
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The Grayhound Chronicles
"TGC is less like a web serial and more like the Al Azif in bite-size form."
--~Steve-o

[Ghostbear]

Well, i have a few suggestions myself. I've written it all in direct address to Pat, and im too darn lazy to change it.I'd suggest you drop the whole superpowers bit and make him more realistic. As you have it now it looks waaaayyy to DragonBallesque.

1. As techno already pointed out, never put yourself in the story-really turns off the reader.
2. Arm the troops better-an M-16s cool and all, but a rifle is not what your going for in an urban raid. Something like a silenced sub would be more realistic and unless the walls are higher than the house, it would be probable that a sniper would have been placed so he can silence any gaurd who finds you.
3. You wouldn;t shoot anyone in their sleep if there are 60 reinforcements a minutes distance away-even with a silencer, the chances are you will be heard-by them, the lady of the evening in the next room etc.
4. Who hired the hitman? The French? The Belgians? If the character doesn't know, state that. As techno said, the word Cuba, then secret branch of government immediately makes you think that its a Cuban hired hit.
5. Jay seems amazed about the ball of fire, but he himself has superpowers-who else can hit you 45 feet!? So if this is a special superpower state it-and why is Jay pissed off anyway? Will this be explained later?
6.Take chuck, Guests,and lyle's criticism, but ignore their sarcasm.
7. You can get a writing style from anything you read-Fiction, non-fiction, newspapers, Ads, etc. I picked a lot of mine from Techno's Grayhound, and its a pretty good source- say my grades especially. I suggest you do the same, and perhaps look up the other writers too.

The story definetly has potential-put some more effort into it, and look up everything factual you write-I said a sub, but h-e-double-hockeysticks, I maybe wrong. I'm pretty sure i speak for at least techno on top of me when i say we'd love to see your next draft.

Edit: Appreciate you editing it to"lady of the evening ." I came here to change that, but found it changed already!

[TechnoAtheist]

[Ghostbear]

Our writings is split into "formal" and "informal" writing. Grayhound like work is fine for the informal, but frowned upon in the informal, for which i make myself sound like a computer with a hernia. Heh, it works.

I actually used TGC and TFoHG as works of superpowers for one of my essays (This one was on Superpowers and the unbelievable etc-I actually got a 97 on it...) And TFoHG as a "work of fiction" in my science paper-I neede one, and got me through. (A 95 here-She didn't agree that Stupidity was an element in the perodic table)

[Maracus]

Agreed on the research angle. It's tough to research everything, just ask Steve-O. If you want the easy way out, do what most professional authors do these days, ask someone. Read the front of the latest techno-triller(about three pages in), and you'll find a whole list of people who were deeply involved in deciding what kind of bomb would actually be used, what kind of lockpick was used, and the actual process for screening a mislabelled letter. No-one keeps all of that information wandering around in his head. Superpowers have always been sort of a tough area to write, and while going overboard produces lost of special effects on film, they make for a boring read. People would rather see a character figure his way through something with a minimum of super powers, if only because it makes them easier to identify with.

Do the first round of editing yourself. Before you submit it for peer review, and then ask yourself. Does.....this....stink.....

Then make it better, you can be your own worst, or best critic. Me, I'm horrible for rushing things off my desk, but you can learn from my mistakes. Have fun writing, because most people can't make a living doing it. I love to act, but I'm a draftsman because it puts food on the table. I only act if it's going to be fun, you should only start writing if it's going to be fun.

As was mentioned, keep in mind the scope of your project. Do you really want to spend the next three years spending every evening writing your epic? Or do you really just want to spend a couple weekends puttering around your computer, taking notes on restaurant napkins? If you just want to do a little writing, do a little writing, write a short story, and confine the scope of your story to a pace appropriate for the length. If you want to add to it later, you can add another chapter. Look towards the Terry Goodkinds, The Terry Brooks, h-e-double-hockeysticks, the Tolkiens. They write book after book on the same subject. Not because they couldn't compress it all into one small book, but because they write for a bit, get tired of writing, and then when they're ready, tackle the next chapter/book. Break it down if you want to write big.
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Those who ask themselves "why?", to the same questions are lacking in creativity. Make something up.