An untitled story

[firewrathed]

I wrote this story after a long time and can't remember any other piece that demanded this much attention from me. I wrote four different endings for it, but none of the them seemed to serve me with the satisfaction that I wanted. When I pointed out why, I edited the ending for the last time and it gave me the nearest pleasure to what I was looking for:p. But still, something inside me tells me that I could make it better. I hate it when I feel like this

Here goes the story, and yeah, another thing, this story haven't got any name yet, and as I can see it crying desperately for one and me unable to get one for it, will any of you bother to give her a good name and spare me its horrible cries?


[B]They came out of the haat, the little village market, stumbling, thoroughly exhausted. The small market was buzzing with a restless crowd. A crowd that was formed of different people- different in complexion, tone of voice and behavior, and yet seemed all so similar, they smelled so similar. They were the inhabitants of the village ‘Durgapur’, a place as green and as filled with poor people as anywhere in this country.

Mohsina Begum and her husband Harun Miyah were coming out the haat hurriedly. ‘Just try to hold it for another minute, we are almost there.’ Mohsina said in her usual high-pitched voice. Harun clenched his teeth, pulling up his lungi higher. There are two things that he hated the most in this rotten earth- the time when he strained himself to hold back crap that threatened to come out any moment it liked without any warning, and his wife’s crowing voice. Not even two days’ starving or the increasing hole in the roof of their hut is able to beat them. He looked from the corner of his eye at her. Didn’t she look, in a way, happy? It must had given her much pleasure then, his inability to tell when it was coming, or else there was no explanation of that funny look on her face. Where does all that fun come from, eh?- he thought, when we haven’t eaten anything from yesterday night.

He looked to the other side suddenly. There it is, the black bastard. The dog appeared as if out of nowhere, it was walking along with the old couple, its breasts swinging from side to side. Didn’t it look happy too? Harun’s mouth filled with bitterness. It seemed like everybody was making a fun out of it. He walked faster.
‘Here it is again. Always tailing us everywhere. Will you stop giving it food? A thing of no use but a big mouth. How much do we get from a day’s begging? Never enough to fill our own bellies. And there it is, always with its tongue lolling, tail wagging.’
‘Stop talking, will you? It might start swelling out.’ And this time, despite all her restrain, a giggle came bouncing out through her pressed lips, making a hissing sound. This is even worse than working in a biri factory.

The biri factory was built in order to yield cheap cigarettes for cheap people. It was the red building with a big signboard over its entrance- ‘Momen biri factory’ and a small one below it saying, ‘Children under age 10 are prohibited to work in the factory-authority’. It was the hell that he worked in from his very childhood. Of course he did not know for sure from exactly what age, but he remembered the day when his father took him inside the factory. He stood beside his father for a moment at the entrance of the large dusty room, his mouth open. The room was lit with 60watt bulbs emitting a sick yellow light. And numerous men, women and children were working on the floor with expressionless faces, like rusting machines. Work, work, no time to even wipe the sweat off the wet, glistening black and brown foreheads- they’d just got to keep making cheap cigarettes, the more the better. 21 bucks for a thousand biris. Not a matter of joke.

He looked up at his father, his head touching his father’s waist. From there, past his father’s small pot-belly, thin arm, tapped cheek, his eyes met a black blurred eye, glinting in that yellow light. Just when he was on the verge of thinking that his father of crying, he said in a slightly hoarse voice- ‘It’s your first day son. It’s maybe a bit early for you, but it will be better than fooling around in that school, won’t it? The bastards don’t even give the food they were supposed to give in there. Called it a ‘food for education program’…” he grumbled. “Start working with me and in no time you’ll be earning half as much as I do now.” He tried to smile- ‘Now, how does this sound?’

Harun didn’t remember how that sounded, but he sure remembered how it felt to work in that place. All his life he tried to remain pious for one thing- so that he didn’t have to spend his after-life the way he had to in this earth. The work was nothing much- folding chemical-mixed tobacco in thin white papers neatly, and the rest did the machines (the ones without hands and legs), and yet it took away so much from him, his eyes, lungs and ears, partially. He was one of the best of them, able to make eight thousand a day. When his sons reached the height of his waist, he brought them there pulling them out of their school. They worked, cursed each other and their lives and continued to work- just as he did. And as soon as they reached their father’s height they left for the city, abandoning the life they had led from their childhood and also, their dear parents. After some years Harun was released from there with corroded lungs and bleary eyes and shaky hands.

And all the while he stayed in the town; Mohsina had stayed in the village with the daughter where they lived in a thatched hut that Harun inherited from his father, working for the richer ones in there. She worked as a servant. It was in the harvesting period of the year that she got to make more money, thrashing paddy for other well-off families. They both toiled themselves for managing three meals a day for them and their children. Their stomach was the greatest enemy of them and it never ceased to be. There they were, at the threshold of life, sniffing death from every near corner, with no one to watch over or to be watched over by- and still that damn thing wouldn’t stop burning.

Their sons and daughters were straining themselves to feed their own families that were growing bigger by every year. Expecting anything from them would be utter idiocy, realizing this they came down to the place where they all came from and started begging to keep the insaturable monster inside calm. They were left with only two things to live with- each other’s care and curses, and their enemy for whom they had to sit in the small market of the village from morning till night repeating the same sentence- ‘Baba, give us something, we haven’t eaten anything from morning…’

It wasn’t one of the lucky days today, they had sat in the market all day croaking for money and all they could gather was some torn notes of 2 taka an

[aBIGsheep]

Here goes the story, and yeah, another thing, this story haven't got any name yet, and as I can see it crying desperately for one and me unable to get one for it, will any of you bother to give her a good name and spare me its horrible cries?


They came out of the haat I'm assuming this a typo for 'hat.' If it's a typo for 'hat' then it doesn't make much sense. Are they stumbling through a magician's hat? Or is this a proper noun that isn't capitalized?stumbling, thoroughly 'Thoroughly' is extra baggage. It doesn't add anything to the story. Think about it, if you're exhausted it's safe to say that you're 'thoroughly' exhausted. It's redundant.exhausted. The small market was buzzing with a restless crowd. A crowdYou use 'crowd' too close to each other. Saying the same word so close to each other really breaks the flow. It's good to have an even space between using the same word. Go to an online thesaurus and look up a synonym. Cluster, group, mob, all would be great substitutes. that was formed of different people- different in complexion, tone of voice and behavior, and yet seemed all so similar, they smelled so similar. When you're listing something more than a single word you need to use semi-colons. Example: I like to skip; I love to color; I like to piss on the side of houses. The double dash is an excellent way to break a list or create a pause to emphasize something. They were the inhabitants of the village ‘Durgapur’, a place as green and as filled with poor people as anywhere in this country. This is an oddly worded sentence. Say that out loud to yourself. It just sounds odd.

Mohsina Begum and her husband Harun MiyahI'm curious about the names. What country is this? were coming out the haat Okay so it's a proper noun. Capitalize kthnxbai. hurriedly. ‘Just try to hold it for another minute, we are almost there.’ Mohsina said in her usual high-pitched voice. This is a weak sentence. If there are only two characters, you don't need to say 'said.' The reader can narrow down who's speaking by the dialogue.Harun clenched his teeth, pulling up his lungi A quick google search show's that a lungi is a garment from Bangladesh. The reader shouldn't have to go out and google stuff. If you're going to use foreign words, it's always nice to have some context clues about what the garment is or what it might even resemble. You can leave it as it is, but I thought a lungi was something completely fictional.higher. There are two things that he hated the most in this rotten earth- the time when he strained himself to hold back crap that threatened to come out any moment it liked without any warning, Huge hardcore run-on. This could be shortened to a few, simple words. Exploded, erupted, shat. Single words or phrases that are just as powerful as that whole green line.and his wife’s crowing voice. Not even two days’ starving or the increasing hole in the roof of their hut is able to beat them. Get your tenses to match. Present and past. Pick one.He looked from the corner of his eye at her. Didn’t she look, in a way, happy? It must had given her much pleasure then, his inability to tell when it was coming, or else there was no explanation of that funny look on her face. Where does all that fun come from, eh?- he thought, If it doesn't have quotation marks around it, something conversational is more than likely going to be a thought. Don't baby the reader. They know.when we haven’t eaten anything from yesterday night.

He looked to the other side suddenly. There it is, the black bastard. If you didn't mention the dog in the next line, I would've assumed that you were talking about a black MAN. And that would've just crossed a line, son.The dog appeared as if out of nowhere, it was walking along with the old couple, its breasts Wait, the dog's breasts or the old couples' breasts? I'm confused. Do dog's have breasts? Do the couple share a single set of breasticles?swinging from side to side. Didn’t it look happy too? Harun’s mouth filled with bitterness. It seemed like everybody was making a fun out of it. He walked faster.
‘Here it is again. Always tailing us everywhere. Will you stop giving it food? A thing of no use but a big mouth. How much do we get from a day’s begging? Never enough to fill our own bellies. And there it is, always with its tongue lolling, tail wagging.’
‘Stop talking, will you? It might start swelling out.’ And this time, despite all her restrain, a giggle came bouncing out through her pressed lips, making a hissing sound. This is even worse than working in a biri factory.

You're moving onto something else and I don't even know why everyone is running at the moment. When I hear that a whole group of people are running away from a Haat, I automatically assume there's a bomb or a calamity going on. But you haven't answered that question and yet you're already moving onto something else. I don't understand.

The biri Capitalize your pronouns. factory was built in order to yield cheap cigarettes for cheap people. It was the red building with a big signboard over its entrance- ‘Momen biri factory’ and a small one below it saying, ‘Children under age 10 are prohibited to work in the factory-authority’. It was the This line would be more powerful if you took out 'the.' hell that he worked in from his very childhood. Of course he did not know for sure from exactly what age, but he remembered the day when his father took him inside the factory. He stood beside his father for a moment at the entrance of the large dusty room, his mouth open. The room was lit with 60watt bulbs emitting a sick yellow light. And numerous men, women and children were working on the floor with expressionless faces, like rusting machines. Work, work, no time to even wipe the sweat off the wet, glistening black and brown foreheads- they’d just got to keep making cheap cigarettes, the more the better. 21 bucks for a thousand biris. Not a matter of joke.The last line could be molded into something with a ton more punch. I find the shortest lines have the most impatct. No joke.

He looked up at his father, his head touching his father’s waist. From there, past his father’s small pot-belly, thin arm, tapped cheek, his eyes met a black blurred eye, glinting in that yellow light. Just when he was on the verge of thinking that his father of crying,We know it's your father. You're not exactly talking of anybody else. You don't need to mention your father for every little thing. he said in a slightly hoarse voice- ‘It’s your first day son. It’s maybe a bit early for you, but it will be better than fooling around in that school, won’t it? The bastards don’t even give the food they were supposed to give in there. Called it a ‘food for education program’…” he grumbled. “Start working with me and in no time you’ll be earning half as much as I do now.” He tried to smile- ‘Now, how does this sound?’

Harun didn’t remember how that sounded, but he sure remembered how it felt to work in that place. All his life he tried to remain pious for one thing- so that he didn’t have to spend his after-life the way he had to in this earth. The work was nothing much- folding chemical-mixed tobacco in thin white papers neatly, and the rest did the machines the machines did the rest?(the ones without hands and legs), and yet it took away so much from him, his eyes, lungs and ears, partially. He was one of the best of them, able to make eight thousand a day. When his sons reached the height of his waist, he brought them there their*pulling them out of their school. They worked, cursed each other and their lives and continued to work- just as he did. And as soon as they reached their father’s height they left for the city, abandoning the life they had led from their childhood and also, their dear parents. After some years Harun was released from there with corroded lungs and bleary eyes and shaky hands.


-------------


[/QUOTE]

I might finish editing later. I'm only trying to make it better.

Red = Commentary
Green = Delete
Blue = Word Choice

[Silas Thorne]

I liked the story. It seemed fresh and original. The tragedy of the villagers in it touched a chord with me. Maybe it could be a part of something bigger...but unfortunately I read it while I was eating lunch. :)

aBIGsheep has given the story a whole lot of editing. I don't see the need to do much more, as I agree with most of his comments.

I'm not sure if you necessarily need to capitalise the foreign words, but you need to make sure the readers are clear from the context what they mean, as aBIGsheep as said.


I'm just wondering, what variety of English do you speak?

[firewrathed]

Thank you bigsheep and silas for spending so much time on this. And silas, yes I am not a native user of english and I actually don't know in which category I fall as a speaker. I tried to write in the simplest language, cause I believe that simplicity is the best way of creating something great.

Now to bigsheep- 'Haat' is not a proper noun. It's a local word for 'small village market'. I missed the word while capitalizing the ones that needed it. Sorry for that. I know that I don't need to say all the time who is saying what, I mentioned whenever I felt it important to be mentioned. he style it is being mentioned in is more important than the fact who is mentioning it. It indicates the characteristics of an individual.

When you're not a native speaker, you have to use many local words that are not known to the natives. Putting a context with every single word may destroy the beauty of the writing. I have read good works of other non-native writers who have used a lot of foreign words without any context. So I assume it to be accepted by readers that they might have to look up a few words while reading a writing of a foreign writer.

Now the comment on the 'swinging breasts'- well, I'll have to say that I found it really amusing. If I wanted to mean the old couple, I wouldn't say 'Its', I'd rather use 'their' wouldn't I? I could be more particular in gender of the dog, but the female word for dog-*****-is such a word that might seem a bit awkward to many and might ruin the appeal of the panorama.

One can easily flip through a thesaurus, so could I. I could use alternative words for the whole phrase, I know. But I used the whole thing deliberately, feeling that it would express my feeling more perfectly.

Sorry for the tense mistake. It was really silly of me.

I think you were so busy criticising the story that you couldn't be careful enough to notice that all the people weren't running, only the two characters were. It was never mentioned that all of them were rushing.

I think the 'the' in that sentence made it more powerful. The hell I meant was not a normal hell, it was 'the hell'. Without it the sentence would have failed to expose the intensity of the individual's feeling. And now the remark that hit me the most- why does the word 'black' always have to come down to the 'black people'? It was clearly a simple adjective. Only a person with a bit inferiority complex may have a confusion like that. The sentence definitely needs no mending, as the very next sentence clearly reveals the character that it was referred to.

Thank you again guys for caring enough to give it a thorough look. :D

[aBIGsheep]

Now to bigsheep- 'Haat' is not a proper noun. It's a local word for 'small village market'. I missed the word while capitalizing the ones that needed it. Sorry for that. I know that I don't need to say all the time who is saying what, I mentioned whenever I felt it important to be mentioned. he style it is being mentioned in is more important than the fact who is mentioning it. It indicates the characteristics of an individual.
Trust me, I write in your same vein buddy. Go read my own stories and see what you think.



They came out of the haat stumbling, thoroughly exhausted. The small market was buzzing with a restless crowd.

When you're not a native speaker, you have to use many local words that are not known to the natives. Putting a context with every single word may destroy the beauty of the writing. I have read good works of other non-native writers who have used a lot of foreign words without any context. So I assume it to be accepted by readers that they might have to look up a few words while reading a writing of a foreign writer.

The thing is, I assumed that you toss out 'Haat' much too early for me to know what it is. I don't know anything about the haat, and when you follow it up with something like 'thoroughly exhausted,' I think they've just run from a bomb or they've gone jogging or they're done dancing in a club. I don't think a marketplace. If you mention that it's a marketplace before hand it'd be much more clear.

And are they all moving as one? Are they all together? Words like 'they' and 'crowd' reference a single body of people.
A crowd of people watching T.V.
A crowd of people dancing.

But when you say:
A crowd of people walking through the market.

It gives the impression that the people are congregating together.


Now the comment on the 'swinging breasts'- well, I'll have to say that I found it really amusing. If I wanted to mean the old couple, I wouldn't say 'Its', I'd rather use 'their' wouldn't I? I could be more particular in gender of the dog, but the female word for dog-*****-is such a word that might seem a bit awkward to many and might ruin the appeal of the panorama.
But don't you see how vague 'it' is? You could be referring to the old woman for all I know. Using a pronoun to reference another pronoun is confusing. By the way, you don't have to call it a *****. You can always call it a dog. Just cause it's a ***** doesn't make it less of a dog.


One can easily flip through a thesaurus, so could I. I could use alternative words for the whole phrase, I know. But I used the whole thing deliberately, feeling that it would express my feeling more perfectly.
That's like using like all the time. Like, I know that like is a good word, that's like, good for pauses, and stuff but like, saying like so many times, like ruins the story. Like seriously. Word variety isn't a bad thing.


Sorry for the tense mistake. It was really silly of me.
Chyeah



They came out of the haat stumbling, thoroughly exhausted. The small market was buzzing with a restless crowd.
I think you were so busy criticising the story that you couldn't be careful enough to notice that all the people weren't running, only the two characters were. It was never mentioned that all of them were rushing.
I thought they were all running from the first sentence in your story. I even thought it was kinda odd that they were still running.


I think the 'the' in that sentence made it more powerful. The hell I meant was not a normal hell, it was 'the hell'. Without it the sentence would have failed to expose the intensity of the individual's feeling. And now the remark that hit me the most- why does the word 'black' always have to come down to the 'black people'? It was clearly a simple adjective. Only a person with a bit inferiority complex may have a confusion like that. The sentence definitely needs no mending, as the very next sentence clearly reveals the character that it was referred to.
It's your story, but I disagree. There's only one hell. The hell. And even if you put 'the' in front of it or not, you're not going to be referencing any other hell. Hell is Hell, and in this case, it's the hell as well.

And no, there is no inferiority complex. Far from it. The thing is, what do people assume when you say 'black bastard.' I'm not mentioning a dog. When you say 'black bastard' without referencing anything as black. What am I supposed to assume? Christ. Excuse me for being nitpicky, but that was the first thing that popped into my head. Mention the dog beforehand by putting the proceeding sentence in front of 'black bastard' and you'll erase any confusion.


Thank you again guys for caring enough to give it a thorough look. :D
My pleasure.

It's your story and you can do whatever you want with it. The real problem I see is that the whoever is reading is given something obscure in the beggining of a sentence or paragraph, left guessing and confused, only to be clarified later. That's pretty inconvenient.

[firewrathed]

First of all- I have read your writing. It's good, I'd say, but I don't think it's good enough to throw proposals like- 'go read my own stories and see what you think'- at me. I've read far better things than that, and then I've chosen my way of creation.

the suggestion to clarify the meaning of 'haat' is accepted. I've edited it over there.

The dog again. Well, if you understand that being particular about the dog's gender is not necessary, then why would you ask if dogs have breasts? And if I had referred to the old woman, then I would write 'her', not 'it'. Whatever, talking about this makes me feel stupid now.

Word variety isn't a bad thing, alright. Showing off vocabulary unreasonably or to put on a blazing display of 'word variety' in a writing, which Indian authors seem to do a lot, is also not necessary in my opinion. It can often be detrimental to the simplicity of a composition.

Does the word 'restless' suggest that all the people are running together? I didn't think so. Also, sometimes while reading a story, especially a short one, the reader has to suppress many questions that may occur to him, which get answered in the course of reading.

Well, I think I'll have to disagree with you in the respect of 'only one hell'. There is not necessarily one hell, for instance, Muslims believe that there are seven hells up there. However, I don't want to go into religious discussions. Without the definitive article, the sentence would have failed to produce the impact I meant it to.

About the 'black dog'- as I wrote before, since the very next sentence reveals the character that is being referred by the phrase very clearly, it does not need to be fixed. If despite that reading the mentioned phrase makes someone utterly bothered about such a trivial confusion that dissolves in the following line, I don't think I can help him or her.

Obscurity, and hence confusion, is something that is natural to be faced by readers when they are going through a story about a country of different culture and atmosphere. I myself feel weird while reading a story by a Russian or German writer. A little patience or a tendency of acceptance can be helpful to the reader in this regard.

It's my story and your criticisms are welcome. I just wanted to clarify my point of views.

[aBIGsheep]

First of all- I have read your writing. It's good, I'd say, but I don't think it's good enough to throw proposals like- 'go read my own stories and see what you think'- at me. I've read far better things than that, and then I've chosen my way of creation.

I wasn't boasting. I was saying that I write similarly to you. Christ almighty, don't look at it like I'm trying to offend you. I'm throwing in my 2 cents and defending it.


Word variety isn't a bad thing, alright. Showing off vocabulary unreasonably or to put on a blazing display of 'word variety' in a writing, which Indian authors seem to do a lot, is also not necessary in my opinion. It can often be detrimental to the simplicity of a composition.
It's no necessary, but it also becomes redundant.


Does the word 'restless' suggest that all the people are running together?
Yes, yes it does.
According to the dictionary:
Restless
1. characterized by or showing inability to remain at rest: a restless mood.
2. unquiet or uneasy, as a person, the mind, or the heart.
3. never at rest; perpetually agitated or in motion: the restless sea.
4. without rest; without restful sleep: a restless night.
5. unceasingly active; averse to quiet or inaction, as persons: a restless crowd.

Saying someone is restless is like saying that they can't stand still or they're racing from place to place in a frenzy.

[quote] Also, sometimes while reading a story, especially a short one, the reader has to suppress many questions that may occur to him, which get answered in the course of reading.
But being asked a question without receiving an answer for the previous one is impolite.


Well, I think I'll have to disagree with you in the respect of 'only one hell'. There is not necessarily one hell, for instance, Muslims believe that there are seven hells up there. However, I don't want to go into religious discussions. Without the definitive article, the sentence would have failed to produce the impact I meant it to.
Hell is universal -- it's where you go when you die. No matter what you believe, if you say 'Hell' people will more than likely know what you're talking about. Muslims believe there are many levels of a singleHell.

I don't agree with you. But it's your story, and you're adamant about it.


About the 'black dog'- as I wrote before, since the very next sentence reveals the character that is being referred by the phrase very clearly, it does not need to be fixed. If despite that reading the mentioned phrase makes someone utterly bothered about such a trivial confusion that dissolves in the following line, I don't think I can help him or her.
Alright, suit yourself. But I was disgusted by the line without any clarification.


Obscurity, and hence confusion, is something that is natural to be faced by readers when they are going through a story about a country of different culture and atmosphere. I myself feel weird while reading a story by a Russian or German writer. A little patience or a tendency of acceptance can be helpful to the reader in this regard.
You say it yourself, don't you hate being confused? I hate not understanding. I hate wading through fog, hoping by some grace of God that it'll suddenly be clearer. Don't you want to eliminate that problem?
Sure, I can just wait and see will clear up, but isn't that a little rude?

[firewrathed]

'I wasn't boasting. I was saying that I write similarly to you. Christ almighty, don't look at it like I'm trying to offend you. I'm throwing in my 2 cents and defending it.'

Good to know.

First you say- 'you don't need to mention who is saying what every time' and then 'go and read my own stories and see what you think'- what am I supposed to think except that?

What I meant by 'restless' can be easily understood if you match the first and third meaning of the word with 'small market'. At a market everybody seems to move about all the time; the people, buying and selling stuff, gossiping and playing games- always seem to be in motion. Is it that hard it understand what I implied by the sentence?

I think I've already said a lot about 'the hell'. To me the definitive article is important, the reasons of which I've already discussed, so I'm keeping it. As for hell in Muslim belief, the levels of hell are no less than seven different hells with their different intensities of punishment for different type of sinners. And also, the hell I mentioned was not an afterlife-hell, it was more of a within-life hell. If you can't feel what that person's been through all his life, then you may leave it.


'But being asked a question without receiving an answer for the previous one is impolite.'- how many questions did you have to ask? Once the confusion about 'haat' is cleared, I don't think any more confusion remains in there.

'You say it yourself, don't you hate being confused? I hate not understanding. I hate wading through fog, hoping by some grace of God that it'll suddenly be clearer. Don't you want to eliminate that problem?
Sure, I can just wait and see will clear up, but isn't that a little rude?'

It might be a little rude, yes, while you are going on reading page after page and still don't have a clue what the author is trying to say, which I've faced in some books earlier. But if the obscurity is likely to be disappeared in next few lines, I don't think it's that rude. It might even prove useful sometimes to hold back the reader's attention.

If you tried to read the story more in the manner of a reader than a critic, it wouldn't be that bad a reading, I think. Literature is not always about the language, it's also about the theme and expression of strong feelings.

I understand that you said all this for the betterment of the writing. Criticism should be a combination of some positive and negative comments, as far as I get it. How can you expect you criticism to be totally accepted if you haven't mentioned anything positive about the composition?

I may be adamant about my story, but you don't seem to be less adamant about your critique.

[aBIGsheep]

First you say- 'you don't need to mention who is saying what every time' and then 'go and read my own stories and see what you think'- what am I supposed to think except that?

That makes absolutely NO sense. Wow. You pretty much took two of my quotes and threw them in the wind. When I said you don't have to mention who's saying what, I meant that IN THE STORY, you don't have to put:
"Blabhalbalah" father said.
"Blabhalbhalbh" I said.
"balbhbafldajtreakrjakdjfidjfa" father said.
"aksjrqkewrjqkwrejk" I said.

When I said read my stories, I was saying that I agree with most of what you say about writing. It has to be short and simple. I was saying to look at it like "hoho look at me sit on my throne and denounce you and your sorry little short story for being so . . . ugh, beneath me."
Far from it. I write in your same vein, buddy, very much so, and I'm trying to help.
Stop looking at everything like I'm trying to attack you.


What I meant by 'restless' can be easily understood if you match the first and third meaning of the word with 'small market'. At a market everybody seems to move about all the time; the people, buying and selling stuff, gossiping and playing games- always seem to be in motion. Is it that hard it understand what I implied by the sentence?
The market is always moving, true dat browski, but I don't agree with how you used it in your story.


. . . restless crowd . . .

You're not describing the marketplace. You're describing the crowd. A crowd of restless people?


I think I've already said a lot about 'the hell'. To me the definitive article is important, the reasons of which I've already discussed, so I'm keeping it. As for hell in Muslim belief, the levels of hell are no less than seven different hells with their different intensities of punishment for different type of sinners. And also, the hell I mentioned was not an afterlife-hell, it was more of a within-life hell. If you can't feel what that person's been through all his life, then you may leave it.

Being Hell doesn't make it less of a Hell?
Leave the article, sure. It's your story. Go nuts.



'But being asked a question without receiving an answer for the previous one is impolite.'- how many questions did you have to ask? Once the confusion about 'haat' is cleared, I don't think any more confusion remains in there.
How many questions have I asked you since we've started this argument?


If you tried to read the story more in the manner of a reader than a critic, it wouldn't be that bad a reading, I think. Literature is not always about the language, it's also about the theme and expression of strong feelings.
I read it as a reader before I read it as a critic. I was pretty confused then too.


I understand that you said all this for the betterment of the writing. Criticism should be a combination of some positive and negative comments, as far as I get it. How can you expect you criticism to be totally accepted if you haven't mentioned anything positive about the composition?
I didn't want to strike a nerve, but I didn't really feel a need to say anything positive.


I may be adamant about my story, but you don't seem to be less adamant about your critique.
I hold my opinions to the end.