First few pages of my first book - looking for critique and thoughts!

[chrisiacovetti]

Hey all,

The title's pretty self-explanatory I guess. I started writing a novel, and just thought I may as well share the start of it and see if anyone has any suggestions or corrections for me. I admittedly have no clue what I'm doing, so the more opinions I can get the better. Like I mentioned, it's a novel, but I'm hoping to pack lots and lots of philosophy and religion into it if I can.

Thanks so much guys,
Chris

[Shaman_Raman]

Post it.

[hillwalker]

Philosophy and Religion. My eyes are already glazing over.

As for the post itself - it's lacking a certain something.

H

[chrisiacovetti]

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1hwZ3ISlqhitc4O3sKEL2yZ7rtHu_QDeE15jLeMh5CNk/edit?usp=sharing

Sorry about that! Don't know how I missed it.

[hillwalker]

You'll probably get more feedback if you paste a sample of your work on here like everybody else does. Most of us are wary of opening links to other web sites.

H

[Jack of Hearts]

The prose itself is not bad! You may actually be toting some talent there, in this reader's opinion. It's somewhat hidden though because...

Everything else is bad. The 'Book I', the Nietzsche quote, the lack of craft, the needless chapters, the morally blameless character...

This is clearly less of a story and more of a way for you to proselytize your philosophical speculations. Thing is, no one cares. We've already got continental philosophy that not only expressed these things before you did, but better than you ever could probably. Your only hope is to 1) tell a story and 2)tell a story that comes from you.

But you didn't do that. You've furnished an uninteresting piece that reads like a theological lesson digested for children. The dialogue is all too telling in the artificial, imitated nature of it all.




J

[chrisiacovetti]

First and foremost, thank you so much for your time and much-needed criticism. I really do appreciate it.


This is clearly less of a story and more of a way for you to proselytize your philosophical speculations. Thing is, no one cares. We've already got continental philosophy that not only expressed these things before you did, but better than you ever could probably. Your only hope is to 1) tell a story and 2)tell a story that comes from you.

This had been my worry exactly. I don't read much fiction, so I guess crafting a compelling story is tricky for me. I understand that a story has to "come from me" to hold much water - maybe I just haven't lived or experienced enough to produce a story from myself worth writing. Definitely something to think about.

If you don't mind my asking, do you think it's a particularly good or bad idea to simply wait to write until I've lived longer and experienced more? I'm barely 18, and I tend to feel like my generally unoriginal ideas make that evident. I'm going off little more than some theology books and personal reasoning, maybe that's why my story is dull and doesn't "come from me?"

One last question: which one's the "morally blameless character" that you're referring to?

Thanks again,
Chris

[chrisiacovetti]

You'll probably get more feedback if you paste a sample of your work on here like everybody else does. Most of us are wary of opening links to other web sites.

Good thought, thanks. I hope this isn't too much to paste, but oh well:

Chapter 1

In every respect, Eli Rilke was raised well. His father was manly and pious, and would read him stories from the scriptures each night before bed. Eli's mother wore a constant, beaming smile on her face, and was well known for her proud admiration of her husband.

Like most his age, the boy preferred his father's company to his mother's; the kind woman understood and embraced this. What she lacked in time with her son, she made up in exhaustive prayers for him. She enjoyed nothing more than watching her husband and child grow up together, taking care to never disturb their masculine fun.

Eli was the joy of his parents' lives. Though they were still relatively young, his father and mother had attained already that striking resemblance to one another that develops through a lifetime of marriage and sacrifice.

Growing up, Eli had relatively few friends; in his joyful temperament, he never even noticed this. He had his family and his faith; he felt no need for anything else.

On the day he turned nineteen, he announced to his parents that he would enter the priesthood.


Chapter 2

Life as a priest suited Eli well. The vows were, for him, entirely natural. He had never been drawn to impurity. Sinfulness was altogether unappealing to him.

Being as close as he was to his parents, he'd always felt a sort of ordinary obligation to reveal his whole self to them. The thought of revealing his sin to them was miserable, and so sin itself seemed to him miserable. He could see no separation between transgression and confession. To be impure would be to humiliate himself.

In his sincere love for goodness, he became abnormally fearful at a young age. It wasn't that he feared punishment; he had never done anything to merit it. He couldn't have feared being a disappointment; he knew how enormously proud of him both God and his parents were. He never could understand what all this anxiety was grounded in, and so simply learned to hide from it.

There were rare moments, however, when he saw himself as he was - completely consumed by his fear. A pit would sink in his stomach, and he would lose interest in life completely. His faith and happiness would be transfigured into spiritual, (and often physical), sickness. To pray in these moments, he was sure, would have been to blaspheme. God would be mocked by such insincerity. To sleep was impossible; to distract himself seemed hopeless. He felt nothing - neither good nor evil. Try as he might, he was unable even to sadden himself. He would make frantic efforts to rouse himself to feel, and yet no impulse would come to inspire him.

Silence with oneself is what seems to terrify people most. The life of priesthood gave Eli an escape from such silence, and he thanked God for it daily. He learned to forget himself almost entirely as he counseled those in need around him. Confessions were, for him, the highlights of each day; he delighted in reassuring broken sinners that God loved and forgave them.

And yet, in the midst of this newfound purpose, he wrestled with those moments that came when he couldn't hide from silence. There remained times when all traces of emotion and benevolence left him, and he would see himself as he truly was.

It was in one of these awful moments late at night when news came to him that a young woman had requested his counsel; she wished to make a confession to him whenever he was available, and didn't mind waiting if there was need to. Reluctantly, Eli forced himself up and out of his room and into the main hall. It was abnormally late for a confession, and most all of the other priests were either sleeping or studying in their bedrooms.


Chapter 3

"Good evening, young lady, how can I help you tonight?" Eli struggled nobly to hide his apathy.

"Forgive me for coming so late Father . . . is this wrong for you? to be alone with a woman so late at night?" The woman seemed kind but lonely, like one who hadn't been genuinely loved for years.

"Whether right or wrong, we are both here and it seems urgent, yes? Now, what have you come to confess?"

"Thank you father, thank you. My name is Talya . . . I haven't done this before, in a very long time . . . Yes, I wanted to confess an addiction I've succumbed to. I can't help but wonder what the use of confessing it is though . . . it seems wrong to repent falsely. Ah, forgive me; I suppose my problem is that I feel altogether unforgivable! Perhaps that's why I've come. I don't believe God will ever forgive me; if he did, I'd never care to worship him," Talya confessed in exhaustion.

"God forgives us all of our transgressions; I'm sure you're aware of that - whether you feel it so or not." In spite of his exasperation, Eli was strikingly empathetic.

"Well, you see, I suppose even if I became convinced he would forgive me, I wouldn't want his forgiveness. I don't see how it's his place to forgive me for suffering I've caused others! I'm so sorry, I don't mean to blaspheme . . ."

The priest smiled reassuringly, "Hush, no honest words can be blasphemy. Blasphemy is dishonesty, by its very nature."

"Thank you, father, thank you so much. You see, I don't care much for my own forgiveness or ‘salvation’ really. I don't see myself as worth saving, and I just don't have much interest in it anyway. I have an addiction, as I mentioned before. A sort of "thorn in my flesh," if you will. But so what! I don't care about the thorn itself, and neither should God. Yes, so what if I'm a slave to my sin? I'll pay for it in some way or another; the problem is resolved. That can't be what matters.

“What matters is the pain I've let my sin cause others . . . the lives I’ve ruined and trampled on . . . the lies I’ve told, the money I’ve stolen, the hearts I’ve broken! I've put my sin above everyone and everything I love. And who is God to forgive these things? What does he have to do with any of it? It’s not God I’ve wronged, so how can it be God who can forgive me!?" She was becoming hysterical.

The young priest was silent and puzzled. She paused for a moment and started to cry quietly.

With tears in her eyes she continued faintly and slowly, "So what can God's forgiveness fix? I'll go to hell, I don't mind. But what about my poor, lonely mother? She died absolutely alone, praying senselessly that her beloved daughter would come and hold her frail, miserable hand one last time. I heard she had prepared all sorts of parting gifts for me; they found her dead in a chair with all my presents arranged on her lap . . . letters and heirlooms and a tiny amount of savings for me. What can be worse than this: to die alone and unloved? I didn't love her . . . I've never loved her! Perhaps my damnation would be some kind of balm to her wound, at least she'd receive some sort of recompense . . .

"And don't think that she's the only one I have in mind! I've hurt and abandoned and betrayed and disappointed so many kind people . . ." She was becoming almost unintelligible through her sobbing.

"I've become so blinded by my lust . . . I'm sure I've caused others suffering that I'm not even aware of. Forgive me for wasting your evening; I know it's very late. I'm not usually so hectic, I don't mean to be. But tell me, do you see something that I can't see? Is there some dimmed hope for me? It seems to be the height of self-centeredness to think that God granting me forgiveness somehow makes amends for the lives I've ruined in my sin."

"Well, I suppose I've never much considered the idea . . . but surely there are answers - answers beyond our understanding. Maybe it is the certainty that God forgives us that drives us to do good?" he pondered reluctantly.

"There's a story my sweet mother told me," Talya interrupted miserably, "about the noble King David . . . I'm sure you know it better than I do. David slept with a soldier's wife while the brave young man was off to war. The king impregnated that soldier's wife while the young man risked his life for David's own kingdom. And what did the king do when he realized what he'd done? He had the poor young soldier sent out to the front lines. He sentenced him to death on the battlefield - to cover up his own adultery. The clueless, hopeless young man died in the war, never even knowing the truth. He never even realized that his wife and king had betrayed him together, right as he gave himself up for both of them.

"So what became of King David? Months later, he finally realized what he'd done - he saw himself as the worthless adulterer he really was. So he cried out to God for his own forgiveness; what's worse, he prayed 'Against you and you alone I have sinned!' And what of that poor, dead, betrayed, miserable soldier!? No one had sinned against him? And what did this good God do? Did he rebuke David for his selfishness? No, he forgave David on behalf of that noble warrior. But, being just, he decided that David would need be punished for his sin. Perhaps this is the most appalling part of all: to punish David, God killed the baby who would have been born out of wedlock! The helpless fetus! Where is the justice in that!? Is this the best justice God himself has to offer?

"The soldier remains dead and abandoned; David takes the woman as his own wife with God's blessing; the innocent baby is killed! The only two innocents in the story suffer, the wicked are blessed."

Eli was completely silent. The pit in his stomach left him weightlessly, and the burden of emotion consumed him like a fire. He had lived his life in intentional ignorance, avoiding conflict and confusion by any means necessary. Never before had he heard anyone speak so honestly or beautifully. His faith - that comfortable creed that he'd rigidly held all his life - was dead. He wondered fruitlessly if his parents could have mustered up any responses to a confession like this.

Talya hadn't confessed a sin; she had confessed the cruelty of God for allowing someone so despicable as herself to exist. She confessed that there was no atonement or justification God himself could make for creating her, for creating the world. No one but her mother had ever loved her, and she could never forgive herself for abandoning that angelic woman - even once. Eli had never seen anyone so desperately in need of human love and affirmation. He was abruptly overcome by some spirit of benevolence that cared for nothing in the world but the woman he was sitting with.

"Talya," he muttered slowly without any thought but her in his mind, "never mind all this. Never mind salvation, never mind heaven or hell . . . I forgive you . . . as a man and a sinner, I forgive you, yes, I swear I do, and I . . ."

He paused, amazed and horrified by the words leaving his lips. Nervously lifting his head and looking into her eyes, he saw her tearful, beautiful smile for the first and last time in his life.

In all those miserable moments of emotionlessness and dread that Eli had faced in his life, he had never once roused himself to feel anything but emptiness. In this lonely hallway, on this chilly night, he had been roused by another to feel the full force of his humanity.

[Jack of Hearts]

Well, it's unexpected to find the level of skill you've shown at 18 year old, so congratulations.

No real idea what to tell you about that stuff, chris. But 'waiting longer' is not something this reader would encourage you to do. If he were in your shoes (and for all intents and purposes, we are all in your shoes), Jack of Hearts would read ferociously to intuit craft/techniques all the while writing as much as possible about things that moved him emotionally. As for originality, that's neither here nor there. What you'd better go for is honesty:

http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/07/youve-got-to-sell-your-heart.html






J

[chrisiacovetti]

Well, it's unexpected to find the level of skill you've shown at 18 year old, so congratulations.

No real idea what to tell you about that stuff, chris. But 'waiting longer' is not something this reader would encourage you to do. If he were in your shoes (and for all intents and purposes, we are all in your shoes), Jack of Hearts would read ferociously to intuit craft/techniques all the while writing as much as possible about things that moved him emotionally. As for originality, that's neither here nor there. What you'd better go for is honesty:

http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/07/youve-got-to-sell-your-heart.html

Hmm, that all makes lots of sense. You really have no idea how much I appreciate all this. That's a great letter you linked, and I've got lots and lots to think about and work on now. You've been hugely helpful!

Chris

[moshea]

Personally, I think you should try work on your dialogue a bit. I found the best way to do this is by getting out a bit more, but that's just what works for me. I also think you should try work on something a tad less taxing. It took George R.R Martin thousands of pages to express his views and philosophies. The characters could use a few more flaws, and it might be worth cutting out some of the sentimentality. However, you definitely have a good, solid style, which is something that can take years to get the hang of

[chrisiacovetti]

Personally, I think you should try work on your dialogue a bit. I found the best way to do this is by getting out a bit more, but that's just what works for me. I also think you should try work on something a tad less taxing. It took George R.R Martin thousands of pages to express his views and philosophies. The characters could use a few more flaws, and it might be worth cutting out some of the sentimentality. However, you definitely have a good, solid style, which is something that can take years to get the hang of

Thanks so much for the thoughts and time, Moshea. If you don't mind me asking though, could you specify a bit more as to what you're criticizing? I can totally agree with everything you've said, but I'm not sure how to apply it to my book(s) when it's so broad in language.

Specifically, when suggest that the dialogue needs work, do you mean that it feels unrealistic or unnatural? or shallow or overdone?

When you say that it is too taxing, do you mean that I've tried to squeeze too many philosophical ideas into too brief a time for a novel?

And finally, when you say that characters could use a few more flaws, do you suggest making them easier to despise? I do have some moral failure planned out for them, but should they already be more despicable in your opinion? and how does this relate to sentimentality?

I appreciate the kind words there at the end. Feel no pressure to answer any of the questions I wrote you if you wouldn't like to; you don't owe me anything, of course.

Regardless, you've been a blessing,
Chris

[hillwalker]

You're 18 and feel you haven't lived enough yet to warrant writing anything.
Well, that depends on what you write and why you write.

I guess you read and watch the occasional movie like the rest of us so you're absorbing plot ideas, characters, dialogue, scenes. . . all valuable raw material for your own imagination to work with. That's how most of us start off - writing material that's similar to what we enjoy reading. That doesn't mean it's necessarily rewarding for other people to read, but it's valuable exercise all the same.

BUT if you're writing because you are on a mission to present your readers with your personal philosophical or theological insights then . . . ask yourself a simple question. Why should anyone waste their time listening to your ramblings rather than the rantings of any other delusional proselyte on his soapbox in the nearest park? Unless you have acquired some unique level of genius that raises your powers of intuition way above the rest of us you're going to find writing such material a very lonely and ultimately fruitless activity. No one is going to want to read your work.

I've read your story and I have to say it's lacking in everything a story is meant to have to be readable. Your characters are very straight-laced - too perfect to seem real. The dialogue is stiff and stilted - you put words into their mouths in order to get your point across to the readers rather than have them converse naturally. So this comes across as a heavy-handed parable. How can a sinner accept a God who forgives sin?

Presumably questions like this constantly plague the thoughts of certain individuals who prefer navel gazing to living in the real world. But to base an entire story on a theological question really is stretching the average reader's patience beyond endurance.

Eli and his parents are the kind of ideal family who inhabit a fantasy world where the sun shines every day and their dreams and ambitions all go to plan. No conflict. No drama. No spark of humanity. Flat, lifeless and as believable as Superman or Spiderman - but without the fancy clothes.

If this is based on your own life experience then you have a long journey ahead of you if you hope to attract a contemporary audience. My advice, broaden your horizons, read widely and for goodness sake, chill out. An 18 year old writing like a 58 year old isn't natural or healthy.

If on the other hand this is just a flight of fancy, I suggest you come up with a plot and a realistic set of characters where something interesting happens. Some intrigue to hook your readers and keep them wanting more.

H

[chrisiacovetti]

BUT if you're writing because you are on a mission to present your readers with your personal philosophical or theological insights then . . . ask yourself a simple question. Why should anyone waste their time listening to your ramblings rather than the rantings of any other delusional proselyte on his soapbox in the nearest park? Unless you have acquired some unique level of genius that raises your powers of intuition way above the rest of us you're going to find writing such material a very lonely and ultimately fruitless activity. No one is going to want to read your work.

Eli and his parents are the kind of ideal family who inhabit a fantasy world where the sun shines every day and their dreams and ambitions all go to plan. No conflict. No drama. No spark of humanity. Flat, lifeless and as believable as Superman or Spiderman - but without the fancy clothes.

Hmmm, great points. Thank you.

The reason I started writing this was for myself, first and foremost. I had some questions that were bothering me, so I figured I may be able to sort them out to some degree by putting them into a story; I guess I hoped to almost vicariously answer my own questions through imagining my characters' lives and the different views they represent to me. Once I had gotten going, I just thought I may as well see what others had to say, but it ultimately is for my own hopeful health and growth as an individual. I generally don't know what I myself believe, much less what anyone else should.

The criticism you had about the characters being too 'ideal' and perfect seems to be a general consensus on here. Definitely something for me to fix apparently.

Thanks for all your help,
Chris