Originally Posted by
Jozanny
Drk, the fact that you recognize thematic intent in Martin's work does not mean that he is a good writer, sorry. He has pacing down, which is commendable, but I can do that too. This segment is from one of my stories which an editor from the now defunct Bone & Flesh praised for being "a realistic depiction of violence against women". And it is a fantastical piece, though in an urban setting:
"His erection came upon him before Frecca knew a man was there, before the shape and form of an intruder brooked alarm to her mind, before she knew it as a man was there, before she knew he was a man or even the pronoun of maleness (before she knew a man was there), even before she knew something was wrong as she stepped from the kitchenette to the living room, simultaneously speaking to her feline as a mother would speak to an adored adolescent child about the *****iness of the day, before she knew anything else, before he lunged at her--as erections, semen full and charged, somehow seem to signal themselves, she knew of it, her flesh knew of it, and the flesh turned, hackles raised, wanting to tear that aroused sensation out of the air, when he did lunge at her, threw himself at her with the force of a semi-automatic, the bulk of his body impacting against the muscular flesh of her intestines as she screamed, her eyes flashing the horror in phosphorescent red and green and yellows, don’t faint! the horror no this is not happening to me, no! But was there time for denial? The apartment had been empty when the key had unclicked the lock, this she would have sworn to, had she known she still had the ability to swear. She felt the danger a live wire seething just before it hits your skin with its tinge and sizzle, and then this man was on her, threw himself at her, his denim jeans scratching against her stockings, like burlap, the sound. She struggled hard even with the shock of it rolling on her in waves, fortunate in that her body was naturally athletic, taking its routines of jogging and workouts with ease, being an active member of the Washington Square Theatrical Performers Gym though you would never see her near the stage: An arrangement had been worked out in exchange for her occasional paid weekend instruction, that she could have permanent membership at a discount--and so she fought back, as equally, as what she had been given to fight against. Where did he come from? Where was the answer?"
The only reason I did not get paid was the magazine went under, but I will take my work ethic over Martin's any day. I don't care what the genre is, fantasy authors have no excuse for poor diction. No one is saying Martin has to be Faulkner, but he also doesn't have to be as lazy as his excerpts display him to be.