A Bit of Snark Goes a Long Way
Dec. 3rd, 2008 11:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
niriniaThe reason self-publishing goes oh-so, wrong. To begin with, there is too much unneccesary information. She underestimates her readers, we understand that Autumn is the name of the main character's friend – we're not five, and we do know that Americans have a thing for peculiar names. A single phonecall does not require 1075 words. (I copypasted the horror into word, I had to know).
It is so awful, it actually speaks for itself. Nothing is left for the imagination. There is a passage in italics! And, oh, the mind-bogglingly bad thought-references. An editor, patience and several red pens could possibly save this train-wreck. This is why self-publishing is a terrible idea. A piece of writing needs revision, and it needs an un-attached, professional eye. A quote to illustrate:
"He also started complimenting me. He took a few strands of my auburn hair between his long fingers. "You have beautiful hair." My throat went dry as I watched him run his fingers through from the roots to the tips. My scalp tingled and I suppressed a slight shiver of pleasure. I could already feel my ears getting hot. I went cross-eyed for a moment when he tapped my nose gently. "And I like your freckles." It was too late; I was blushing. Talk about being 'tickled pink'.
After making me blush furiously, I didn't mind telling him that I liked his tatts. That's when he actually started telling me the history behind each of them. I was touched to know that the one on his right ring finger was his mother's name. As he was showing them to me, I couldn't help but think that a pair of angel wings would look absolutely divine spanned out on his back.
My first impression of Tristan was that he reminded me of a fallen angel. He had this almost inhuman beauty but he seemed oblivious to it. I couldn’t detect an arrogant bone in his entire body. And judging by his extremely casual appearance, he didn’t seem like one to obsess over vanity. But I was fooling myself because a man as gorgeous as him has definitely been made aware of his good looks; probably as soon as he hit puberty. I could just imagine what his mother had to go through with all the teenage girls calling the house."
I'm not sure this is worth my literature-tag. The author is, by the way, April Bostic.
It is so awful, it actually speaks for itself. Nothing is left for the imagination. There is a passage in italics! And, oh, the mind-bogglingly bad thought-references. An editor, patience and several red pens could possibly save this train-wreck. This is why self-publishing is a terrible idea. A piece of writing needs revision, and it needs an un-attached, professional eye. A quote to illustrate:
"He also started complimenting me. He took a few strands of my auburn hair between his long fingers. "You have beautiful hair." My throat went dry as I watched him run his fingers through from the roots to the tips. My scalp tingled and I suppressed a slight shiver of pleasure. I could already feel my ears getting hot. I went cross-eyed for a moment when he tapped my nose gently. "And I like your freckles." It was too late; I was blushing. Talk about being 'tickled pink'.
After making me blush furiously, I didn't mind telling him that I liked his tatts. That's when he actually started telling me the history behind each of them. I was touched to know that the one on his right ring finger was his mother's name. As he was showing them to me, I couldn't help but think that a pair of angel wings would look absolutely divine spanned out on his back.
My first impression of Tristan was that he reminded me of a fallen angel. He had this almost inhuman beauty but he seemed oblivious to it. I couldn’t detect an arrogant bone in his entire body. And judging by his extremely casual appearance, he didn’t seem like one to obsess over vanity. But I was fooling myself because a man as gorgeous as him has definitely been made aware of his good looks; probably as soon as he hit puberty. I could just imagine what his mother had to go through with all the teenage girls calling the house."
I'm not sure this is worth my literature-tag. The author is, by the way, April Bostic.
