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Freedom of the Mind; A short, sketchy story
Topic Started: Jun 30 2009, 05:58 PM (311 Views)
Khyansaria
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This is a piece I wrote a while ago. It's supposed to feel rough and sketchy and not flow well, just so you know. Wrote it for a 'vent' class assignment, then decided to modify it a little bit.

Freedom of the Mind

COME SEE IT LIVE, THE AMAZING FREAK OF NATURE! the banners proclaim in neon and blood red, THE PARADOX IN PERSON! The signs haven’t garnered much attention since they were put up, a few onlookers that came out of sympathy or a horrible curiosity. Dread that they would become like it was mixed within a fascination for anything so tragic; so–- so warped, so wrong. They all know the paradox; somewhere deep inside them there is a paradox waiting. They know this. And they fear this. The paradox is mocked and scorned, unable to trust.

“Should things like that be allowed to live?” the paradox hears a crowd member say, when they think they’re out of her earshot. A muttered aside to another member of the crowd is still too loud. The paradox hears this and whimpers. The bars of her fine silken cage are as strong as iron for keeping her in, but the same shattered gossamer for those attempting to reach inside to her, those who want to pull and twist and make her heart ache until she can’t take it anymore and she wants to scream.

“Why is she alive?” another person says. The paradox knows this type; they all think they’re psychologists, and they come to poke and prod at her to gain inflation of their egos. Her sunken eyes are wide, and she shakes her head. None of those types. Huddled in the corner of her cage is still too close to the rest of the word for her liking. But there are some in the crowd she can identify with. They appear brighter to her, flaring in her vision, sometimes comprised of text, sometimes of pictures that seem to blur and jerk together, hardly changing. Sometimes the clothes are different. Sometimes even the hair. But the person stays the same. The paradox reaches out to these people hesitantly, scared and afraid, which the paradox knows are subtly different but not enough for most people. The words, the expression, the blurred faces change. Hands are extended.

Not far enough, not wide enough, the paradox can’t trust enough. She snatches her hand back, unsure whether to be relieved or just frightened. There are many hands, some staying with her for a long time, hours, days even. Some leave handholds or brightly colored keys, each key slightly different. All of them hope for her release from the gossamer, for her climb to the stars and out into the world she once knew, but she welcomes the iron in a twisted, wrong way, knowing it will always be there. Friends wither and fade, they betray, even unintentionally, or hoping for the best, they tell others. And they come to gawk. The paradox hates this. It’s prideful of her to talk about herself, even to tell she hurts.

Then there are the hands that hurt, whether intentionally or not. One hand is open and yet it hurts. The paradox wants to take that hand more than anything, to fly and be free with that hand, but she knows the hand isn’t offering life, merely escape. So the paradox tries her best to ignore the hand. Some hands slap or punch, some scream at her in words of blood and silver, old ivory and sea-storms, and these are a welcome relief to the paradox. They reinforce the feelings she already had inside. Now she knows those feelings are correct, are good, so she should follow them. Some of the slapping hands are people she’s known, people she loved before this captivity. Now they frighten and shame her. She is not good enough to be around them, even those that offer outstretched hands are turned away because she is not good enough to bother them.

She failed. She is not like them, could never be like them. The Incarnations surround her, and only she can see them, batting them away and swearing feebly. A very welcome friend, the only Incarnation she holds true with, of the paradox’s is the one called control. She doesn’t see control much, it’s mostly with the slapping hands, egging them along or shoving her further into the one corner of ground that remains hers. She has control over her eating, her injuries, her performance. Not much else. But those she can and does control to an excessive degree, one way or the other. This is a friend, she tells herself, it will help me. The paradox watches the hole the control makes inside of her and smiles. But also, she is waiting. The perfect hand will come someday. This she knows with a deep, subconscious hope. Sometimes the hope can float its way to the conscious, but there it is quickly banished. The paradox watches and waits. Freedom could be near, but the dark is welcome.
“You get ideas from daydreaming. You get ideas from being bored. You get ideas all the time. The only difference between writers and other people is we notice when we're doing it.” ~Neil Gaiman

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Daybreaker
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I'm not great at critiquing prose. It sounds like insanity, to me. That and something English teachers would love to dissect, find symbolism in, and draw 'real-world comparisons' to.

:D
Edited by Daybreaker, Jun 30 2009, 06:12 PM.
Glory to God
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Khyansaria
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Good. I succeeded. :)
“You get ideas from daydreaming. You get ideas from being bored. You get ideas all the time. The only difference between writers and other people is we notice when we're doing it.” ~Neil Gaiman

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Demencia
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Here goes.


Spoiler: click to toggle


I had to rewrite the crit after I read this:

This is a piece I wrote a while ago. It's supposed to feel rough and sketchy and not flow well, just so you know. Wrote it for a 'vent' class assignment, then decided to modify it a little bit.
Two things in that passage made me head the desk.
1.A piece you wrote a while ago is not as good as a piece you wrote two weeks ago. Your writing will have improved since then so critting this would be pointless unless you want to do something with it.
2. A story that is supposed to feel rough, sketchy and not flow well has to have a very important purpose and execution so that it is still pleasurable entertainning worthwile to read. I'd like you to specify why you wanted to make this passage rough, sketchy and have bad flow.

Now onto the story.
For whatever reason you wanted to make it sketchy, it worked for the most part. Some phrases, however, were too direct for the tone of voice you tried to create. I specified which.
I think if you really want to make this story interesting to read you should stick with the sketchy theme, but scrap the "bad flow". A story that's sketchy, to be relished, should slide like butterscotch down your throat otherwise the reader ends up confused and gruntled rather than amused. Thankfully you didn't actually go with the "bad flow" as, let's face it, you're a good writer. Your descriptions are vivids, your vocabulary is generally wide, and your character development is wonderful. From the first sentence I read about Paradox I felt sorry for her and I'm guessing that's the first impression you wanted.
Overall with a bit of editing this could be a very pleasurable piece to read.
Edited by Demencia, Jun 30 2009, 07:06 PM.

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Demencia
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I'd love to be an english teacher however mine never does try to find symbolism in my work, even when I lay it out oh so very neatly for her.

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Khyansaria
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I am planning on doing something along these lines later, which is why I posted this story. The future story goes along with a drawing which isn't drawn yet, but it will make a lot more sense once I actually have the drawing. And I posted something kind of old because I don't have anything new. I am creatively blocked on all fronts. :'( Thanks for the crit. I'll have a revised version pretty soon.
“You get ideas from daydreaming. You get ideas from being bored. You get ideas all the time. The only difference between writers and other people is we notice when we're doing it.” ~Neil Gaiman

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Demencia
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Khy, if you have nothing to write about would you like me to post an exercise or an assignment of some sort to get your creative juices running?
I'm sure it's nothing but if you feel bad go onto the short story writing ideas on the resources page. Writer's block has to be cured as soon as possible, before the disease spreads to other types of blocks.
PS. Can't wait to see the drawing. It should look good (no pressure).

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Khyansaria
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I have stuff to write about, but I just can't get there. I've started one story twenty-five times and it just won't work. Right now I'm trying a July Nanowrimo, just to get something happening, although I have no clue what to write about.

The drawing will be up with the revised version, unless I get too perfectionist about it.
“You get ideas from daydreaming. You get ideas from being bored. You get ideas all the time. The only difference between writers and other people is we notice when we're doing it.” ~Neil Gaiman

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