Jul 14, 2021
Hiho!
So, let me preface this by saying that you, dear sir/madam, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It is one of the better written things I've been graced with reading throughout my tenure around these parts. As for feedback, let me preface it with a rather ominous remark: whilst I enjoyed it, I can't shrug off and I would ask you to be patient with me whilst I try to put it into words.
Your way with words is truly unique. It's simplistic, really and it does a perfect job at driving the plot forward at a pace that's perfectly appropriate. I thoroughly enjoy Kai's inner monologue, I believe it to be pristine. It conveys a lot about him, his manner of thinking reeking of weariness smoked under a fire of nihilism. I can't help but let myself dance around the words he thinks and the way he talks to himself.
And the dialogue, oh, the dialogue. It's such a hit or miss and you hit it on the spot with a perfect bull's eye. The priest speaks in a manner that legitimately sounds like he's an old, pious man and that's through words alone, not even speech tags. It's surprising to me that I found someone to whom I can't argue that tagging would improve it. Bravo, dear sir, bravo.
But even through all of this, through something so meticulously crafted, I feel...sad. And I want to bring words to this sadness that I hope might inspire you to explore this issue, because I like this work and I want it to do even better than it is right now.
I don't feel anything from it. I see the words on paper and they make sense and they tickle my mind, but they don't resonate with me. I can't see the feelings out there. The world feels barren. And whilst I can imagine the emotions they must be going through, hollow shells of character as they appear to be, I don't see the candle light flickering on Paul's desk, nor hear the scribbles of his quill on the paper he relishes using. It's uncanny, a first for me. I want to be there as much as any other reader, but I can't. There is no avenue for me to descend in the solemn darkness you've painted, because it feels like swatches of faint paint on a sad, lonely canvas.
There is...no atmosphere, and I would like to point out that it might very well be *me* and *my* fault. But I feel like the lack of detail hurts this in such a unique way that it pains me to not point out. There are noises and smells and attitudes, but they don't grip me. And I want the church to feel like the ominous haven I imagine it to be and I want the priest to be the jolly monster he's painted as, but alas, they're not...
To improve that, I believe word choice is paramount. Stronger words, words that whip and sear. And not only that, but fear and admiration, metaphors, similes or hyperbolae if you must. But there is a need of vibrato in this composition and I do hope that you find a way to add it.
Thank you for hearing my incoherent rambling and bearing with it. I would be remiss if you thought my comment to be made in ill will, but please rest assured that my fervor has only the best intentions at heart.
That's it.
Bubbles, out :3
