Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa

Usually I'm not a fan of present tense. But somehow I didn't mind it her. Usually it feels out of place and disruptive to me, but here . . . it flowed. Like a river. Something about your style just made it flow. And the jarring realization I just had that you made several tense mistakes didn't even occur to me until now, after the story. At the time it didn't matter, so I didn't notice.And that's just how beautiful it was. It really was, very beautiful . . . so sweet, so vivid, so real. It was painful and sad, yet so heartwarming, so cheering, at the same time. And philosophy joined the flow so naturally and fluidically; it's my experience that it doesn't always, that it can become out of place if one is not careful. But here it was perfect.The ending was perfect. Every story should have an ending like this. It was the perfect note to pay a final compliment to a great story. There are many things that can go wrong with an ending--abruptness, delay, inconclusiveness, as a few vague examples--and that can ruin a story; but that didn't happen here. Excellent, Aderia.Grammatical issues were several, but even they seemed to get washed away in the flow. Still, I prize grammar, and I can't ignore mistakes, no matter what. Zarayna caught most of these, I think, but I'll emphasize what was most notable to me: I hear a British accent; I see a woman in maid uniform with gray hair and a dirty apron, flailing a feather duster threateningly. It sounds very much like something that woman would say--but not Nali, I suppose. =P The second sentence was entirely independent of the quotation, so the comma was not necessary. For one, that shouldn't have been capitalized; a quotation only ends in a comma when it continues into an outer sentence that describes the quotation, as she whispered. But because it's all the same sentence, she whispered should not be capitalized. Oddly, the inversion of this rule--when the description precedes the quotation--is an exception; the quotation should always beFor another, you slipped into the past tense for a moment here, and this recurred several times with a few saids and smileds. Here, for example, is present tense and past tense in the same sentence. I didn't even notice until I scanned through for a few examples of mistakes! Most of them just disappeared into the flow. How is it possible that your story distracted me even from my esteemed grammar?Overall, Aderia, this was wonderful, absolutely wonderful. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

I'm here to report with a charity review, courtesy of the SSCC. I didn't think we reviewed script comedies, for obvious reasons; but I'll make the best of it. So, I'm really not a fan of present tense. But that aside, I don't think I've ever read plainer, blander descriptions. And that's just judging by what little there was; you left so much up to the imagination that it felt you were leaving an empty void around your characters rather than give your reader freedom to envision their own scenery. And--aw, come on, this is a comedy; if you can have your laughs, can't I?All right--with two L's and a space--so I'm not familiar with Victor Hugo's work, and therefore without the genuine article to compare the parody to it probably lost something for me. But the all right/alright gag was amusing, and the best part was when they argued about speaking in French. For a parody, however, this wasn't very funny. Humor does not get much less sophisticated or less creative than "blah blah." Judging by what I've seen, comedy is an unusual form for you; and maybe you should stick to serious writing. I don't know that you're the humorist type.However, I've seen worse comedies. At least you didn't resort to utter stupidity to try and headdesk a laugh out of your reader. You adhered to a high humor, which maybe ended up a bit high and dry, but a duck on the wing is better than one shot dead in the pond. If you're a duck, that is. In other words, better humor that's tasteful if not hilarious than humor that's just so stupid you laugh through the tears and groans attributed to its idiocy.And grammar is a beautiful thing, all the more so in a comedy for its rarity; and yours was near perfect, naturellement. There was but one issue: Punctuation, wither hast thou gone? What grammar through yonder window hath been broke? Whether 'tis nobler to sleep--wait, I'm getting mixed up. But you get the idea. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Is it January 12th yet? All right, well, there were formatting issues that delayed matters. Amazon recently altered their system without updating their guides, and that led to complications. But all is well now; and The Second Death is now for sale! It can be purchased here. It is for sale exclusively through Amazon right now, and for Kindle alone; which means that if you don't have a Kindle or an iDevice with a Kindle application, you won't be able to read it--yet. But it will be available in physical paper before long! Remember that the current price--.99 cents--is a temporary deal which ends on the 26th, from which date until the 30th it will be free to buy. Buy it free and it is yours to keep forever. After the 30th, the price will become $2.99, which will only apply to future purchases, of course. So tell all your mystery loving friends to get their hands on the eBook while it's free. And I hope that, after you've read it, you will share your elocution in an Amazon product review. =D But whether you do or not, just the reading part is appreciated. Enjoy! Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Krampus, reviewed. Late report, but at least the review itself was on time. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Nuile reporting with a charity review, courtesy of the SSCC. =) Great descriptions, great vocabulary, and a philosophical discussion between an elf and a krampus . . . what more could I ask for? Well, if I'm to be honest, I'll say I wanted more of that aforementioned philosophical discussion; I think there was a little missed potential there. When you put together a reasonably irascible, moderately cheerful, generally affable polar elf and a malicious, lonely krampus, the possibilities are endless. And the humor the Krampus could lend to it would just make it that much better.So I thought overall that this might have been deepened; but it didn't need to be. Otherwise, however, I thought it was excellent. Your descriptions, as I said before, were great; very vivid, worded prudently. Speaking of words--vocabulary, as I also said, was great. You used some elegant words in there, but you didn't overdo it. Also, I thought the German--if, indeed, it is German--was a clever touch.My chief complaint was on the grounds of grammar. For instance, it starts off in present tense, but very quickly becomes past tense and stays that way. That's a small issue, and I must say I was relieved when it became past tense. =PNow here are some further grammatical points: That comes across as very informal. That didn't need to be hyphenated. Coal, I believe. The contraction of that is should have an apostrophe; thus, that's. This error recurs several times. Cannot; and the second note was another example of a missing apostrophe. One or the other, but not both. I expected this to be Donder, but admittedly I know next to nothing about the German, Dutch, and associated languages. Various ways to fix this. I would suggest separating it into two sentences and replacing so with I. That comma shouldn't be there; the second quotation is a new sentence, which is why it is capitalized, and thus as the start of a new sentence should be preceded by a period. Also, "Don't add to the team . . . suffer the consequences," was slightly confusing in wording. It took me a moment to understand it. Perhaps an and before suffer, and perhaps even a you between those and before don't. In other words: "You don't add to the team . . . and you suffer the consequences."Overall, this is a very nice story here. Well done! Keep writing, Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

I have an announcement that's going to make Kraggh vomit a modicum in his mouth, tear out his hair, and weep uncontrollably for the lamentable prospects of the written word. And while this bit of news may strike terror into the hearts of some, I could probably name a greater number who will be pleased, perhaps a few who would even be thrilled. What am I leading up to? Nuile wrote a novel. And he's publishing it. (Coming 1/12/13) Pattrick Clayton is a farmer in a somnolent Lancaster town, affable, charming, loved by all. Since his father died, and since he came out of the Great War alone, he has struggled to come to terms with the death that plagues him. It only becomes worse when, to add to his grief, his aunt is found dead in her home. Not a year has passed since the armistice, and the beloved town gossip has been poisoned--and to all appearances, she poisoned herself. Pattrick can't believe it any more than the rest of the Claytons, whatever the police say. Investigations continue, but before anyone can make up their mind, another death strikes the family, this time even closer to home. And, this time--it's murder. From the nearby city of Philadelphia comes retired private inquiry agent, Leo Westmacott. At first he's only an old family friend come to pay his respects; but duty is a difficult thing to avoid, and soon he's playing the role of sleuth once again. Now he has to readjust himself to the detection game and get to the bottom of these murders. The complaisant Pattrick Clayton agrees to help, and soon they are joined by Leo's dependable secretary, the charming Miss Slaytor. The deeper they inquire into the lives and minds of the people of Mockingbird, the more they realize that life is no more innocent, no more docile, and no less dangerous in the country than on the backstreets of Philadelphia. Filled with vivid characters, flavored with heart, and steeped with wisdom, The Second Death is more than a study in murder and mystery but in loss, family, friendship, and death itself. A vivid cast of characters will light your way along an ingenious maze of secret and deception while the secretive Leo Westmacott will leave you completely in the dark until the final moment. And this is but the first in a series of detective novels. You can expect to see more of Leo Westmacott and his assistants in the nigh future. In the meantime, I hope that you'll all take advantage of the .99 cent trial period, read and enjoy the book, and then lend me your advocatory but critical rhetoric in some objective reviews. If you can be patient, however, I encourage you to wait for the five-day promotion during which you may "purchase" the novel absolutely free, January 26th through the 30th. And I won't lie and say that I don't hope some don't notice this until the 31st or later, when the price will stabilize at $2.99. (Sales, of course, will be through the Amazon Kindle Store.) Be sure to tell all your friends, relatives, hairdressers and sanctimonious literature teachers after the 30th in time for the promotion! And hey, have any questions? Ask away! Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Non-Bionicle Flash Fiction Entries And Stuff and Case #2011-1224-5003: Relevant Transcripts (you had to give me the long, convoluted names) are reviewed. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Prolix, dull, but brilliant. If you don't mind wading through an excess of detail, there's a compelling mystery buried in there. Do so, it's a great book, and deserves the occasional re-read. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

That was really great. I have a few problems with style but I very much enjoyed the story itself. And I loved the way in which you told it; that was refreshingly different.It was almost a mystery, almost a whodunit, if not quite. It was a clever touch, keeping the exact description of this cataclysmic event untold until the end, adding that much more to the interest of the unveiling. At this length, really, mysteries don't get much better. Very well done.My great grievance, however, was the exaggerated dialogue. Not one of the interviewees could go two sentences without spitting out some expression or figure of speech. The dialogue was drowning in excessive character and personality. It had the effect that the police were interpellating Sancho Panza clones.On a similar note, there are laws of grammar that dictate speech as much as writing; and you followed precious few of them. Besides the insipidity of excessive colloquial phraseology, this was what bothered me most, and together both made the dialogue actually rather difficult to read. And considering that this narrative consists entirely of dialogue, that's not good.There were too many errors to note them all, but here were two that jumped out at me as singular: Till is a word, 'til is the shortened form of until; but an apostrophe and a second L just becomes redundant. Missing a word there. [Redacted] was my guess. You seemed fond of that, which personally I appreciate, because it adds humor without adding repulsive scurrility. I know you did a good job, and you know you did a good job; but to state the obvious, good job! Thanks be to the SSCC for choosing this story to be reviewed, Keep writing, Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Nuile here with an SSCC charity review. Treasure. Right away I'm a little bothered by the dialect. Not a fan of that. Part of me forgives it in first person, but that's only if it's supposed to be vocal rather than written narration; in this case, in a diary, I don't feel like he would misspell "to" or drop the d in "old." He may have a different way of saying these words, but we all do; when he reads "to" he would probably say "ta," but it's still spelled the same. Contractions I forgive, even the less commons, although personally it's still too much for my taste.That said I did like the first paragraph. It was a great hook. Plenty of personality and jocular flavor; and initially we're given two questions: One is a suggestion of a scheme, which makes me wonder what scheme that is; the second you ask yourself and answer a moment later. "Who's idea was this, anyway? . . . Ah, wait. That'd be me." Questions are great ways to get the reader reading.As for the story itself, the ending leaves me in doubt. Surely the mysterious noises at night are suggestive, and the final words "Certainly ain't nothing as gonna stop me leaving, that's for sure" ominous, but the fact that the journal ends there means nothing, for he just said he wasn't going to waste any more time writing. He might have gone home--or he might have been slaughtered by the spirit of the corpse he nearly disturbed while digging and the bits of his rotting carcass may be scattered all over the island. I lean toward the former. Now, I get the impression you wanted to adumbrate the latter, but you contradicted yourself and thus that indication was attenuated.The character himself doesn't get much in so short a space, which is natural. But though you didn't give him character, which is difficult in any short story, you gave him personality, which is easier but still hard to accomplish. Good job there.Errors: O', that should be. If you're going to go the route of dialect, you should be consistent. That should be capitalized.Gunfight. I guessed what was really going on just a moment before it was unveiled, which is entirely due to your subtle prefiguring. Craftily done.There's not much to say about the story because it was just action; which isn't a bad thing. But I'll address the action. It was a little slow, weighed down by superfluous, prolix description. At some points--as when Alex was sneaking toward Alex--it added to the suspense and I approved it. At others it just delayed the action.Grammatically speaking: In an online chat, yes, absolutely! In any sort of formal writing, no, never. What you want is to simply italicize the word. That should not be capitalized.Eviction. I'm sorry to say I didn't like this one. As impressed as I was by your first two stories I found this one to be disappointing in their wake.The whole story just felt too frank and too insincere. There was too much emotion and not enough heartfelt genuineness. Part of me felt embarrassed to be watching this private spat between these two women, especially because they were both acting so puerilely. How old was Lily? I was guessing middle to late teens, but by the end I felt more as if she were between nine and twelve, surely no older. That excused her, although it didn't excuse her mother, who admittedly was calmer and more rational, but still not rational enough.Also, you overused verbs like shout, scream, and shriek. I would amost say you abused them. Nearly everthing they said was followed by she vociferated in some form or another. I know that Kraggh, if he reads this, will call me a hypocrite, so allow me to elaborate. I wholly approve synonyms in place of said, but rules come with that. For one, if you're only going to replace each verb with one same meaning . Also, sometimes s/he saids and their variations can be dropped altogether, especially when there's some character action to denote the speaker or when there are only two colloquists. Finally, the primary rule of dialogue is always that it must be capable of standing on its own merit, and there is no exception here. Anything outside those quotation marks must be merely auxiliary, meant to emphasize, elaborate, clarify, enhance or expand; but never to define nor to carry the whole weight. It is what is inside the quotation marks that is vital. If she shrieked, I'm okay with that; only it has to sound as if she was shrieking, and most of the time here it didn't.I grant, however, that nobody's perfect; dialogue is difficult to master. Not everyone, moreover, can agree on what makes good dialogue. It's just a matter of practice and amelioration.One grammatical error: That should be capitalized.This One Thing. Similarly to Gunfight, you deftly misled the reader until the surprise ending. I'll admit that. But for my own, I was repulsed by the suggestions and developed an immediate abhorrence for these characters. I saw the end coming early on, but besides the cleverly laid twist I wasn't otherwise fond of the way the story nor the narration was handled.Grammar: That should be a comma, not a period.College Friends. Basically an amusing scene between two old friends. It's always worth a smile when a jovial personality grates against sobriety. There wasn't much else to the story but enjoying the one-sided badinage. Pleasant characters and a pleasant little read.I noticed more corrigenda than in the others, however: I think ya' should have an apostrophe appended. That's an alteration of got to; you mean got a. It's all fun and games until somebody loses an I . . . Winking really has nothing to do with speaking. In this case the quotation should be a separate sentence; it should end with a period. Friendship. Hold on. Is this supposed to be past tense or present? It starts out in the past tense (they were coming; I sat in my chair) then changes to present tense (there is a knock on the door) in a dissonant transition. Ironically, that dissonance is, by musical standards, apt; by literary standards, it's just sloppy.Besides that, though, this was my favorite story. As near to impossible as it is to have character development in 556 words, you pulled it off nicely. Well done. I mentioned this already, and the solution this time is the same; and I would add an ellipsis afterward as well. One, to, you didn't buckle your shoe. All in all, I believe this is the first story of yours that I have read; and I am not disappointed. I hope you come to the SSCC for another review soon. Keep writing, Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

My only regret is that the ONE New Year resolution I made this year wasn't accomplished. Besides that, I'm looking forward to the new year, too. Friday the 13th brightens your outlook. Truly, that makes perfect sense. That's an admirable way of looking at the day, and I can easily see the logic behind it. I often feel the same about such things; for example, 12/21/12. XD Philosophically speaking, that was a fun day. Wait--we're--we're allowed on your lawn? . . . *grins malefically toward a can of gasoline* Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Cheer--especially that ineffable, almost irrational cheer--is a wonderful thing. Especially when it comes with a mug. Belatedly, Merry Christmas, Tekulo! =D Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

And now that my reflections are over, how better for a writer to end a year than with a story? This is, in a way, a sequel to Polychromatic Frowns; it can be called such, at any rate, because it is of the same style. And so here it is, the last words I shall pen in 2012: Sanguine Goodbyes I lost the only girl I ever truly cared about today. I gave her everything. I gave her all the time I could spare and all the help I could offer and all the love I could give. But it wasn't enough for her. I don't know what would have been and I don't know what more I could have done. She told me she was breaking up with me and I guess that's what she did. But just look on the bright side of it all. Sure, I'll be upset for a while, but tears don't take up nearly as much time as phone calls at all hours to talk about so many things that by the time we were done I would have no idea what I was doing before she called, or than long walks that ache my legs and make my hand stiff from holding hers so long. Sure, I'll never forget her, but memories don't cost as much as expensive dinners where the lights are so low you can hardly see your food without spilling spaghetti sauce down your front which of course doesn't matter because nobody can so you anyway; or gifts for birthdays or Christmases because even though it's superficial and mercenary commercial corruption makes it incumbent, which is so much as to say its absolutely necessary and can't be avoided, which doesn't matter because everyone does it. I'm sure the pain--which feels like the anesthesia wore off in the middle of an operation and I woke up to find a surgeon with rough, cold hands and some very sharp, but very shiny and pretty in a way, object poking around my heart--will go away. And then I'll never be hurt again. At least not as much. I might fall down a staircase as I sometimes do or cut my finger while chopping vegetables or hit my thumb with a hammer, or I might even go skydiving and find my parachute was replaced with an anvil or I might get run over by a car whose driver is too busy texting to notice or I might get shot, but none of that hurts as much as this does, nor even does a paper cut. And I guess I'll be spared of the jealousy I might someday have felt toward her because of her general perfection in every way from kindness to wisdom to shrewdness to effervescence to temerity to veracity to liberality to patience to optimism to humility and back to kindness and all over again two or three times. And I'll never feel that sensation like there are a thousand monarch butterflies migrating south from my heart into my stomach again. At least not for her face, which was altogether too pretty, anyway. After all, she beauty was so peerless in all respects that staring at her would eventually have caused me to go blind, anyway, and I'm much better off seeing, I think. And besides that, being with her made me so happy that eventually I would probably just burst with the joy, and that would be very messy and very unpleasant for us both and would have left her very sad and lonely in the end. When you think about it, love is really a very impractical and very inconvenient thing and it should be far preferable to be all alone with nobody else to interfere between me myself and I. I'll be able to talk to myself all I want, because I do rather enjoy hearing myself talk. She always used to, too, but obviously she got tired of it, which I can't understand at all. But that's just another reason I'm better off now. So you see, it really doesn't matter than she stabbed me in the heart--metaphorically speaking, of course, because if she had really stabbed me in the heart I would be dead and she would be in prison, or else lying to police detectives who she could probably outwit anyway. It really doesn't matter, as I was saying, that she turned what I expected to be a lovely evening into the most unpleasant and anguishing time I have ever spent, even the night I spent in the hospital because I had mistaken a bear trap for a hula-hoop or the time I had gotten into an elevator so hurriedly I had only one sleeve on and forgot to pull the other through the doors before they closed. So you see, it really doesn't matter that she told me she thought we should see other people. She was probably right, because like I said before if we had stayed together I probably would have lost my vision with which to see anyone else or anything at all, which are mostly things I do like to see. It doesn't matter that she turned and walked away from me for what will probably turn out to be the last time. It's all for the better that I smiled and waved as she left, and called after her, "At least I won't ever have to look at your beautiful face again, which was far too distracting, or listen to your dulcet voice, which in its inimitability took all the fun out of hearing ocean waves or singing birds. And at least I won't go blind or burst with happiness!" Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

And now, my friends, the time has come to ponder what this past year has been to my life. It has been one of the longest years of my life, and one of the most difficult, but I cannot call it the worst. Nor can I call it the best. It was not bad, and it was not great, but it was good. There are many things upon which I can look back with joy, and those which I can look back upon with remorse, as well. That's life, though. I've changed so much in the past year. I guess that's what happens in twelve months. But these twelve months especially. Probably I've learned more in the past year than I ever have in the space of a year. Likely I have undergone more alteration than I ever have in such a period. Possibly all this is true. But of one thing I am sure: in this past year more than ever, I have ameliorated. I look back at last January and I just feel like slamming my face into my desk. In fact, I think I will. Ouch. Okay, that's done. Reading over my journal (something all writers should keep) I wonder who that fool could have been who wrote some of the thoughts there placed, in all their obtuseness, where they will forever have posterity in my memory. Hard as I may try to forget that time, I will always keep my idiocy there to remember. Oh, not that I was an cool dude, at any rate not much more than I am now. I am, in many ways, the same person I was then. When I look back at writing style, for instance, little has changed there, bar maybe a few improvements and perhaps even a few degradations--and little, I positively believe, tells more about a person than what they write and how they write it. But in one way I was very much a fool; in one way I made a mistake I have not yet been able to live down. Now the subject is decidedly personal and I am sorry that I must be vague. I can but say that, some fifteen months ago, I wronged some one quite close to me. Be assured it's not nearly as serious as it sounds; only to me. Not even to they whom I have wronged, I think, does it matter as much as it does to me. I know this sounds illogical and probably does not make much sense; even if I elucidated the situation in minute detail you would still see it that way. Possibly you're right, but that can't change how I feel about what I've done, can it? Maybe I'm being irrational--no, I confess it, I am. But maybe this isn't the place for rationality. Dispensing with these recondite adumbrations, I think I will pursue the more tangible thread of thought I have extricated from the tangle. Rationality: Is it really so important? No, I don't think it is. What it comes down to, I think, is prudence. That seems to be the only ubiquitously foolproof answer to any question: prudence. Not reason exactly, not logic nor rationality, but the prudence to decide when and which of these to apply, or when to resort rather to one's faith, another's wisdom, or one's own heart. To put it succinctly I will quote myself, or rather my intelligent friend Reise: "Though knowledge and logic may not always steer you right, faith and wisdom will never fail." The greatest difficulty is in finding a complex solution to a simple problem. Maybe my difficulty is in looking for one. Maybe it is a simple solution I should be seeking! But, well, that's neither here nor there, is it? That's all in the past. And what I am to do now--that's probably been boring you, has it not? It is my philosophy not to allow myself to be absorbed in what is done and unchangeable. For to do so is to forsake the opportunity to actively carve the future. When I make a mistake, I learn from it and move on. When I fall, I pick myself and keep walking. I'll trip again, there's no doubt about that. It can't be helped! One of the most foolish things a person can do is to fear the future because it holds unpredictable hazards. These same people are usually the nostalgic types, too. To yearn what is lost and fear what is to come--this is absolute folly. Natural, perhaps, but folly. We must learn from the past; we must look to the future; but we must live in the moment! This is New Year's Eve; a time to look back. So I allow myself the time to do so. Tonight will be a time to enjoy the moment. And tomorrow will be a day to look to the future! Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

"Will you go out with me?" In but six words--accompanied by a package of vocal inflections and hesitations denoting the feelings behind them--culminated the worth of years of friendship and higher hopes, days of planning, and several hours of butterflies migrating south from my heart to my stomach in an effort to avoid the wintry cold I had not foreseen. She froze like a pond in an overnight frost. Her smile vanished as suddenly as my wit had evoked it minutes before. "You want to go out--with me? On--on a date?" she lallated. I was the exuberant, outgoing type. People loved to be with me because I loved to be with people. Not even around girls had I ever been reserved. This was not the first time I had ever asked a girl on a date before, and my invitations had never been rejected. I had been close friends with this particular girl, Rachel by name, since kindergarten. Why, then, did I feel so nervous? "Yes," I said, "yes I would. Very much." She bit her lip. "I--don't know what to say." "You could start with 'Yes.' They usually do." "Who are 'they'?" she asked. "You know. Most girls." "But that's just it. I'm not 'most girls'; I'm me. I'm your best friend. I--I don't want to be anything else." "Is that--Do you mean--Are you saying 'No'?" "I just want to be friends," she repeated. "But--but I had these tickets to a restaurant. And I had reservations at this great concert. I--I mean--" "I'm sorry," she interrupted. "I'm sure somebody else will go with you." My shoes had suddenly become fascinating. "But I wanted to go with you." "Look, we're just friends. Best friends. And I don't want to change that." "Yeah--yeah, of course." I forced a grin across my lips. They felt oddly stiff, moving only with reluctance. I said, "I get it. Friends. Like always." Her eyes evaded mine. "Friends," she agreed. "I'll see you around, then?" She nodded. "See you." Somehow, as I walked away, I felt as if my bowels had twisted themselves into knots. In my eyes there was an odd tingling sensation I was not accustomed to. — — — — — When Mom walked into my room she was so surprised to see me she nearly dropped an armful of clean laundry. "What are you doing home so early? I didn't hear you come in." I should have thought of that. I hadn't been home this early since the day I broke a collar bone. And come rain or come shine--especially, perhaps, the former--even the neighbors knew it when I got home. But at the time I had had other thoughts in mind than to keep up appearances. I said, "I've been home about an hour." "Why aren't you out with your team? You did have practice today, didn't you?" "They went out for hamburgers, but I wasn't hungry." This was another irregularity. I was always hungry. Mom raised an eyebrow. She said, "Are you feeling all right?" For a moment I considered telling her the truth. But what good could it do either of us? Instead I forced a grin and answered. "I'm on top of the world! I just wanted to come home early so I could read." I held up a novel. That satisfied her. "As if staying up half the night wasn't enough!" "Well, I got to the denouement." She scowled good-naturedly, in her a questioning expression. I explained, "The climax." "Well, it must be a good book to get you to miss out on hamburgers." I merely grunted vaguely. She set down the laundry, lingered a moment longer, then left. I returned to staring unseeingly at the pages of the book. At dinner, everyone knew something was wrong. I barely spoke. My younger brother reasoned I had become a vampire; my sister began babbling something about how nice vampires really are, and how much cooler than me. I ignored them both and stabbed at my plate. Dad came to my room after dinner. He knocked, requesting permission to enter. When it was granted, he sauntered in, smiling with feebly affected buoyancy, and sat on the corner of my bed. In his hands he held a covered bowl. "How are you, sport?" he asked. "I'm fine." "How was school today? Pass all your tests?" "Clear weather on that horizon." "And how'd you make out with the old pigskin?" "Dad, don't call it that." "They were made from the skin of pigs once, you know. But how was practice?" "Coach said I should save plays like the ones I made today for games." I consciously carved a grin. I went on, "The other guys said I had plenty to spare." He slapped my shoulder. "That's my boy!" He looked down at his hands. I examined my own. For a minute, maybe two, we were silent. At last he tried stating the obvious. "You didn't talk much during dinner." I shrugged. "I didn't feel much like talking." He chuckled. "I never thought I'd see the day!" And then he turned to me. "You didn't eat much, either." He held up the bowl and then set it on my nightstand. "Mom thought you weren't feeling well. She made you some soup." "Thanks," I replied lamely. And then he went on, as if he were talking about nothing more consequential than the weather, "Something's wrong. You know it's obvious. I'm here to let you tell me what it is. If you want." His frankness touched me. I said, "Okay. YOu're right. I guess I didn't hide it very well. But I've never felt like this before. It's just that I asked Rachel on a date today, and she turned me down." "Ah . . ." He expulsed a deep sigh. "I'm sorry. I know the two of you have been close for a long time. And I know how strongly you felt about her." This surprised me. "You do?" "Your Mom told me." "How did she know?" His laugh was deep and sonorous. "Women always know, and even when they don't, they find out before long. It's some sort of divine wisdom. Don't ask me to explain what I don't understand, but follow this advice: Never try to hide a secret from a woman." He regarded me contemplatively. "But tell me this, son. Rachel--did you love her?" I had not asked myself this question. I said, "I--I don't know. I know I've cared about her for--well, as long as I've known her. But lately it's been a lot stronger. Yeah--yeah, I guess I do." But Dad shook his head. "Take a few steps back, here. You just said you don't know. If you had said Yes, I would have believed you. But if you have to start guessing, it isn't love. Love isn't guesswork. "Now, it's only natural that you care. She's been your friend for a long time, and a good one. She's a very nice girl, and pretty, too. You'll meet a lot of women who will make you feel this way. You'll ask yourself about a lot of them, 'Do I love her?' But you will only ever meet one woman who will make you know you are in love." I listened in silence, but here I asked, "Then why does it hurt so much?" "There will probably be a lot of women who will hurt you, too. But true love never hurts. The woman will ache you, be sure of it, she may anguish you, or even injure you--but she will never hurt you. Any wounds she gives you will heal, by her own hand. But it will never be as simple as pain. "And until you meet her, you don't need to worry. Life will go on in spite of the girls who hurt you. You will only find it stopping for true love. And until you find it, and even after, you have a family who loves you. You have your brother and your sister, you have your mother, and you have me. We're always here for you. You can come to any of us whenever you need." I said, "I know that, Dad." "And I know," he replied, "how hard it can be to go to some one else. That's why I came to you. "Most important of all, don't forget you have some one else, too. He is always with you, even though we forget that sometimes. You have a father who cares about you even more than I do." He winked. "If that's possible." He grabbed my knee and squeezed gently before rising. Halfway to the door he added, "And remember this: Unless you've given it a lot of thought and found a darn good reason, never stop smiling." He turned and left. But before he passed through the doorway, I said, "Thanks, Dad." He cast a smile over his shoulder. "Any time, sport." He pointed to the novel discarded on my nightstand. "Hey, remind me how that ends some time. It's been a long time since I read it." I grinned. "Sure thing." He closed the door behind him. It occurred to me very suddenly that I had hardly eaten anything during dinner. As I returned to my reading, I fell with alacrity upon the bowl of chicken soup. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

The Year in Review: Writing In brief calculation I have written upwards of fourty short stories during 2012, most of which were flash fiction, some of which climbed above five thousand words. In the Jungle, which I assure you is not a songfic based off "Wim-o-weh," is my top choice for the best short story I wrote this year. As far as story, it has been compared to Beauty and the Beast and Hunchback of Notre-Dame, and I myself compare it to Tarzan of the Apes in an inverted way. As far as style, it's been complimented as containing some of my most beautiful prose, and I am much inclined to agree. But I'll stop patting myself on the back; you're welcome to judge for yourself, if you'd like. If not, I'll give you the brief synopsis: Hahli gets lost in the Le-Wahi jungle. But, oh, there's so much more to this BIONICLE romance, and it's sequel, I Am the Jungle. And I'm still patting myself on the back, aren't I? Heh, yeah, sorry. Polychromatic Frowns was not only metaphorical, philosophical, and encouraging--at least to me--but I had a darn good time writing it, too. It's little over 500 words, so if you're feeling down, I think you would enjoy it. You don't have to review it or even comment on it. What else did I write this year? Well, not much, I guess. Only a thirty thousand word novella--The Last Avatar--and two novels, one of eighty-five thousand words, the other of seventy thousand. These last are not available to read . . . yet. And lastly, I wrote twenty thousand wirds of a third novel this month. Any regrets? . . . Nah, I think I'm pretty happy. I'm a writer, and I feel like one; I'm not only content with that, not only happy with it, not only satisfied, but I should say I'm pretty ecstatic about my passion. "No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money." - Samuel Johnson I think the entire Ambage will join me in agreeing that this is probably true. Although I might paraphrase . . . "No creature but a lunatic ever wrote, except for lucrative remuneration." Indeed. That about sums it up. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

When it comes to BIONICLE, my habits vary. My favorite method is to use foreign words, sometimes altering them or only taking parts of them. Sometimes I cut names or words apart and try and put them together in ways I like. Or, I’ll just slam my hand on the keyboard and see what comes out.Human names are easier. I just sit and cogitate. I think of authors or people or actors I know, people that have some sort of connection to the character I’m naming. For example, to a mischievous imp I might give the cognomen Watterson. A detective I might name Colin, or a farmer Douglas. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

I'm sorry I missed this, otherwise I would have responded far sooner.Anyway, my problems with the style were two in number. The first I already explained; the informality. This story sounded as if a person were talking rather than telling a story, which I understand is what you were going for and so I can forgive that, and commend you for accomplishing it. My second objection was simply on count of present tense as what it is; you did it right, but I'm not at all a fan of that tense. Past tense is so traditional that it's inherent in readers and writers to want to change present tense, in their minds, to past; and so present tense feels unnatural and grating, at least in my opinion. And it's absolutely preference here; I know there are those who like present tense, although they're a minority. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

In checking my notes I found, rather to my disappointment, that I have read little over twenty novels in the past year. Not a very significant number at all, and not a very satisfying one, but there you go. Nothing can be done about it now! The past cannot be changed. But that is the point of this reflection, is it not? Evaluating the past to better plan for the future. To Kill a Mockingbird is easily the best novel I've read this year. I believe I already reviewed it some months ago in early October. The vitality, realism and warmth of her characters and story are such as to be irrefragibly lauded, and to leave the reader wishing Harper Lee had not started and ended her career in the same novel, though it is certainly a more than respectable accomplishment for one writer. Free Air was one of the first books I read this year and I loved it. I saw some of myself and my life in the characters and the story, which is always one of the reasons any reader likes a book. Moreover, this is one of the sweetest, most charming romances I have ever read. Sinclair Lewis's style is engaging, his portrayals of the characters and emotions vivid and even poignant. I am not unemotional but I am stoic, and am not easily moved to laughter, nor to tears, and it is one of the greatest comments I can pay an author that he moved me to both. Now, this may sound strange to you, but Tarzan of the Apes was highly redolent of Free Air for me. The latter was was written in 1919 while Tarzan itself was written in 1914, and thus they share a not dissimilar era. But their real resemblance is in the romantic story. It was very touching, even heartbreaking. Otherwise this story has some of the most thrilling action that can be found in literature of more than a hundred years in antiquity, in the midst of beautiful descriptions of the jungle, its denizens, and its enchantments. The depths of the psyche it explores are fascinating, as well. The worst I can say is that Burroughs was no stedfast believer in the writing precept "show don't tell," which at times would have done him much good, while at others he embraced it, while at others still he defied it. I will more briefly recapsulate some of the other highlights of my literary sallies this year. The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux, was another romance that touched me; Warriors: Omen of the Stars: The Last Hope by Erin Hunter was the epic conclusion to a series I have been following for five, six, possibly seven years; The Bat by Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood is a brilliant mystery; The Nine Tailors by Dorothy L. Sayers, . Lastly, The Secret of Chimneys, written by the inestimable Agatha Christie, an authoress nonpareil in the mystery genre, was another brilliant work that stepped, not without keeping its roots firmly planted, out of the traditional detective fiction genre into adventure thriller territory. Regrets! Do I have regrets? Further, I should say; apart from the paltry number of works of fiction I have read in the past year. Are there books I wish I had not read? Yes. The Film Mystery by Arthur B. Reeve, and both A Taste for Death and The Black Tower by P.D. James are stains in my memory that will always remind me how not to write detective fiction. It is a genre of the highest standards and the most honorable traditions; and though in modern days it has been deeply tainted, the heart that lies in the Golden Age shall always continue to beat in my own chest and in those of mystery readers and writers like myself. The Golden Age glows with such a resplendent luminosity as will never be dulled or extinguished! And before I conclude this entry, here's a list of some of the best short stories I've read on BZP this year: Special The Son Becomes the Father Depression Clockwork Black Diamonds Thanks to these authors, and to all the authors of BZP who make it such a great writing community! Moreover, thanks to the BZPower staff, for your recent gift of Off Topic Culture. All of you make the BZP libraries a great place to write. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

I don't watch much television, and this year has held little broadcast significance for me. However, those ways in which television was meaningful to me were especially meaningful, so I will make note of them. This year I was introduced by my best friend to The Legend of Korra, with which I immediately fell in love. I began watching Avatar: The Last Airbender posthaste, and well before Korra had run its whole season I had beheld the grand spectacle that was the Last Airbender finale. This is a great television series that will always hold for me a meaning deeper in comparison to most shows for its connection with the aforementioned friend--the same friend, by the way, for whose birthday I wrote The Last Avatar. I advertise shamelessly. Sherlock was recommended to me by the same friend, as it happens, though everyone else I know advocates the same opinion in its favor, and I don't find it difficult to see why. When it comes to mystery television I doubt if I've ever seen better. These are not "whodunits," which are my preference, but which are not in the vein of Doyle, anyway. I don't believe I've ever seen a very good television "whodunit" anyway, and I feel that maybe if they are not literary they are best avoided. But I digress. Sherlock, while being quite unique in its own right, while breathing a fresh and modern breath into the classic characters, also adheres surprisingly well to Doyle's original vision of his characters and stories, and the writers are well to be commended. The Dick Van Dyke Show remains to be the best and greatest television show I have ever seen, not only for its transcendence in comedy, but for a simple love of the characters and the romantic relationship between Robert Petrie and his wife, Laura. This year has introduced me to a number of episodes I have never before seen, including "To Tell or Not to Tell," "Teacher's Petrie," and "Never Bathe on a Saturday," some of the best of the series. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Thanks, guys. I appreciate the feedback and I'll take this all into consideration. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

I'll go into greater, more specific details re the purposes of this, which should be essentially self-explanatory, but for the moment I'd like to ask you guys a favor. I merely ask you to look at these two synopses I've drafted and elect your preference. Mix and match if you wish, share your thoughts, let me know if it's the type of synopsis that would entice you to read a book. Thanks! A Mockingbird was a drowsy town in rural Lancaster Pennsylvania, a place where nothing ever happened and nothing ever changed. It was a place where the farmers tilled their fields and milked their cows, and their troubles began with bad weather or ill livestock and ended at the local bar. That's what it was. Now it's a town left ravaged by death. In the wake of the Great War, young veteran Pattrick Clayton has only begun to readjust to the tranquility of farm life when death intrudes once again. Madge Emig, beloved town gossip and Pattrick's own aunt, has died. As reluctant as the Claytons are to believe it, all signs point to suicide. Even while the already broken Clayton family grapples with this new grief, death strikes again, even closer to home. And this time there is no question: it's murder. When Private Inquiry Agent Leo Westmacott arrives in town, duty calls him to dig strife up by the roots and restore peace to Mockingbird. Joined by his secretary and the eager Pattrick Clayton, he delves deeper into the lives and minds of the people, unearthing secrets and deceptions that prove even the lives of countryfolk may not be as simple as they appear. A mystery novel that follows all the conventions of the detective fiction genre yet stands in a category all its own, The Second Death takes you on a tour in an era where times may have been different but people were not. Memorable characters will guide you along the way as you explore the roots of faith and fathom the shadowy regions of death to discover the secrets at the depths of the human psyche on a journey fraught with wit, wisdom, and mystery. B When Pattrick Clayton's father died, he didn't know how life could go on. With the coming of the Great War he thought surely the world would stop spinning. When he came out of the army without the brother who had led him in, he wondered if there could ever be escape for him from the plague of death that pursued him at every turn. Home again in tranquil Mockingbird, Pennsylvania, Pattrick has only begun to readjust to the tranquility of farm life. Slowly peace and happiness returns to his life. Normality begins to recover from the destruction left in the wake of death. Then it strikes again. Pattrick hasn't been home a whole year when his aunt, beloved town gossip, is found dead. All signs point to suicide. The Claytons deny it, but nothing will stop people from talking and believing what they want. Before the Claytons can even begin to recover from this new grief, death strikes again, even closer to home. And this time there is no question: it's murder. Retired Private Inquiry Agent Leo Westmacott arrives on the scene, an old family friend come to pay his respects. But duty is a hard thing to avoid. With the aid of his secretary and the eager Pattrick Clayton, now it's up to good old Uncle Leo to seek out the truth. The deeper in the lives and minds of the people he gets and the more secrets and deceptions he unearths, the more convinced he becomes that even the lives of countryfolk are not as innocent as they appear. A mystery novel in the classic vein that stands in a category all its own, The Second Death will guide you through a tangle of death and lies on a tour fraught with unforgettable characters, incisive wit, piercing wisdom, and secrets that might just prove that there's more to your own heart than you even realize. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Another year of my life nearly written! And as this chapter draws to a close, it is time to review my own work, as any good writer should do. I'll begin in superficial ways. First, filmographically. I'd say it was a pretty good year. I've seen plenty of great films, new whether to the world or to me, or old by various definitions. Let's take a look at some of the highlights. Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace 3D. This remains my favorite of the Star Wars saga, and the three-dimensional enhancements were highly impressive. 3D has come a long way since those blue and red paper glasses. Add "Duel of the Fates" and Liam Neeson as some of the qualities, improve the experience with the company of my best friend, and mark it as all the more special for being my own visit to the cinema in the past year, and it is very well worthy of note. Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows. Best movie of all time. I knew that the instant I saw it, and until another movie steps up to replace it--possibly Sherlock Holmes 3--it will keep the title. And even then it will always live in my memory as one of the greatest films of cinematic history. Moreover, the sequence that begins from the words, "A five minute game?" will always preserve a place in my heart under the honorable title of the scene. The Dark Knight Rises. I actually saw this for the first time today. If you've seen it, there should be no question in your mind why I call it one of the better movies I've seen this year. Though I'm not particularly savvy nor interested in the area of politics, I admire this film series not only for its depth in that area but also in that of character. The morality and the realms of the human psyche explored in these movies, as exemplified by the pit sequence, fascinate me. Though I still prefer Batman Begins, Dark Knight Rises is an excellent film in its own right. Avengers. Not a lot of depth to this one, but boy, there was some good fighting. What I especially loved about the action was that we had a bit of everything; Iron Man's science fiction, Thor's midieval magic, Captain America's hand-to-hand, Hulk's smash. There was a little philosophy worth contemplating in Loki's monologues and there was an enjoyable depth to the dispute on the helicarrier, but on the whole the point of this movie was all the great fighting. It's Christmas, Carol! If you didn't label me as a heretic for visiting the cinema only once this year, you probably will for listing a Hallmark movie among the highlights of my year. It's a typical play on Charles Dickens's classic, in this case portraying Scrooge as a woman, the C.E.O. of a publishing house. The ghosts were all one, the revenant partner of the Scrooge, played by Carrie Fisher. Scrooge's estranged love was a writer. If you hadn't gathered, there was a strong literary theme throughout the film. It was very sweet, and the story held a personal meaning for me, not just in the many books that adorned its scenes. We Bought a Zoo. I include this because it was a cute story with realism, drama, and profound romance. 　 And now to take a look back at my regrets, what I hope to improve in future years. For one, I have sworn off modern animated comic films after wasting time with Batman/Superman: Apocalypse and Under the Red Hood. Moreover, I hope to more firmly uphold my past resolution never to waste as much as another hour of my life with the worthlessness that is the Pokemon film franchise, and to fight more fervently my siblings's supplications to join them in this gratuitous activity. From now on I listen to the full version of the theme song and then I'm gone. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

Special, reviewed. Our gratitude for your selection of the SSCC. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

A little elf told me somebody wanted a review for Christmas. This time of year, we at the SSCC try to help Saint Nick out as much as we can. So here's your review, fresh out of the workshop. Merry Christmas! 　 I think somebody was watching Batman recently. Maybe it was me. Whatever the case, this has a strong similarity in vibe. I can easily imagine this as Bruce Wayne, gone the way of Joker instead of donning the mantle of Batman. It's dark, grimly realistic, and violent. These aren't things that are necessarily to my taste, but you made up for them and made me enjoy this story in three ways: first of all your style was pleasant; secondly, it wasn't graphically sanguinary; third, it was deep. That last is much to my tastes. I enjoy delving into the recesses of the mind, whether the mind or the recess in question be dark or light. As I say, great story, well-spun, well-told. My only complaint is when the antihero starts relating his life's story to his victim. The first sentence feels unnatural. It was too rational for this moment. The rest of his response was fine and made perfect sense in the situation. Deranged banter fit perfectly. But it was the woman's next question--"Do you have nothing good from your past to cling to? Is your motive only driven by hate?"--that felt wrong, very wrong, entirely wrong. She should be terrified, not trying to psychoanalyze the man who's about to kill her. Similarly, though to a lesser extent, "What could possibly drive you to do this?" I would have asked, "Why are you doing this?" or something of that kind. Now let's turn to style. I'm not a fan of terseness or concision, but that's the right way to go for this sort of story. Short, fast sentences are best for suspense. I'm a lover of detail and beauty of prose, but when it comes to suspense you just want the vital facts. That said, the description at the beginning was beautiful.Normally I don't like present tense, for various reasons. In this case, however, I can forgive it, and even commend it for the way it streamlines the transitions to and from the flashbacks. Flashbacks are difficult and can be confusing. Perhaps you opted for the easy way out, but it had an effect nothing else could have produced. I have to say it. Grammar time! I'm flying low here, but that felt backwards. I would have put long before shiny. Pleas. Overall this sentence felt too fragmental. I would either connect it all with an I said and a comma, or add a was to the second sentence.Also, evil's a bland word. Not very descriptive. Maleficent, virulent, mordacious; these are powerful, vivid adjectives that might better suit your purpose hero. The power of writing is in your word choices, so make them judiciously. If that's a noun, it should be preceded by a; if it's a pronoun, it should be capitalized. A mom or Mom. Ineluctably, the past tense creeps in.This is what I don't like about present tense. The past tense is so conventional in literature that both reader and writer naturally want to change present tense to past tense, past tense to past perfect, et cetera. It's a difficult task for the writer and a grating experience for the reader. I will confess there are those who like present tense--and I will also confess there are those who like Twilight. It's my opinion that there's simply no accounting for some tastes. Overall, you have earned my approval with this fine piece of work here. Thank you for choosing the SSCC! Keep writing, Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith