I can't help thinking I really need to make a pledge not to read any more self-published high fantasy until my blood pressure comes back down. But there's so much of it and it's so gosh darn bad. Sadly, professionally published high fantasy isn't necessarily much better. No wonder I'm falling out of love with it.
Unpleasant things I have skipped that were at the beginning of this story:
1. A glossary. No, really. At the beginning. Why would you do that? I mean, I don’t overall care for glossaries in books like this to begin with. To me they scream “I think my writing is so good I’m going to list lots of stuff you don’t care about back here, because I’m a self-important blowhard who’s written way too much extraneous crap.” Not to say they’re never meaningful, but this one sure wasn’t.
2. Two very long italicized text entries that are meant to look as though they were taken from some book or other in world. I hate these too. They’re either too gnomic to understand or the writer is trying really hard to steer your perceptions of coming events.
Chapter 1
Clamor
Another rumble of thunder, this one closer than the last, caused the final bird near the garden fountain to take flight. Without rustling a single leaf, the bird skimmed past a pruned olive tree and glided across the wheatfield to disappear in the direction of the forest beyond.
You’ve never seen a bird take off in fright before, have you? It’s generally a sudden, wild flailing of wings, accompanied by a rapid noise that sounds a bit like “thibbathibbathibba”. Nothing half as purple as this.
The warm afternoon rain fell more steadily. Each head of wheat, laden with moisture, drooped closer to the ground.
Jimmy crack corn, and I don’t care…Jimmy crack corn, and I don’t care…Jimmy crack corn, and I don’t care…what the f*** is this sh*t?
No, really, wtf? This is unimportant, overwritten, self-indulgent. No one cares about the
freakin’ wheat, dude. There is just no reason whatsoever for this to be here.
A gentle and constant breeze made the stalks sway back and forth. From the olive garden, the grain had the appearance of misty, swirling water. Other than the sound of rain and the damp rustle of wheat, the field was very still.
So, just in case you guys failed to catch that, there’s a breeze and some rain and a whole lotta wheat. No, I don’t know why we should give a fig about that. Is there even a character
around here or are we just going to be reading about wheat swaying in the breeze all goddamn day?
A Danielite soldier watched from atop the southwest garden tower. He noticed the birds leaving and sensed the unnatural quiet that settled around him.
Oh, hey, there’s someone. Completely nameless and faceless, but at least we’ve got a person. Presumably.
Also, the Department of Redundancy Department would like to announce that the birds have
left and the field is very quiet, in case you somehow managed to miss that.
With one hand on the pommel of his sword, he scanned the field for any sign of movement. He reached up to brush a trickle of sweat from his brow.
Is he going to blow his nose and blink his eyes too? Soldier guy, I dub thee Sir Tedious. Now go forth and be tedious! Oh, wait…
Where did all the birds go?
He opened the brown leather case of his spyglass and placed the sight to his eye. Seeing nothing in the field, he trained his eye on the edge of the trees. With intense scrutiny, he searched the wooded border, running his sight from right to left and left to right. He waited for even a single branch to be disturbed.
Dear author(s), when your character is doing something boring, the reader will inevitably be bored by it. Also, why can’t you just write “He raised his spyglass and scanned the edge of the trees.”? Look how it says the exact same thing but with so many less words. I mean, we’re not stupid over here, we’re hardly going to think he pulled his spyglass from his hat.
That would actually be interesting, after all.
Must be the thunder. He collapsed the spyglass. The flap on the leather case snapped when he shut it. In his peripheral vision, he noticed a bush straighten.
Wait, what?
Did that branch just move? He again yanked the spyglass from its case and zoomed in on the suspicious vegetation.
Signups for my new band, Suspicious Vegetation, down below. I mean really, suspicious vegetation? How are you supposed to read that and not giggle? It’s a turn of phrase that belongs in an Alexia Tarabotti novel, not something serious. (Oh, my kingdom for something even half as entertaining right now…)
Also, was it really necessary for him to put his spyglass away, only so you could add yet more words by having him take it out again?
A sharp, fast whistle from the direction of the bush was all the guard heard. Clutching an arrow
in his chest, he fell across the tower bench with a thud.
Uh, what?
I’m confused here. Was he shot by a bush? Did he stab himself with an arrow? Don’t humans make more of a smacking sound when they land on stone? Or is this castle made of firm but cushy Styrofoam?
What on earth just happened here? Clarity is your friend, author.
From the far side of the garden, another guard noticed that the southwestern tower was unmanned.
*giggle* Pardon my inner twelve-year-old right now but man. Somewhere in psychologist heaven, Sigmund Freud is having a field day.
Do yourself (and us) a favor and consider your word choices carefully. When in doubt, consult a dictionary. While technically the word means what you think it means, most people will never see it used in that context and therefore have the same reaction as me.
Startled, he scanned the fields beyond the garden,
Is this all these guys do all day?
where he saw a line of fifty archers step out from the edge of the trees and onto the dirt path which led to the walled village.
Okay, wait…there’s an entire village between the forest and the castle? Not to mention a wheat field and an olive grove? What kind of bows are these guys using, Diamond Iceman FLX compound bows?
With shaking hands, the guard clutched a mallet and struck the tower bell as hard as he could. The bell rang out loud and uneven as it quivered from the force of the blow.
Just in case we’ve never heard a bell before. Ugh, none of this is necessary. Could you please give me someone and/or something to care about aside from Sir Dead Tedious and Captain Faceless Goon?
Even above the sound of the nearby bell, the guard could hear the advancing army in the wheatfield respond to the alarm with a deafening war cry.
Okay, first of all, it’s a wheat field. Two separate words. DON’T YOU PEOPLE USE SPELL CHECK ANYMORE?
Second, man this army is dumb. “Hey guys, let’s kill only one guard before revealing ourselves instead of clearing the walls.” Great plan, dudes.
He turned to see them joined by more than three hundred men armed with swords. Each wore a breastplate emblazoned with a black raven.
Which is of course how you know they’re the bad guys, because ravens are teh ebil!
In reality, ravens are extremely smart birds and it seems a bit unfair, to me, to associate them
with the Army of Dumbness here.
“Gideonites!” he breathed, almost as if it were a curse.
A standard-bearer whipped a flag back and forth in the air.
Yes, this is generally what standard-bearers do.
It bore an image of the twin blue suns Aqua and Azure.
Okay, I’m no scientist, but I’m pretty sure that if your suns have turned blue, you’ve got a problem. (Two blue spherical objects. Hmm…paging Dr. Freud…)
Also, Aqua and Azure? Really? Aqua is only so blue, really. Also, that’s seriously the best you could do?
This signal drew another large group of soldiers from the trees, carrying a massive, capped pole, fitted with rope handles.
Oh for bloody f***’s sake. It’s a battering ram! Just say battering ram. Did you really manage to keep this bloated mess under 100k or is that a lie?
The guard jerked around.
Uh, Captain Goon, sir? Now is maybe not the time for that…
Below him in the village courtyard, he witnessed the panic of women who grabbed children and raced for the nearest protected doorway. Almost falling in his haste, he slid down a ladder to join other men who poured out of every conceivable location. Together they rallied at the fortified garden gate and broke open a weapons stash.
At the garden gate? Why the garden—oh, why do I even ask these things anymore?
Just…oh god, I can’t help myself, I really can’t. What’s the point of breaking open a stash of weapons? They’d have their goddamn weapons with them or extremely near at hand. That’s how this bloody works. You don’t store most of the weapons somewhere until someone decides to come knocking with a battering ram.
As reaching hands clamored for a blade to defend the fair village of Hasor, the tower guard helped the other soldiers provide every man with a weapon. Troop captains nearby yelled for more support.
Am I the only one finding this fight, as it were, extremely boring? I wonder why that could be…oh! Could it be because I don’t know Captain Faceless Goon at all and don’t give a flying fig about him or the faceless twits of where ever the f*** we are? Why yes, I think it could.
The Danielite guard shuddered when the heavy, crushing sound of a ram against the tall wooden gate echoed through the village streets.
Okay, now I’m picturing RamZilla rampaging the streets of Hasor and stepping on the gate. “BAAAAA!!!”. …if anyone is in the mood to write that, please let me know.
In dismay, he cast his eyes in the direction of the Council Hall.
What, why? What’s it going to do, stand there and be a Council Hall? Shouldn’t you, oh, I dunno, be paying attention to the fight!?
Chapter 2
Murder
Does that mean something exciting might actually happen?
Jonathan, you must leave now,” the old judge pleaded. “If you don’t, the Gideonites may suspect The Thorn is here!”
*raises hand* Um, one vote for “Obviously they already bloody do!” I mean, they’re breaking down the gates. They brought their own kaiju and everything.
“Father, how can I go?” Jonathan retorted as he rested a tense hand on the pommel of his sword. “You and I both know they’re not here just for the scepter. My absence will only prolong this conflict.”
As you know, Bob…
Okay, look. We do sometimes do this sort of thing. Like “You and I both know mom will kill us if we get detention”. That sort of thing. However, none of us go on to do this:
Samuel took a long breath. “Jonathan, I understand, but The Thorn must be kept safe. If found, the Gideonites will use it to demand the allegiance of all Three Brothers. Then they will replace the judgment seat with a throne, whereon will sit their wicked, self-proclaimed emperor.
Come on. Obviously Jon-boy already knows all this. I’m the only one here who doesn’t and fortunately for you, I don’t care.
Why can’t I help the feeling that if I wasn’t a non-practicing agnostic Jew, I might be reading more Bible references into this?
Manasseh wants to hold the scepter in his own fat hand. Ruling in Gideon does not satisfy the man. Like a drunk offered only water, he will never be satisfied. He wants to rule Gideon, Daniel, and Uzzah.”
Uzzah? Huzzah! Also…uwah? Like a drunk offered…good lord, why don’t you just name the man Evil McPuppyKiller EvillyPants IV, then?
Jonathan looked away, irritated by talk about the scepter and Manasseh’s lust for it. Only a fool would think the scepter could somehow bestow the right to rule all three tribes. The scepter is just a symbol.
So, let’s run down the list. The bad guy is evil, fat, greedy, and a fool.
If this scepter is just a symbol, what are they worried about? Why should it be a big deal if Manaevildude gets his hands on it? Also, insert highly sexist men-writing-fantasy it’s-always-just-a-symbol-when-it’s-phallic joke here.
He turned back and studied his father’s face. Lines of stress ran deep across Samuel’s brow. Jonathan knew the real reason for Samuel’s unspoken concern. Even though the Gideonites wanted to get their hands on The Thorn, they really wanted Jonathan.
When whores are few, a boy will do!
No, wait, that’s from a book that’s actually good. My bad.
“Father, they will find me eventually.”
“You must leave!” Samuel implored, ignoring Jonathan’s declaration.
It’s his declaration…of independence…Sing it with me if you know the words, peeps!
I don’t really care for the word uses here. Samuel is demanding or commanding more than imploring. And Jon-boy’s statement is just that—a statement. Declaration is too powerful a word. Don’t use it simply because you think it looks good, author. It needs to make sense and have impact.
Jonathan sighed. Still undecided, he pulled at his beard as he stared at his own dusty and worn boots. Should he run, or should he stay and fight? If he left, would lives be saved?
Probably not. RamZilla is kinda out there painting the town red. Can’t you hear that deep, booming “BAA RAM EWE”?
Potential peril lay ahead with either choice.
Samuel exhaled heavily and stepped forward to place his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Please go. All will be well. The One Who Would Suffer will be with us.”
Wait. The whowhat now? The…really? Okay, now I know I’m missing Bible references somewhere.
“My place is with you, Father.”
My place is as far away from this as I can possibly get.
There’s really just nothing creative here. Not even a “creative” use of grammar. It’s just dull. I see where the author was trying to go, in terms of creating drama and tension. But between the nameless characters and the absurd overwriting, it’s no surprise they didn’t get there. This is not a dance. Not every little move needs to be choreographed. Doing that is a good way to end up, well, self-published.
