Onward

[Guest]

[Joseph Wood]

hi, this is my first time visiting these forums.  as any writer i'm looking to get my work out into the public for it to be read, discussed, reviewed, anything but ignored.  so here's a small piece I wrote called Onward, let me know what you think.  thanks.

   The fields are fields no longer.  Now they are desolation, grey plains, flat and unmoving.  They are not beautiful or evil or coloured.  We walk across them as though they were roads, we ignore them out of habit.  We brush away anything that soils our grey pathway, kick any shape aside and into obscure perimeter.  When we push our faces into the wind we see tears and then we see what is beyond them.  We always see the tears first; they are the closest thing to our eyes.  The distance offers us sounds of birdsong and laughter, brought to our begging ears from somewhere beyond the fire. 
   We walk in only one direction: forward.  If we were asked we would describe ourselves as a group or a community but we are all alone and we all uphold courteous distance from each other, each of us simoultaneously leading and following.  When we stop to rest we all sit down within our distances.  Some of us lie on the concrete and sleep uncomfortably.  We know when to wake by the change in the air, the sudden rush as people stand. 
   I do not know who leads us, nor do I know where they are leading us to.  I walk on because we all do, I cannot turn back and walk through the oncoming pilgrims.  Though I do not know why I know I cannot, as much as I know I cannot ask why.  Rumours circulated perhaps years ago that we were advancing toward a horizon.  The only horizon I see is on fire.  Walls of flame like a fortress, daunting and bright.  It surrounds us constantly, always as far away as it always was, seeming to move with us. 
   The sound of it burning and snapping is dulled beneath the groans of our weary bodies.  Our lungs take our anguish and expell it through our mouths, low monotone and rasping, sometimes a sob or a wail.  Feet hot with ache and heavy, hard to lift.  Dry mouths so our breath passes abrasive over our cracked lips and withered tongues.  How many infront?  How many behind?  A number I have never needed to count to before. 
   I carry in my hand a bottle that was once full of wine but grows constantly lighter.  With every sip I hold it aloft to check how much is left.  Other people carry things; flags or baskets, children drag toy animals along behind them, stuffing creeping from the worn skin.
   A man infront of me breaking ranks grows close; he is slower than the rest and they push past him.  He will be ejected out the back and left struggling like a bug on its back, kicking hopefully till it starves.  As I pass him he grabs my sleeve so that I have to drag him along with me lest I fall back as well.  If he wants some of my wine - which is my first assumption - then he's out of luck.  He climbs up my sleeve so he can stand and walks with me as a crutch. 
   He tells me he knows who the leader is.  The the leader is some miles ahead of us, razing the ground and laying concrete.  The concrete that we walk on.  I ask him why and he shrugs.  I ask him if he knows anything about the fire surrounding us and he lets go of my sleeve and falls to the ground.  I hear the footsteps behind me soften as they climb over him. 

[nauseamfromrum]

i see that you don't want to be ignored and i'd love to grant you that wish

this is pretty good, i like the narrative..but im not ecstatic over it either. i feel like this is a piece that is very archetypal (not cliche... but dangerously similar) in its images and themes...like people making queued pilgrimages, surrounded by flames, in an allegory for some anxiousness about situating yourself between the future and past, while dealing with a mysterious unnamed person , etc etc....all stuff that has been done before but remain interesting based on  solely their inherent qualities, not any qualities injected from the writer  (sort of paradoxical, i know)

for this reason i feel that discussing this poem will only lead to me repeating ideas that i abandoned long ago

to be more clear..it's kinda like lookin at a fire. of course it's fun to do, but you aren't praising the triangle of combustion as original creator anymore

i have been struggling recently to make a distinction between "good writing" and "innovative writing"   ..i'd qualify this as "good" (along with almost everything being published today)  but for me it sheds no new ground really..it just conforms to an idea of what good writing is...   so if you're just happy to not be a bad writer, this will be a good comment..

thank you for a read that held my interest, made me ponder my existence in this overpopulated world that is controlled by people just out of reach of the personal, the paradox we are desensitized to: the leader is one of us. most of us will pass through history unremembered. a few of us may be remembered, but probably based completely on luck.  it's all futile.


"How many infront?  How many behind?  A number I have never needed to count to before.  "

what about those who are genuinely content from an early? how long will life drag our their contentness? force them to learn things they don't want to know? do things they dont want to do?

[Joseph Wood]

i totally understand what you mean about the subject being inherently interesting and thus negating any sort of skill from the writer as he doesnt need to try so hard since the intrigue is already there

when you say that it fits into an archetype, i cant disagree.  but what doesnt fit into an archetype?  is the problem that it fits too snugly into the genre or simply that it can fit if you force it to?  what can i do to get out of this situation where im using existing ideas and simply reshaping them?

this isnt my only piece but im wondering whether you could say the same about everything ive written.

im not contending your critique, i just need to know the answers to these questions so i can become a better writer.  as you said, if i am content being a good writer then this comment is good.  no, im not content with that at all.  i hope ill never be content with my writing as i can always improve.

[nauseamfromrum]

i'd try to break out out the allegorical approach to writing..everyone (exaggeration) sort of starts off with a sort of allegorical approach where there is a 1:1 ratio in meaning and the narrative sort of unfolds too "symbolically"

when i read this i don't see people just "taking a journey in a line," it has too much of an already imbedded symbolic nature to it...while that may sound like a good thing to most writers ("hey aren't symbols a sign of good writing?!")  but in many cases as i've said, it's too easy to rely on that pre-packaged hinting toward the human condition.


i don't see anything that shows me into your unique imagination...all i see is a peak at your ability to put an interesting, symbol-adorned narrative together...big difference