I think that one thing people fail to understand is that unsolicited literary criticism coming from an online stranger who is reading with no knowledge of what the authors intended goal is, is not going to be received the same as say: the authors beta reader or friends who know what the authors intended goal and has the sufficient knowledge and input to help the author reach that desired outcome.
"But I'm only trying to be helpful" How do I know you have the knowledge and literary skill for you to be able to actaully do that when we don't know each other and you are essentially a stranger to me? Are you applying this criticism based out of personal biased experience and desire to see the story or characterization be driven in another direction or tweaked, or do you know the author's intentions for the character? If the story is incomplete, are you basing your criticism of a character on the incomplete narration with only partial information available of them or are you building up a report until the story's completion? Did the author provide you with the information needed to make a fully informed criticism?
Have you discussed with the author what their plans are or are you assuming them based off the narration, especially if the narration is proven or implied to be unreliable or missing key points of the plot? Are you unbiased enough to help them reach their desired outcome for the characters and story regardless of your personal feelings towards the characters/antagonists and setting? Can you handle being told your specific input isn't wanted because you're a reader and/or have no written anything relating to their genre or topic? Do you understand and respect that the author's personal experiences might influence their writing and make it different than how you would have done it personally? Do you understand if an author only wants input from a specific demographic relating to their story?
If it's for fanfiction or other hobby media, are you holding a free hobby to a professional standard? Are you trying to give criticism because you feel like the author has produced 'subpar job performance' of their fic? Are you viewing their work as a personal intimate outlet or something that must conform with mass media? Are you applying rules and guidelines when the fic is shared for simple sharing sake? Is your criticism worded appropriately and focused on the parts where the author has requested input on rather than a general dismissal and or disapproval?
Have you put yourself in a place where you assumed you have the input needed for the story to evolve better, or have you asked what the author needs and what they're having trouble with? Can you handle having your criticism rejected if the author decides their story doesn't need the change and not take it as a personal offense against your character? Are you crossing that boundary because you think you are doing the author a favor? Are you trying to be helpful, or do you just want to be?
I think sometimes when people hear authors go 'please don't give me unsolicited writing advice or criticism' they automatically chalk it up to 'this author doesn't want ANY constructive feedback on their stuff at all' and not "i already have trusted individuals who will help me with my writing goals and- hey i don't know you like that, please stop acting so overly familiar with me'
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Okay, hear me out. TOS 4 is the time travel movie. So AOS 4 is the time travel movie, but it's not about whales.
It's about a conversation AOS Spock had with TOS Spock before the latter died, when TOS Spock mentioned that things didn't really go irrevocably wrong in his universe until Admiral Kirk disappeared with the Enterprise-B. AOS Spock wonders what repercussions this has had on his own, somewhat more distressing universe, and when the AOS Enterprise bridge crew finds itself assigned to protect Earth by examining an unstable temporal ribbon that seems to be crossing through the galaxy--well. Spock wonders. Is this the Nexus? They find out soon enough that it is. And since Spock's the first one in, technically, the Nexus gives him what he wants, which is what the Nexus has--the ability to cross universes as well.
Now everyone, out in two groups on separate missions has to resist succumbing to the temptations of the world of the Nexus while they try to rescue Admiral Kirk, making sure his mission is still completed (so as not to destroy anything for the TNG folks' reality) but that he survives, so that they can figure out how to get through the Nexus and pop him back in his universe right as he's supposed to leave on the Enterprise-B. AOS Spock is sure he can figure out those calculations somehow. Some of the temptations are funny, some are sad, but we find out where Uhura and Sulu and Scotty are in their lives, and where they want to be.
Like Spock got to meet TOS Spock, TOS Kirk gets to meet Kirk (and Spock, and McCoy, and eventually the rest of the bridge crew). AOS Kirk learns that the life he's been envious of all this time didn't turn out well in the end because TOS Kirk ran toward duty alone despite what he had, and TOS Kirk learns that a) he could have suffered so much more loss, b) he's just one of a set of infinite possibilities, just like AOS Kirk is, and c) he's been wasting eternity exploring those other possibilities of happiness in the Nexus when he could have been content with what he already had.
He finds out what happened to TOS Spock, and it's agonizing. He sees this weird young Spock and Bones, both of whom could bench-press him, and he misses his Spock and Bones so much that the Nexus starts trying to change the fantasy world, to their detriment. It's only when the crew sticks as close as possible together and all concentrates on wanting the same thing that they're all able to shift the Nexus to their goal. Then Picard shows up. Things get complicated.
We hear, from Generations: And in the end, what did it get me? An empty house...Not this time.
and from Star Trek V: I knew I wouldn't die because the two of you were with me.
I thought you said men like us don't have families.
I was wrong.
TOS Kirk decides that, yes, he wants to leave, and he wants to go back. But they're not entirely sure how to line up Picard's plan and TOS Kirk's plan and the AOS plan and have it all work. It's a lot to figure out.
To simplify things, AOS Kirk decides he's going to volunteer to go die in TOS Kirk's place so that they can return TOS Kirk and at least one of them will have a decent ending, because his own life still feels so uncertain. This seems like it's going to work until his Spock and Bones both read him the riot act. But it's Bones who really goes off.
Karl Urban gets a great speech as Bones about how both Spock and Kirk met their counterparts, a chance which he will likely never be afforded and neither of them learned anything from it. Spock went off and punctured the walls of a universe even though TOS Spock indirectly destroyed AOS Vulcan through it. Kirk is trying to run away and die again because he doesn't know what to do with himself, even though TOS Kirk had an unhappy ending to a good life because at the end he ran away and tried to die again. Bones just tries to pick up the pieces. You don't fix things by tearing them apart, and you don't fix them by tearing yourself apart. You fix them by healing the rift. AOS Kirk's eyes light up. They're going to fix the rift.
They're going to give this random meaningless villain what he wants, throw him into the Nexus, he can have infinite joy, then they're going to seal it and heal it.
After all, AOS Bones says. He had a drink with TOS Kirk at the man's insistence, even though the Saurian Brandy didn't taste like anything, and Kirk told him he could cure anything from a rock to a rainy day. The tasteless brandy? Apparently Bones is the person who can actually perceive that nothing here is real, so he doesn't want anything except for everyone to remain safe.
From Beyond: Better to die saving lives than to live with taking them.
Bones says: Better that no one dies at all. This time, no one dies.
So TOS Kirk and the Bridge crew go with Picard to subdue Soran and honestly, it's not that tough with all of them. Nobody had to die. And as they fix the rift, with TOS Kirk and Picard's Enterprise about to be thrown back into their universe on one side and the AOS Enterprise into theirs on the other, Picard suddenly realizes that he never clarified how they were getting Kirk back to his own time. And how will they explain his status?
TOS Kirk grins. Good thing I know how to slingshot around the sun, he says. And when they report me missing, I'll just say I didn't go in the first place. Clerical error. Who are they to argue with an alive man?
AOS Kirk has so many questions, but the two of them merely salute each other, and then they're thrown back.
Back in his own time, TOS Kirk walks into a Starfleet Academy apartment, and hear him say:
Bones, I heard you got laid up with Andorian flu and Spock was taking care of you, and this I just had to see! How many hypos? Don't let him talk you out of any, Spock. They're all important, every single one, even ones he hasn't heard of.
A pause.
Yes, I know I said Starfleet needed me. I just thought maybe you two needed me more this time.
Back in the AOS universe and Spock's calculations are totally off in getting home, because he didn't account for the gravitational pull of--
Vulcan. The planet that apparently still exists.
TOS Spock still came into their universe--he was always going to live longer than his ties to his Enterprise family. But his actions had been tempered, less destructive, which had clearly resulted in the Enterprise being able to save the planet. They were going to have to find out how.
Not everything had changed, of course. Nero had still been Nero, they had still come together. But Jim only vaguely remembers dying, now, as though it had happened to somebody else. He feels more settled than he ever has before. Some of that's the time travel revision, and some of that's the meeting with his alternate self, and some of that's Bones' yelling. Spock feels a sense of closure. Bones is just relieved that nobody died this time.
Uhura suddenly and quietly alerts them to the chronometer. It's a week before they left, which means there are now two Enterprise bridge crews on Earth, and that they need to lie low for a week to avoid running into themselves.
What should we do, Captain? she asks.
Jim smiles.
Let's go to Yosemite.
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it is all chaos and entropy. the thing is that the chaos and entropy make it beautiful and lovely.
yes, it's true that nature and the universe are uncaring and unspecific, and that is terrifying. i have lived through some of the unfairness - i got born like this, with my body caving into itself, with this ironic love of dance when i sometimes can't stand up for longer than 15 minutes. i am a poet with hands that are slowly shutting down - i can't hold a pen some days. recently i found a dead bird on our front porch. she had no visible injuries. she had just died, the way things die sometimes.
it is also true that nature and the universe are uncaring and unspecific, and that is wonderful. the sheer happenstance that makes rain turn into a rainbow. the impossible coincidence of finding your best friend. i have made so many mistakes and i have let myself down and i have harmed other people by accident. nature moves anyway. on the worst day of my life she delivers me an orange juice sunset, as if she is saying try again tomorrow.
how vast and unknowing the universe! how small we are! isn't that lovely. the universe has given us flowers and harp strings and the shape of clouds. how massive our lives are in comparison to a grasshopper. the world so bright, still undiscovered. even after 30 years of being on this earth, i learned about a new type of animal today: the dhole.
chance echoing in my life like a harmony between two people talking. do you think you and i, living in different worlds but connected through the internet - do you think we've ever seen the same butterfly? they migrate thousands of miles. it's possible, right?
how beautiful the ways we fill the vastness of space. i love that when large amounts of people are applauding in a room, they all start clapping at the same time. i love that the ocean reminds us of our mother's heartbeat. i love that out of all the colors, chlorophyll chose green. i love the coincidences. i love the places where science says i don't know, but it just happens.
"the universe doesn't care about you!" oh, i know. that's okay. i care about the universe. i will put my big stupid heart out into it and watch the universe feast on it. it is not painful. it is strange - the more love you pour into the unfeeling world, the more it feels the world loves you in return. i know it's confirmation bias. i think i'm okay if my proof of kindness is just my own body and my own spirit.
i buried the bird from our porch deep in the woods. that same day, an old friend reaches out to me and says i miss you. wherever you go, no matter how bad it gets - you try to do good.
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The first meeting of the Vatore Book Club has commenced.
Previous / Next
Helena: Caleb, are you in here? [telepathically] Caleb?
[silence]
[under breath] Where are you? You promised you’d show me more today.
[picking up journal] Hmm. These definitely weren’t here before.
[begins reading]
May 25, 1918: Another night daymare. Same as all the others. Calloused hands squeezing my throat, phantom fists pummeling my stomach, shrill bursts of laughter assailing my ears, sky of taunting stars, blinding white moon, a monstrous form looming over me… Straud insists I should no longer be able to dream. One more bold-faced lie from a man who speaks arrogant, empty words just to hear his own voice - and endlessly, endlessly. I already tire of his dull speeches.
July 10, 1918: The days stretch eternal in this crumbling mansion. I am Straud’s prisoner, though he claims I am free to come and go as I please. Yet he prattles on with excuses as though he does me a favor by denying me. I’ll not be allowed off the grounds until I bend to his will, until I have suitably mastered discipline. How I loathe that word! I’ll be sick if I hear it once more.
September 8th, 1918: Killed two men last night. Only meant to step out for fresh air but instead found drunken idiot humans stumbling unknowingly across town lines. Their thoughts came to me easily. (So the old man taught me something after all.) Vile and crude remarks on my body, naturally. My vision flashed white with rage, and my body convulsed as if to split in two. Their taste of their blood was exquisite. It’s a funny thing, though. I kept expecting the swell of remorse to arise, but it never did, even when my brother, drawn by the cacophony, flinched away at the sight of my monstrousness, truly frightened of me for the first time. Further reflection is required, but for now I must depart. Straud requires placating.
Helena: [thinking] This is Lilith’s diary?
[flips to final pages]
February 22, 1921: Caleb’s birthday tomorrow. If it passes, he will be 27. He will continue to outpace me in physical age. He will eventually die. I’ve promised it will not. All week, he has been nervously pacing and eerily silent, too afraid to ask the obvious question: Will I truly make him like me? I know how to do it, but thirst remains a constant presence in the back of my throat. I suppose I will take it up with Straud one last time, though he will respond as usual. He believes the gift should be offered only to those who have been deemed worthy. But he grows uncomfortable when I ask how he determined my worthiness. I know he saw me merely as an opportunity, a flimsy young girl in distress who could be easily remolded in his image. I disappoint him every day. We must be free of him soon.
-
Vlad, telepathically: I can still hear every thought that passes through your mind, girl. Your barricades are sloppily constructed. And, no, my position has not changed.
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