Opinions Needed!!!!

[tabaqui]

I wrote this yesterday, i think...

Yup, did it again.
Another bit of pr0n from the cracktrailer universe.
*hangs head in shame*
But have no fear! New 'Credence' tomorrow!

Truck Stop

My husband replied thusly:

Subject: cracktrailer universe, ugh...
....it just hits a little too close to home, with all the rabbit hutches and truck stops and meth. It makes me feel uneasy, the whole concept is just.. umm.. BLEH.
*shudder*
Write about nice, creepy, fantasy vampires and werewolves, that's fun!
*Don't* write about the people living down the road from me, PUH-LEAZE.

fond regards,

I deleted the comment, 'cause it really kinda bugged me. I can get not liking a genre/verse, but to say 'i don't like this, don't write it anymore' made me feel...like somehow, my writing got 'bad' when i wrote the other 'verse, and what i was writing there was worthless.

The deletion caused some upset.
So, i want some opinions. What do you, my fellow writers and addicts think of the post, and my deletion?
And my putting it back?

And, while we're on the subject... I love, love, love the 'ooh, that was great' feedback, but i welcome - i CRAVE - feedback that picks at my writing - that points out flaws and challenges my characterization and my word choices and my ideas.
Really!
'Changes' is the only think i've linked to my LJ that's beta'd - the other stuff get's once-overs by super-cool folks from time to time, but no formal beta, so please don't post back to me about all the comma mistakes i made, 'cause i KNOW how awful my punctuation can be...

But yes, i would love to see some feedback about all of the above.
Or, you know, just tell me shut up and write.
:)

Comments

shut up and write OR *monks, hmmmmm* PART ONE

[(Anonymous)]

A pressie in lieu of actual comment.

"The brother superior, also called the master of novices, was a tall, bald man with sandy eyelashes; he had, as I thought, a rather insincere stoop and was in the habit of clearing his throat a lot as though he was about to make an announcement. When he looked at me it was as if he suspected I wanted to slap him. Curiously, that was exactly what the devil was always telling me to do; but I resisted him. Stooping Sandy, whose monastic name was Etienne, always encouraged the vary keen members of the novitiate to call out reminders to the more timid ones of what our ideals: to be modest, by which was meant we should not look at each other; to be pious and meditative; to work hard and not think for yourself; and, especially, to be obedient. The shouted out reminders of our ideals were meant to inspire us, to keep idle thoughts away and so on. Come to think of it I suppose you could call out anything you wanted as long as it was fine and noble. It was not unusual for someone to call out at breakfast: ‘Let us think of Saint Aloysius Gonzaga.’ There would be a general sigh of satisfaction all round and if you caught the reference it nourished you. St Aloysius Gonzaga was famous for his chastity so just the thought of him would lower the boom of your lust. He was an easy reference and we all responded. And if another fervent young novice bawled out: ‘Let us all be minims’, you might not get the reference to St Francis of Paula who was big on humility. But the passion to be a minim was very common and we would all bow our heads and pray for lowliness.
One cold damp morning in January, so damp we were allowed to sleep with our socks under our pillows, I tried to overcome my timidity about the calls to piety by suddenly yelling out ‘Polycarp of Smyrna’. Thirty-nine young men, faces buried in tin basins of coffee were caught on the hop. I thought it quite droll to see them forget their modesty for a moment and glance at each other as if to say: ‘Who the hell is Polycarp of Smyrna?’ There was a small pause and the noise of thirty-nine gorgers ingesting coffee pobs eased and someone called: ‘Let us not be obscure.’ This rebuke irked me a bit and I countered: ‘St John Bosco?’ Plain Clogs reposted with: ‘Joseph Cupertino.’ The sandy master of novices tapped the rim of his tin bowl and hissed: ‘Let us have silence.’ And the silence descended. The obedience was absolute. You could nearly hear the building growing older. I never called out again, though I was often tempted to. The devil ricocheted in my head and did his damnedest to provoke me. He kept suggesting I shout: ‘Everybody get his dick out.’ But I never dared."

shut up and write OR *monks, hmmmmm* PART TWO

[(Anonymous)]

"Once at a collation, a few months after I had been urged not to be obscure, I inadvertently, oh very inadvertently lost complete control of myself and glanced up at the novice sitting opposite me. He’d been sitting there for at least six months because I recognised a broken button near his throat but I’d never looked past that broken button and into his face until now. As I looked at him (in my weakness), I was quite shocked at how beautiful he was; but not only beautiful, interesting, too, in the way I imagined the devil might be interesting if one could only catch a glimpse of him. As I looked at my opposite novice he seemed contemplative – by that I mean he was looking into his lap. I longed to look into his lap with him. I longed to lay my head in his lap. I wanted to be in his lovely lap forever. I wanted to be his lap dog. But even before I could enjoy that thought the ugly bugger next to him read me real quick and shouted out: ‘ Be modest, let us all be modest, let us not look at one another.’ The ugly ones always wanted the others to be modest. He was called Linus, I think, the ugly one, and taking him at his words I never looked at him again. Compared to him the floor was mysterious. It was a strange life only loving someone’s buttons or fingers or feet: the part for the whole, so to speak. I would have liked to possess that broken button and suck it in chapel during the meditation on our last ends.
I once spent about half an hour looking at a chap’s clogs and felt quite affectionate towards them; he was in them, of course, but I never saw his face and I never once shouted out a call during the remainder of that whole year. All I wanted to do was stroke clogs and suck buttons. Somehow the idea of calling out ‘Let us recollect ourselves’ didn’t appeal to me, though I was often tempted to cry out, ‘Let us love one another.’ It was indisputably a good thought but it might have been misconstrued by Brother Linus or old Stooping Sandy."

‘Who on earth is Tom Baker?’- an autobiography.
Extract from chapter eight, p61 – 63.

Tom Baker did not become a fully fledged monk; instead he bailed in favour of becoming an actor, subsequently one of the most well loved Dr Who actors, getting laid, and general bohemian hedonism. Lucky us. :)
Love your stuff TQ, and yeah the cracktrailer stuff may ick-out some folks who is neighbours with Cousin-Dad over in Eight Mile, but heck *I* find it exotic :P so shut up an' write babee...

'whorly
XXXXXxxxxxxxxx.........

Re: shut up and write OR *monks, hmmmmm* PART TWO

[tabaqui]

OH my god!!!
Oh, this is so cool!!!
*bounce*
Lurve ya, bay-beee!
*monks!!!*