I can whip you up a hell of a fight scene and I won't need some fucking metaphor for that. Like sure I could start trying to impress you with my ability to make one thing seem like another but will you really care that I described the sun like it was a tangerine? If anything, you ought to be skeptical of my attempts to confuse the way you order your thoughts. It starts with street lights being will o' the wisps, and ends with you trying to eat your partner's lips because you heard me describe them as "ripe."

Instead, how about some cool fucking swords? Laser swords. Swords made of ice. How about a big ass sword with navigator stars all over it that you can shoot at anyone who manages to deflect the sword part, which is itself practically impossible because it's also an interdimensional sword that cuts only the flesh of narcissists? Writing is about coming up with the best swords, not prose. Publishers will be looking for your sword descriptions, so if you are serious about this whole writing thing you WILL cut it out with the prose and you WILL cut it IN with a cool angstrom-fiber blade.

    • Poogona [he/him]
      ·
      2 years ago

      The best book has 4 things: swords, adjectives to describe them, and the noises they make. Throw in some dialogue to keep the pedestrians interested. Observe:

      The big sword: WOOSH. WOOSH. THUD. The small glowing sword: shwink, shwink, swswswiff--hummmm "This should be............interesting." Both swords: CLANG! click-CLANG! SHWING-ING-ing-ingggg.....

      All I'm saying is put that alongside 100 years of solitude and it's clear which is the better read.

    • Mardoniush [she/her]
      ·
      2 years ago

      An Unfortunate Encounter on Monkey Island

      A dairy farmer my opponent be
      Though bovine claims he are my martial skills
      Though simian his manners to a T
      So he rejoinders are my Family's wills

      A dog, say I! is smarter than my foe!
      And thrust my blade into his sneering eyes
      Yet he shouts this, it taught me all I know
      And from that riposte my courage flies

      A blackguard I hear him, and doomed to fall
      A sneak who is to all beneath contempt!
      He says that naught is heard of me at all
      And from this stern defeat I have now wept.

      An error grave, a shame I seek to hush
      That fateful hour, I thought to duel Guybrush.