Critique Novels & Stories

She flashed them a smile and walked on. “He was rude,” someone said in the shadows, she stopped and looked at her right, “he shouldn’t have made that comment nor ask such ridiculous question. Anywhere, I am not surprise, he has always been like that, he always hit people with their weak points and no matter how strong you think you are, you will always be affected and you understand very clearly what I am talking about, don’t you Mrs. Williams?” “Who are you?” Lillian asked, for some reason she doesn’t like how he was talking about Shane, even if he seemed to be right, she wouldn’t like anyone badmouthing him, no matter how he is, she loves him just as much.

Why they were important in our society. His eyebrow remained in his hairline as he watched me. “And what the hell does that have to do with wine?” He asked, the stoic tone already lessening. Blowing out a long breath, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Some of them like rating food. Think that their tastebuds are holier-than-thou. So they criticize food and drinks and the likes. And somehow they make a mean ass living whilst doing it.” His mouth perked up into a large smile. Eyes gleamed before he chuckled. “Maybe its better that I’m not well-versed in everyday shit, then, if that’s the bullshit you have to deal with on a daily basis.”

I knew at that moment that I had just crossed my boundary. ////////////////////////////////// Okay, so I have decided to give each chapter a status Frenzy(easy to write) Cranky( not easy) Frenzy but a little Cranky, you know what that is. This is imperfection, the first trilogy.

The lady moaned in pain swearing under her breathe, she stood up brushing off her dress. "What's your problem dude, you couldn't see or what?" Alex blinked, completely taken aback. "Uh, excuse me missus, you ran into me. I was on my own riding peacefully and you Mrs-let-me-bump-into-innocent-guys-riding-bicycle just ran into me! So that question should be directed at..." The words in his mouth froze when he looked at her. "Oh my, you're really beautiful." "Why thank you Mister," She said sarcastically eyeing him, then turned to walk away.

I'd made another comment about how his creative messiness needed to include consideration for shared space. The fight escalated from there. "This is you trying to manage me," Eli said. "It's you reverting to the dynamic where you're in charge and I'm supposed to conform to your standards." "It's not about managing you," I said. "It's about shared responsibility." "It would be if you asked instead of demanded," Eli said. "But you don't ask. You critique. And then you act like I'm the unreasonable one for not accepting the critique." He was right. I was reverting to my old patterns. I was criticizing rather than communicating. I w

"Yes?" "There are people saying your designs are overrated." She smiled. "Fortunately they are under no obligation to buy them." Several journalists laughed. The reporter tried again. "But doesn't criticism bother you?" "It depends." "On?" "Whether it's useful." She leaned slightly toward the microphone. "The stitching weakens after repeated use," the reporter says. She nodded. "Now we are having a productive conversation. Bring the product; I dare anyone." Roman chuckled. "She just gave him a lesson."

Noelle's stomach lurched like an ungainly acrobat. Compliments were rare blessings, and even when given, they lacked the enchantment that Julian managed to weave when he spoke. They were meant. They were not just given for bland encouragement. 'I believe criticism is far more easily achieved,' Noelle thought, stretching the cramp in his leg that had become a reality. 'He has eyes like an eagle and spots every error I make without fail. Those critiques were given freely; the praise was harder to come by. But that makes it even more fulfilling.'

“If he’s going to critique my work, he can at least earn it.” Kai’s brows lifted slightly. Interest. Good. He picked up the paper. Silence stretched as he read. Then... “This part,” he said, tapping a section, “your argument collapses here.” “It doesn’t collapse,” I countered immediately. “It redirects.” “It weakens.” “It expands.” “It loses structure.” “It challenges structure.” He paused. Looked up at me. Really looked this time. Not dismissive. Not amused. Focused. “…You’re reframing the premise,” he said slowly.

“I’m more interested in Thoughts safety.” “You made it clear to me you fear the effects of what the pure-bloods death may entail for the rest of this world I care nothing about,” he purrs, a sick, predatory smile crossing his features, making my stomach turn uneasily. “Subsequently, Thought will be safe.” “And risk ruining your mate's life?” I question, remembering his one weakness that overrides even his darkest desires for revenge.