Eragon
Here's an interview I had with my "spiritual mentor", who is (In my opinion) a pretentious yet highly entertaining writer who writes modern fantasy novels. His stories were the first books I ever read out of my own, and not forced down my throat.
I caught him on a chat program, and decided to do an interview with him regarding Eragon.
He hasn't read the novel itself, so I had to quote snippets from the book myself. It was a fairly tedious job, but his reponses were worth it.
(I initially linked him to the map of Alagaesia)
Me: Here's the story's map.
Him: It looks nice.
Me: The desert is next to the forest.
Him: Discharging lightening bolts from your fingertips is logical and realistic.
Me: ...
Him: ^^
Me: So, this story is basically a self-insert, along with an insert for his sister. Both are untouchable and out of context.
Him: Don't give me your opinion. Give me the story.
Me: This is the author's words!
Him: ...Oh.
Me: Here's the prologue:
Shade of Fear.
Wind howled through the night, carrying a scent that would change the world.
Him: *snort*
Me: I know.
Him: What?
Me: It's awkward.
Him: It is, but I was remembering how you always almost start your stories with wind.
Me: ><
Him: *Fart* The hero yawned.
Me: You take the word 'inappropriate' to a new level.
Him: Go on.
Me:
A tall Shade lifted his head and sniffed the air. He looked human except for his crimson hair and maroon eyes.
Him: Can't humans have crimson hair?
Me: Maroon eyes?
Him: Itachi rocks, you know.
Me: Pfft.
Him: Go on, man. We only did a paragraph.
Me:
He blinked in surprise. The message had been correct: they were here. Or was it a trap?
Him: Who wrote this shit?
Me:
He weighed the odds, then said icily, "Spread out; hide behind trees and bushes. Stop whoever is coming...or die."
Him: Is this one of your old stories?
Me: No.
Him: I would've dropped seventeen pegs of "Faith in Humanity" if it was you.
Me: It isn't me.
Him: It's so cheesy...I'm having indigestion. I'm serious.
Me: XD
Him: Go on.
Me:
Around him shuffled twelve Urgals with
Him: WTF
Me: Picture Orcs.
Him: Tolkien Orcs?
Me: With horns.
Him: Zelda Moblin things?
Me: Yes! Exactly.
Him: Great job, Abdul. Now I can't take them seriously at all.
Me: There's description.
Him: Good God...
Me: Stop hitting interrupt.
Around him shuffled twelve Urgals with short swords and round iron shields painted with black symbols.
*Interrupt*
Him: Now I seriously can't take them seriously.
Me: Kindly shut up. Let me continue.
They resembled men with bowled legs and thick, brutish arms made for crushing. A pair of twisted horns grew above their small ears. The monsters hurried into the bush, grunting as they hid. Soon the rustling quieted and the forest was silent again.
Him: "Made for crushing?"
Me: That's what the book says.
Him: It's PUBLISHED?
Me: Yeah.
Him: Is this a DnD campaign?
Me: No, it's a trilogy with a fanbase.
Him: "Grunting as they hid," makes me picture pigs being crammed into a barn.
Me: XDDD
The Shade peered around a thick tree and looked up the trail. It was too dark for any human to see, but for him the faint moonlight was like sunshine streaming through the trees; every detail was sharp and clear to his searching gaze.
Him: Damn purple prose.
Me:
He remained unnaturally quiet--
Him: And again, "Humans can't see, can't hear, can't act as well as my powerful race/creature/thing I established." Woe be to humanity. How did they ever survive?
Me: Don't be a hypocrite: Remember your psychic twins.
Him: Touche', but they weren't stronger than human beings.
Me: Whatever.
Him: Do you like this?!
Me:
He remained unnaturally quiet, a long pale sword in his hand. A wire-thin scratch curved down the blade. The weapon was thin enough to slip between a pair of ribs, yet stout enough to hack through the hardest armor.
Him: The Purple Prose!! IT BURNSS!!!
I don't care about the sword, man.
Me: Now to Steve Urkel.
Him: As if picturing moblins wasn't enough. Now a guy with nerdy glasses comes to view.
Me:
The Urgals could not see as well as the Shade; they groped like blind beggers, fumbling with their weapons. An owl screeched, cutting through the silence.
Him: Wait. Where's this on the map again?
Me: ...A forest?
Him: The big one?
Me: I guess.
Him: Ok. The mental image of Steve Urkel blindly fumbling around in foliage is greatly amusing.
Me:
No one relaxed until the bird flew past. Then the monsters shivered in the cold night; one snapped a twig with his heavy boot.
The Shade hissed in anger, and the Urgals shrank back, motionless. He suppressed his distate-they smelled like fetid meat- and turned away. They were tools, nothing more.
Him: I cannot describe, with all the languages in the world, how much I want this paragraph to be obliterated from the earth's surface.
Me:
The Shade forced back
Him: I mean seriously. What IS this?
Me: It's a fantasy story.
Him: No, it isn't.
Me: Despite the problems in the writing itself, this prologue does set up the environment well.
Him: Maybe, but a prologue should give more than an introduction to a man and a lot of Urkels.
Me: Let me continue, and then you will have your reply.
Him: Fine.
Me:
The Shade forced back his impatience as the minutes became hours. The scent must have wafted far ahead of its owners. He did not let the Urgals get up or warm themselves. He denied himself those luxuries, too, and stayed back behind the tree, watching the trail. Another gust of wind rushed through the forest. The smell was stronger this time. Excited, he lifted a thin lip in a snarl.
"Get ready," he whispered, his whole body vibrating. The tip of his sword moved in small circles. It had taken many plots and much pain to bring himself to this moment. It would not do to lose control now.
Him: It took many deaths and pain to bring this scene to life.
Me:
Eyes brightened under the Urgals' thick brows, and the creatures gripped their weapons tighter. Ahead of them, the Shade heard a clink as something hard stuck a loose stone. Faint smudges emerged from the darkenss and advanced down the trail.
Three white horses with riders
*Interrupt*
Him: THE GUD GUYZ
Me:
Three white horses with riders cantered toward the ambush, their heads held high and proud, their coats rippling in the moonlight like liquid silver.
*Interrupt*
Him: Whose coats?
Me: The Elves.
Him: Elves? Cool!
Me: Not Tolkien Elves.
Him: Santa Elves?
Me: No, long, beautiful Elves, who are all vegans and don't like to wear clothes a lot.
Him:...Tolkien elves on steroids?
Me:
On the first horse was an elf with pointed ears
Him: That was a lame description. I can already foresee lavishing description on their horses' shiny heels, their weapons and their speechpatters instead of what they are.
Me:
On the first horse was an elf with pointed ears and elegantly slanted eyebrows. His build was slim but strong, like a rapier.
Him: Dear God...
Me;
A powerful bow was slung on his back. A sword pressed against his side opposite a quiver of arrows fletched with swan feathers.
The last rider had the same fair face and angled features as the other. He carried a long spear in his right hand and a white dagger at his belt. A helm of extrordinary craftsmanship, wrought with amber and gold, rested on his head.
Crap, my wrist is killing me.
Him: My brain is killing me. Why can't the writer just say, "They were armed and clad in studded leather"? It gives a better mental image by already prepared escorts or something rather than individually striking out an object or so. It's like saying "Aragorn had a longsword, a dagger in his boot pocket, a bow, and provisions" instead of "Aragorn's was armed" and then pull out the weapons in a reasonable pace?
Me: You're assuming that the guy who wrote this knows Lord of the Rings.
Him: He doesn't?
Me: He knows names...and silver ships.
Him: ...Do Elves have the same names they have in Middle-Earth?
Me: No. Just close.
Him: ...Is the last rider just wearing a helmet?
Me: No, he's also wearing a coat.
Between the two rode a raven-haired elven lady, who surveyed her surroundings with poise. Framed with long black locks, her deep eyes shone with a driving force. Her clothes were unadorned, yet her beauty was undiminished. At her side was a sword, and on her back a long bow with a quiver. She carried on her lap a pouch that she frequently looked at, as if to reassure herself that it was still there.
Him: 66.6 bucks tell me that the pouch contains something not relevant to the plot.
Me: You're on.
One of the elves spoke quietly, but the Shade could not hear what was said. The lady answered with obvious authority, and her guards switched places. The one wearing the helm took the lead, shifting his spear to a readier grip. They passed
Him: Am I the only one who reads something sexual here?
Me: You haven't heard of meat fics.
That's it for now!
I caught him on a chat program, and decided to do an interview with him regarding Eragon.
He hasn't read the novel itself, so I had to quote snippets from the book myself. It was a fairly tedious job, but his reponses were worth it.
(I initially linked him to the map of Alagaesia)
Me: Here's the story's map.
Him: It looks nice.
Me: The desert is next to the forest.
Him: Discharging lightening bolts from your fingertips is logical and realistic.
Me: ...
Him: ^^
Me: So, this story is basically a self-insert, along with an insert for his sister. Both are untouchable and out of context.
Him: Don't give me your opinion. Give me the story.
Me: This is the author's words!
Him: ...Oh.
Me: Here's the prologue:
Shade of Fear.
Wind howled through the night, carrying a scent that would change the world.
Him: *snort*
Me: I know.
Him: What?
Me: It's awkward.
Him: It is, but I was remembering how you always almost start your stories with wind.
Me: ><
Him: *Fart* The hero yawned.
Me: You take the word 'inappropriate' to a new level.
Him: Go on.
Me:
A tall Shade lifted his head and sniffed the air. He looked human except for his crimson hair and maroon eyes.
Him: Can't humans have crimson hair?
Me: Maroon eyes?
Him: Itachi rocks, you know.
Me: Pfft.
Him: Go on, man. We only did a paragraph.
Me:
He blinked in surprise. The message had been correct: they were here. Or was it a trap?
Him: Who wrote this shit?
Me:
He weighed the odds, then said icily, "Spread out; hide behind trees and bushes. Stop whoever is coming...or die."
Him: Is this one of your old stories?
Me: No.
Him: I would've dropped seventeen pegs of "Faith in Humanity" if it was you.
Me: It isn't me.
Him: It's so cheesy...I'm having indigestion. I'm serious.
Me: XD
Him: Go on.
Me:
Around him shuffled twelve Urgals with
Him: WTF
Me: Picture Orcs.
Him: Tolkien Orcs?
Me: With horns.
Him: Zelda Moblin things?
Me: Yes! Exactly.
Him: Great job, Abdul. Now I can't take them seriously at all.
Me: There's description.
Him: Good God...
Me: Stop hitting interrupt.
Around him shuffled twelve Urgals with short swords and round iron shields painted with black symbols.
*Interrupt*
Him: Now I seriously can't take them seriously.
Me: Kindly shut up. Let me continue.
They resembled men with bowled legs and thick, brutish arms made for crushing. A pair of twisted horns grew above their small ears. The monsters hurried into the bush, grunting as they hid. Soon the rustling quieted and the forest was silent again.
Him: "Made for crushing?"
Me: That's what the book says.
Him: It's PUBLISHED?
Me: Yeah.
Him: Is this a DnD campaign?
Me: No, it's a trilogy with a fanbase.
Him: "Grunting as they hid," makes me picture pigs being crammed into a barn.
Me: XDDD
The Shade peered around a thick tree and looked up the trail. It was too dark for any human to see, but for him the faint moonlight was like sunshine streaming through the trees; every detail was sharp and clear to his searching gaze.
Him: Damn purple prose.
Me:
He remained unnaturally quiet--
Him: And again, "Humans can't see, can't hear, can't act as well as my powerful race/creature/thing I established." Woe be to humanity. How did they ever survive?
Me: Don't be a hypocrite: Remember your psychic twins.
Him: Touche', but they weren't stronger than human beings.
Me: Whatever.
Him: Do you like this?!
Me:
He remained unnaturally quiet, a long pale sword in his hand. A wire-thin scratch curved down the blade. The weapon was thin enough to slip between a pair of ribs, yet stout enough to hack through the hardest armor.
Him: The Purple Prose!! IT BURNSS!!!
I don't care about the sword, man.
Me: Now to Steve Urkel.
Him: As if picturing moblins wasn't enough. Now a guy with nerdy glasses comes to view.
Me:
The Urgals could not see as well as the Shade; they groped like blind beggers, fumbling with their weapons. An owl screeched, cutting through the silence.
Him: Wait. Where's this on the map again?
Me: ...A forest?
Him: The big one?
Me: I guess.
Him: Ok. The mental image of Steve Urkel blindly fumbling around in foliage is greatly amusing.
Me:
No one relaxed until the bird flew past. Then the monsters shivered in the cold night; one snapped a twig with his heavy boot.
The Shade hissed in anger, and the Urgals shrank back, motionless. He suppressed his distate-they smelled like fetid meat- and turned away. They were tools, nothing more.
Him: I cannot describe, with all the languages in the world, how much I want this paragraph to be obliterated from the earth's surface.
Me:
The Shade forced back
Him: I mean seriously. What IS this?
Me: It's a fantasy story.
Him: No, it isn't.
Me: Despite the problems in the writing itself, this prologue does set up the environment well.
Him: Maybe, but a prologue should give more than an introduction to a man and a lot of Urkels.
Me: Let me continue, and then you will have your reply.
Him: Fine.
Me:
The Shade forced back his impatience as the minutes became hours. The scent must have wafted far ahead of its owners. He did not let the Urgals get up or warm themselves. He denied himself those luxuries, too, and stayed back behind the tree, watching the trail. Another gust of wind rushed through the forest. The smell was stronger this time. Excited, he lifted a thin lip in a snarl.
"Get ready," he whispered, his whole body vibrating. The tip of his sword moved in small circles. It had taken many plots and much pain to bring himself to this moment. It would not do to lose control now.
Him: It took many deaths and pain to bring this scene to life.
Me:
Eyes brightened under the Urgals' thick brows, and the creatures gripped their weapons tighter. Ahead of them, the Shade heard a clink as something hard stuck a loose stone. Faint smudges emerged from the darkenss and advanced down the trail.
Three white horses with riders
*Interrupt*
Him: THE GUD GUYZ
Me:
Three white horses with riders cantered toward the ambush, their heads held high and proud, their coats rippling in the moonlight like liquid silver.
*Interrupt*
Him: Whose coats?
Me: The Elves.
Him: Elves? Cool!
Me: Not Tolkien Elves.
Him: Santa Elves?
Me: No, long, beautiful Elves, who are all vegans and don't like to wear clothes a lot.
Him:...Tolkien elves on steroids?
Me:
On the first horse was an elf with pointed ears
Him: That was a lame description. I can already foresee lavishing description on their horses' shiny heels, their weapons and their speechpatters instead of what they are.
Me:
On the first horse was an elf with pointed ears and elegantly slanted eyebrows. His build was slim but strong, like a rapier.
Him: Dear God...
Me;
A powerful bow was slung on his back. A sword pressed against his side opposite a quiver of arrows fletched with swan feathers.
The last rider had the same fair face and angled features as the other. He carried a long spear in his right hand and a white dagger at his belt. A helm of extrordinary craftsmanship, wrought with amber and gold, rested on his head.
Crap, my wrist is killing me.
Him: My brain is killing me. Why can't the writer just say, "They were armed and clad in studded leather"? It gives a better mental image by already prepared escorts or something rather than individually striking out an object or so. It's like saying "Aragorn had a longsword, a dagger in his boot pocket, a bow, and provisions" instead of "Aragorn's was armed" and then pull out the weapons in a reasonable pace?
Me: You're assuming that the guy who wrote this knows Lord of the Rings.
Him: He doesn't?
Me: He knows names...and silver ships.
Him: ...Do Elves have the same names they have in Middle-Earth?
Me: No. Just close.
Him: ...Is the last rider just wearing a helmet?
Me: No, he's also wearing a coat.
Between the two rode a raven-haired elven lady, who surveyed her surroundings with poise. Framed with long black locks, her deep eyes shone with a driving force. Her clothes were unadorned, yet her beauty was undiminished. At her side was a sword, and on her back a long bow with a quiver. She carried on her lap a pouch that she frequently looked at, as if to reassure herself that it was still there.
Him: 66.6 bucks tell me that the pouch contains something not relevant to the plot.
Me: You're on.
One of the elves spoke quietly, but the Shade could not hear what was said. The lady answered with obvious authority, and her guards switched places. The one wearing the helm took the lead, shifting his spear to a readier grip. They passed
Him: Am I the only one who reads something sexual here?
Me: You haven't heard of meat fics.
That's it for now!