Webnovel Feedback Roasts For the Fearless

[Hsinat]

Oh, you, you magnificent, chaotic, internet-gremlin of a author. What exactly are you trying to do in that webnovel? I’ll admit, when I clicked open your story, I came in ready for madness, ready to solve conspiracies, untangle mysteries, and—if I was lucky—maybe even laugh at a clever genre bending meme or two. Instead, what I got was four chapters of literary dodgeball, where every word felt like it was thrown at my face at 100 miles per hour, daring me to understand it without suffering brain damage. You said if I can solve the central mystery in 3 chapters, but I will ask you back: did you made me to persuade to solve exactly that after 3 chapters?

Spoiler alert: I’m concussed, delayed this roast for 3 days, and I want 9% beer after this roast.

Let me be clear—post-postmodernism is my jam. I like stories that bend the rules, mock the very idea of narrative structure, and drown the reader in meta-commentary until they’re gasping for air without collapsing into white noise. But, there's always a but, post-postmodernism is dangerous territory. If you don’t do it with precision, you don’t just lose the reader—you bury them alive under an avalanche of references and irony, and look at it, that’s exactly what you did.

You’re not writing for a normie, and honestly, that’s okay. Normies were never going to make it past Chapter One. Too bad you’re not writing for anyone who reads with their brain turned on either. Your ideal reader seems to be some strange hybrid of a 4chan oldfag who moonlights as an Umineko scholar, a terminally online Vtuber addict, and anon who thinks irony is a food group because it is only food it sees on the web. That’s a… very niche audience. Cool, right? And you’ve made no effort to extend a lifeline to anyone who falls outside that bubble.

You might think that’s a flex—"Look at me, my writing’s not for everyone!"—but what it really does is cut off your ethos at the knees. Your authority as a proper storyteller only works if your reader cares about what’s happening, and for that to happen, they need to feel like they’re part of the world you’re building. Instead, you’ve put up a giant sign that reads: “Exclusive Club for Memelords Only, Cringelords Beware.” If you’re not fluent in shitposting and unhinged Umineko references, you’re going to stare at this story, furrow your brow, and mutter: “Huh. Weird. Drop.”

Trust me, I tried to care, I wanted to care. You made it impossible. When you introduce a mystery, you have to give the reader a reason to solve it. You didn’t. You laid out your “mystery” like a half-eaten pizza—no explanation, no context, just a cryptic mess of half-baked clues and smug self-awareness. Sure, you dropped hints about conspiracies, goat-headed girls (on which I didn't find any connection to current story), and shadowy figures like La Monarquía, but without any emotional or intellectual stakes besides "lmao lol", why would I give a damn? If I don’t care about your characters, why should I care about the mystery?

And speaking of characters—what in the fresh hell is going on with them? Madison Delaroux, your purple-haired, shitposting chaos engine, is a walking meme with the energy of a caffeinated raccoon. Ayano Sane? She’s the tired, long-suffering straight man who probably has PTSD from dealing with Madison’s nonsense. Valerie? The elegant ojou-sama with magic tricks and secret knowledge. They’re fun on the surface—sure—but only on the surface. Here’s the problem: you assume I already know them. You act like these characters are old friends I’ve been hanging out with for years. But guess what? I don’t know them at all.

By Chapter Four, I’m still sitting there like a confused guest at a dinner party, trying to figure out who’s who and what their deal is. Oh, they went on an adventure together? Great! Too bad I wasn’t invited. Oh, Valerie’s part of some secret order called [Trono Palido]? Cool, I guess! Why should I care? Without context, backstory, or emotional connection, these characters are just noise.

And because I don’t care about your characters, the pathos of your story falls flat. I’m not invested in their struggle, I’m not rooting for them to succeed, and I certainly don’t feel any sense of urgency when they talk about (((Them))) (are (((they))) with big crooked noses or what?), or La Monarquía. The stakes feel like an inside joke I’m not in on—“Hey, remember that time we fought goatgirls in suits? LOL, classic!” No, I don’t remember that. And I’m not going to go back and read your other works to figure it out. If your story can’t stand on its own, that’s a problem.

Now, let’s talk about your target audience. Ask yourself this: Who are you writing for?
Is it for the 4chan oldfag who still worships Umineko and gets nostalgic about long-dead forums? Maybe. Is it for the terminally online Vtuber fan who thinks sleep is a suggestion and memes are the only form of communication? Probably. Is it for the “mystery enthusiast” who likes to read with their brain turned on and figure out the complex mechanics of a story? Absolutely not. Your writing isn’t for them at all. And here’s the kicker—it’s not even really for me, someone who loves post-postmodern storytelling and understands all your references.

The truth is, you’re writing for both and neither at the same time. You want the meme-brained degenerates to eat this up with a spoon, but you also want the intellectual post-postmodern crowd to stand back and admire your cleverness. But I don't think you did it for those intellectuals, so scratch that, but not entirely, for this reasoning. If it's like so, the meme crowd needs a brain-off reading experience—simple, fast, chaotic. The post-postmodern crowd needs structure—something that holds up under analysis. You gave me a frustrating blend of both, and it failed to persuade me to keep reading.

If you wanted me to solve your mystery, you would’ve made your opening approachable or give me the reason to care about your shitposting ladies. You would’ve laid out some emotional stakes, some reason to care, something that whispered in my ear, “Keep going. You’ll find what you’re looking for.” Instead, you handed me a tangle of half-revealed lore and meta-commentary a la Umineko and expected me to untangle it just because LOL MAGIC TRUTH COLOR-CODED SYSTEM.

I’m not going to give you suggestions on how to fix this, because honestly? I don’t “get it” in the way you want me to. This is too deeply tied to your authorial style, your niche audience, and your personal obsession with Umineko and 4chan. I can’t tell you how to change it without breaking what makes it yours. So instead, I’ll just say this: you failed your persuasion check. You had four chapters to convince me, and you didn’t.

Take the L. Wear it with pride. Maybe your ideal reader is out there, waiting to devour your work with brain fully shut off and meme receptors set to maximum. Maybe they’ll love it. Me? I’m moving on to write another roast.

Bro's here serving the whole Thanksgiving dinner, while we are on the sidelines, watching him gobble down that turkey.

 

[HouseDelarouxScribbles]

Oh, you, you magnificent, chaotic, internet-gremlin of a author. What exactly are you trying to do in that webnovel? I’ll admit, when I clicked open your story, I came in ready for madness, ready to solve conspiracies, untangle mysteries, and—if I was lucky—maybe even laugh at a clever genre bending meme or two. Instead, what I got was four chapters of literary dodgeball, where every word felt like it was thrown at my face at 100 miles per hour, daring me to understand it without suffering brain damage. You said if I can solve the central mystery in 3 chapters, but I will ask you back: did you made me to persuade to solve exactly that after 3 chapters?

Spoiler alert: I’m concussed, delayed this roast for 3 days, and I want 9% beer after this roast.

Let me be clear—post-postmodernism is my jam. I like stories that bend the rules, mock the very idea of narrative structure, and drown the reader in meta-commentary until they’re gasping for air without collapsing into white noise. But, there's always a but, post-postmodernism is dangerous territory. If you don’t do it with precision, you don’t just lose the reader—you bury them alive under an avalanche of references and irony, and look at it, that’s exactly what you did.

You’re not writing for a normie, and honestly, that’s okay. Normies were never going to make it past Chapter One. Too bad you’re not writing for anyone who reads with their brain turned on either. Your ideal reader seems to be some strange hybrid of a 4chan oldfag who moonlights as an Umineko scholar, a terminally online Vtuber addict, and anon who thinks irony is a food group because it is only food it sees on the web. That’s a… very niche audience. Cool, right? And you’ve made no effort to extend a lifeline to anyone who falls outside that bubble.

You might think that’s a flex—"Look at me, my writing’s not for everyone!"—but what it really does is cut off your ethos at the knees. Your authority as a proper storyteller only works if your reader cares about what’s happening, and for that to happen, they need to feel like they’re part of the world you’re building. Instead, you’ve put up a giant sign that reads: “Exclusive Club for Memelords Only, Cringelords Beware.” If you’re not fluent in shitposting and unhinged Umineko references, you’re going to stare at this story, furrow your brow, and mutter: “Huh. Weird. Drop.”

Trust me, I tried to care, I wanted to care. You made it impossible. When you introduce a mystery, you have to give the reader a reason to solve it. You didn’t. You laid out your “mystery” like a half-eaten pizza—no explanation, no context, just a cryptic mess of half-baked clues and smug self-awareness. Sure, you dropped hints about conspiracies, goat-headed girls (on which I didn't find any connection to current story), and shadowy figures like La Monarquía, but without any emotional or intellectual stakes besides "lmao lol", why would I give a damn? If I don’t care about your characters, why should I care about the mystery?

And speaking of characters—what in the fresh hell is going on with them? Madison Delaroux, your purple-haired, shitposting chaos engine, is a walking meme with the energy of a caffeinated raccoon. Ayano Sane? She’s the tired, long-suffering straight man who probably has PTSD from dealing with Madison’s nonsense. Valerie? The elegant ojou-sama with magic tricks and secret knowledge. They’re fun on the surface—sure—but only on the surface. Here’s the problem: you assume I already know them. You act like these characters are old friends I’ve been hanging out with for years. But guess what? I don’t know them at all.

By Chapter Four, I’m still sitting there like a confused guest at a dinner party, trying to figure out who’s who and what their deal is. Oh, they went on an adventure together? Great! Too bad I wasn’t invited. Oh, Valerie’s part of some secret order called [Trono Palido]? Cool, I guess! Why should I care? Without context, backstory, or emotional connection, these characters are just noise.

And because I don’t care about your characters, the pathos of your story falls flat. I’m not invested in their struggle, I’m not rooting for them to succeed, and I certainly don’t feel any sense of urgency when they talk about (((Them))) (are (((they))) with big crooked noses or what?), or La Monarquía. The stakes feel like an inside joke I’m not in on—“Hey, remember that time we fought goatgirls in suits? LOL, classic!” No, I don’t remember that. And I’m not going to go back and read your other works to figure it out. If your story can’t stand on its own, that’s a problem.

Now, let’s talk about your target audience. Ask yourself this: Who are you writing for?
Is it for the 4chan oldfag who still worships Umineko and gets nostalgic about long-dead forums? Maybe. Is it for the terminally online Vtuber fan who thinks sleep is a suggestion and memes are the only form of communication? Probably. Is it for the “mystery enthusiast” who likes to read with their brain turned on and figure out the complex mechanics of a story? Absolutely not. Your writing isn’t for them at all. And here’s the kicker—it’s not even really for me, someone who loves post-postmodern storytelling and understands all your references.

The truth is, you’re writing for both and neither at the same time. You want the meme-brained degenerates to eat this up with a spoon, but you also want the intellectual post-postmodern crowd to stand back and admire your cleverness. But I don't think you did it for those intellectuals, so scratch that, but not entirely, for this reasoning. If it's like so, the meme crowd needs a brain-off reading experience—simple, fast, chaotic. The post-postmodern crowd needs structure—something that holds up under analysis. You gave me a frustrating blend of both, and it failed to persuade me to keep reading.

If you wanted me to solve your mystery, you would’ve made your opening approachable or give me the reason to care about your shitposting ladies. You would’ve laid out some emotional stakes, some reason to care, something that whispered in my ear, “Keep going. You’ll find what you’re looking for.” Instead, you handed me a tangle of half-revealed lore and meta-commentary a la Umineko and expected me to untangle it just because LOL MAGIC TRUTH COLOR-CODED SYSTEM.

I’m not going to give you suggestions on how to fix this, because honestly? I don’t “get it” in the way you want me to. This is too deeply tied to your authorial style, your niche audience, and your personal obsession with Umineko and 4chan. I can’t tell you how to change it without breaking what makes it yours. So instead, I’ll just say this: you failed your persuasion check. You had four chapters to convince me, and you didn’t.

Take the L. Wear it with pride. Maybe your ideal reader is out there, waiting to devour your work with brain fully shut off and meme receptors set to maximum. Maybe they’ll love it. Me? I’m moving on to write another roast.

Hooray! I got a reply! Thanks for the laughs, I don't have much in gold bars (since I converted it all to credit card cash), so here's a gif of a witch dancing on Batora's grave as thanks!

For the Great-Witches reading this, Notice how the reader subtly dodged the 'Does magick exist?' question? kihihihi!

 

[AdOtherwise]

Are you one of those brave souls who believe your manuscript is teetering on perfection but still wake up at 3 a.m. knowing deep down it’s a disaster? Good. You’re my favorite kind of writer. I’m here to roast your work—scorch it until the ashes look usable. Think of me as the Gordon Ramsay of prose, minus the condescension and fake praise. If your story’s dialogue sounds like two malfunctioning robots reciting a phrasebook, or your pacing moves like a snail overdosed on melatonin, I’ll say so. And you’ll thank me. (Eventually.)

I won’t pat your ego or whisper empty affirmations about how your “raw passion” is shining through. I’ll wield my critiques like a rusty spork and perform open-heart surgery on your prose—messy, necessary, and unforgettable. Don’t worry; you’ll survive. Growth always hurts. But so does realizing your novel reads like someone fell asleep on a keyboard.

If you think your manuscript is ready for tough love, I’ll give it to you straight—no sugar, no spoon. You’ll cry, sure, but you’ll also crawl out of the wreckage stronger. Because what doesn’t kill your manuscript will absolutely make it publishable.

Think you can handle it? Drop your link below. Let’s fix your words before they become tomorrow’s filler on this website.

Lowly Ascent

Within a desolate realm, where discarded worlds were stitched together, a rupture tore open, releasing a small child into the fragmented expanse. Above him, the sky revealed three eerie moons, while an ominous black mass loomed ominously in their wake. Disoriented and engulfed by a putrid...

www.scribblehub.com

 

[MrMeowMeow]

Are you one of those brave souls who believe your manuscript is teetering on perfection but still wake up at 3 a.m. knowing deep down it’s a disaster? Good. You’re my favorite kind of writer. I’m here to roast your work—scorch it until the ashes look usable. Think of me as the Gordon Ramsay of prose, minus the condescension and fake praise. If your story’s dialogue sounds like two malfunctioning robots reciting a phrasebook, or your pacing moves like a snail overdosed on melatonin, I’ll say so. And you’ll thank me. (Eventually.)

I won’t pat your ego or whisper empty affirmations about how your “raw passion” is shining through. I’ll wield my critiques like a rusty spork and perform open-heart surgery on your prose—messy, necessary, and unforgettable. Don’t worry; you’ll survive. Growth always hurts. But so does realizing your novel reads like someone fell asleep on a keyboard.

If you think your manuscript is ready for tough love, I’ll give it to you straight—no sugar, no spoon. You’ll cry, sure, but you’ll also crawl out of the wreckage stronger. Because what doesn’t kill your manuscript will absolutely make it publishable.

Think you can handle it? Drop your link below. Let’s fix your words before they become tomorrow’s filler on this website.

You can roast me.

Mind Chatter

In a distant future, a man is resurrected after seven thousand years, his body rebuilt with machinery and his past reduced to fragmented memories. He is told he’s the first successful resurrection in history—but soon, he realizes the truth. This isn’t the first time. He has died...

www.scribblehub.com

 

[SuperSubway]

Not to be harmed here. This entire thread is a lot more entertaining to read than most FanFictions.

And here I'm going to congratulate @Tempokai as the Ethos ScribbleHub of Packgod.
Take that as a compliment.

I'm here only as a reader in SH. So, please, I will give a red carpet to any author willing to roast their story.

 

[Tempokai]

Feel to roast one of mine!

I did it. I read three chapters of The Once & Future Queen. After three days of sitting on my tabs like an annoying reminder that I need to write roasts instead of writing my own webnovel, I gave you every chance. I went in with an open mind, prepared to see brilliance or, at the very least, something entertaining, but what I got instead was a villainous girlboss with a god complex and zero charm that doesn't make me feel good. You have committed the cardinal sin of storytelling—not making me care at all. And that, is why your novel is DOA.

Don’t get me wrong. The synopsis? Passable. Cliché, sure, but in a way that could have worked, as villainess reincarnations are a dime a dozen, but they sell and are in mass demand because we, the readers, either want to watch an underdog rise against the odds or see a master manipulator dominate the chessboard with whatever means possible. We want to see a villainess earn her power, claw her way to the top, play the long game, outthink the world, and maybe—just maybe—redeem herself along the way or go into deepest abyss of being a true evil.

What do you give us instead?

A modern-day tyrant girlboss with all the subtlety of a bulldozer crashing through a disabled children’s hospital, transplanted into a fantasy world where she prepares to face no real struggle because she’s already too powerful, too rich, and too insufferably smug to be remotely interesting because of her knowledge. You didn’t create a compelling villainess—you wrote a self insert.

You expect us to love to love her or love to hate her—but how can we do either when she’s a banal, overindulgent power fantasy with no depth? You wrote a character that exists in a vacuum of consequence, a woman so drunk on her own invincibility that she doesn’t even stop to consider why she does the things she does. What drives her? What motivates her? Who is she beyond “rich, beautiful, and terrifying”? I have no clue, and that's bad.

I would have understood—hell, even respected—a character who rationalized her cruelty with some twisted philosophy like some kind of Yagami Light, a self-justifying monster who at least lies to herself about why she’s awful. But no, that Seraphina (or whatever her original name was before she got dunked into Villainess Isekai #434235) doesn’t even bother. She’s just evil because she can be, cruel because it amuses her, and powerful because… well, why not? It's what the readers of SH want, no?

She’s so cartoonishly vile that I half-expected Hannah Arendt (yes, her) to reincarnate on the spot just to write a philosophical essay about her. The banality of evil, right there, in real time, except instead of a bureaucratic war criminal, it’s just a rich sociopath running a speedrun category for “World’s Most Punchable Face That Isn't Even That Punchable.”

And this—this is where your pathos dies. This is where I, the reader, emotionally disconnect because you ask me to care about a protagonist who has never known struggle, never known doubt, never even had to justify her actions. You ask me to watch a queen sit on a throne she didn’t even have to fight for. Why would I be invested? What’s left for me to root for? Why I would read some yet another mediocre level power fantasy?

Fine, I think to myself. Maybe the writing will carry it. Maybe the prose will be so engaging, so dripping with personality, that I’ll be swept away despite myself, but hell no. Your writing is functional. That’s it. No frills, no flair, just a monotonous play-by-play of events that feel more like an AI-generated audiobook transcript than an actual novel. And oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s clean. Suspiciously clean. That kind of eerie, overpolished prose that suggests either a digital ghostwriter or an editing process so ruthless that any trace of personality has been surgically removed.

And that’s where your ethos dies. Because if you can’t write with style, if your words feel lifeless, then why should I believe in you as a storyteller? There’s nothing gripping, nothing immersive—just competence without soul.

Then, just when I think I’ve suffered enough, you drop the LitRPG stats on me.

Oh, so now we’re a game system? Right, sure, you promised that, and I’m supposed to just suddenly care about numbers on a screen with no emotional buildup, no integration into the story, no reason to be invested in them whatsoever. You just throw them at me like a badly timed pop quiz, as if I’ve been sitting here eagerly awaiting math problems instead of character development.

And then in the chapter 3, the info dumps start dumping info like there's no next chapter to read. I’m sorry, but who told you that world-building is just dumping raw setting information onto the reader like a reader suddenly will care? I don’t care how many duchies exist, I don’t care about the feudal hierarchy, I don’t care about the political structure if I’m not even emotionally attached to the characters. Veteran readers don't come for the plot, they come for characters first, and then the plot itself. If you don't establish the context and emotional connection first, no one will care about the plot itself.

And this—this is where your logos dies. Because when you bombard me with pointless statistics, then drown me in world-building that doesn’t feel alive, my brain shuts off. The story stops being engaging, and now it’s just homework.

Sure, I could forgive all of this—the cold prose, the annoying MC, the pointless info dumps—if I at least felt like you were writing something you believed in. But all I see in these chapters is a writer enamored with the idea of villainous characters without understanding what makes them compelling. A villain isn’t just someone who is evil and gets away with it. A villain isn’t just someone who smirks a lot and steps on people. A villain is someone who makes us feel something—fear, anger, admiration, twisted empathy. They need layers, contradictions, a reason for their existence beyond just “I have power and I use it.”

You didn’t write a villainess. You wrote a rich brat throwing a tantrum in a world where nothing can stop her. And if nothing can stop her… then why should I bother reading?

Look, my advice? Try writing characters who actually struggle. Maybe villains aren’t your strong suit—maybe your natural voice is better suited for morally complex antiheroes, or deeply flawed protagonists who actually grow. I don’t know. But what I do know is that if you ever want readers to stay, you need to learn persuasion.

Persuasion isn’t telling me how powerful your MC is.
Persuasion isn’t expecting me to be impressed by wealth and cruelty.
Persuasion isn’t writing a novel like it’s a Wikipedia entry.

Persuasion is making me care.

And in these three chapters, you failed.

So until you figure that out, I’m not interested in this story in particular. But given that you weren't online for a week, why the hell I'm even writing this roast?

 

[anonjohn20]

given that you weren't online for a week, why the hell I'm even writing this roast?

The dude (or dudette) asked for a roast and dipped

 

[Tempokai]

It's been a while since I could see a user that is actually reading and giving actual roasting (review).

This might sound stupid, but please roast me Tempokai-sama.
https://www.scribblehub.com/series/211234/the-impossible-fate-that-leads-to-a-god-of-a-new-world/

Not sure, but my genre is Fantasy and Sci-Fi. Perhaps a slow burner too.

This webnovel will be your dark history. Period. No amount of revision, no desperate editing, no forced rewrites will erase the sheer literary abomination you have unleashed upon the world. Years from now, when you look back at this, you will not feel pride, nor nostalgia. You will feel shame. The kind of shame that makes people change their names and move to remote villages. The kind of shame that follows you like a curse whispered by the gods of prose. You have not written a novel. You have committed a crime against storytelling.

I read three chapters. Three. And I am now a fundamentally different person. Not because I was enlightened. Not because I was entertained. No, because I have stared into the abyss of literary incompetence, and it has stared back at me. This is not a webnovel. It is not a story. Hell, it’s not even a series of coherent scenes. There are sentences. That’s it. Just a random arrangement of words pretending to be a narrative, like a malfunctioning AI trying to pass a Turing test in storytelling but failing at every conceivable level.

Ever heard of the Library of Babel? The place where every possible combination of letters exists in some infinite, nightmarish archive? This webnovel is one of those cursed books. Not because it contains infinite knowledge, but because it is pure, unfiltered nonsense. Somewhere, an eldritch god is laughing, because you have accidentally written the Necronomicon of bad storytelling.

Let’s start with your synopsis. The first impression, the sales pitch, the thing that is supposed to make the reader interested. Except instead of intriguing your audience, you’ve bludgeoned them with grammatical errors and drowned them in the word "fate" so many times that the concept itself has lost all meaning. Fate. Destiny. Control. We get it. You think you’re deep, but repeating a word like a broken record does not make it profound, if anything, it proves that you have no idea what you're talking about. And the best part? Your synopsis has NOTHING to do with the actual story. It’s like you wrote a completely different novel, realized it was garbage, then scrapped it and started another equally terrible one but forgot to update the description.

There's a thing called Gricean maxims. The thing that makes the communication work as intended. Oh, you slaughtered those. If Paul Grice himself read this, he would die a second time just so he wouldn’t have to analyze the sheer communicative failure happening here. Quantity? You flood us with useless information while telling us nothing. Quality? Oh, that’s a joke—because you’ve written a fantasy novel with the realism of a Saturday morning cartoon made by someone who just learned what "plot" means. Relevance? I don’t even think you know what’s relevant. Manner? Your writing is about as clear as a fogged-up bathroom mirror after a boiling hot shower.

This is where your persuasion game fails. The reader doesn’t expect you to deliver a coherent story. They aren’t invested in your characters. They don’t care about your world. Because your own writing doesn’t care. It’s just words on a screen, empty and meaningless, a collection of sentences desperately pretending to tell a story but ultimately saying absolutely nothing. If we could understand a lion and hear its stories, I guarantee you that even a wild animal, completely unfamiliar with human language, would tell a more coherent, emotionally compelling tale than whatever you’ve vomited onto this page.

There is no saving this webnovel. It is beyond repair, beyond redemption, beyond the reach of even the most merciful of editors. The protagonist? A walking cringe compilation. The worldbuilding? A madman’s fever dream, thrown together with no logic or care. Context? What context? You write as if you are describing scenes from a movie that exists only in your head, without ever explaining what the hell is actually happening. This isn’t visual storytelling. This is an attempt at visual storytelling without visuals or storytelling.

And no, I don’t want to go into details. Because there are no details. There is no proper narrative structure to dissect. Your novel is like a glitching video game where the character keeps walking into walls and falling through the floor. It doesn’t function as a story because it was never designed to function as a story. It is chaos masquerading as literature.

This is what happens when written communication gets abused. When words are flung onto the page without respect, without discipline, without the faintest understanding of what makes a story work. Your novel is the literary equivalent of a house built entirely out of spaghetti noodles and delusion. It doesn’t stand. It doesn’t hold. It crumbles under the weight of its own incompetence.

It must be burned in Gehenna for ever daring to exist. Because this isn’t a webnovel. It isn’t even a failed attempt at a webnovel. It is a cautionary tale, a living nightmare of what happens when someone tries to write a story with zero grasp of storytelling.

You have not written a novel.
You have written an atrocity that made me procrastinate in my job writing this roast instead of actually working.

 

[LuciferVermillion]

This webnovel will be your dark history. Period. No amount of revision, no desperate editing, no forced rewrites will erase the sheer literary abomination you have unleashed upon the world. Years from now, when you look back at this, you will not feel pride, nor nostalgia. You will feel shame. The kind of shame that makes people change their names and move to remote villages. The kind of shame that follows you like a curse whispered by the gods of prose. You have not written a novel. You have committed a crime against storytelling.

I read three chapters. Three. And I am now a fundamentally different person. Not because I was enlightened. Not because I was entertained. No, because I have stared into the abyss of literary incompetence, and it has stared back at me. This is not a webnovel. It is not a story. Hell, it’s not even a series of coherent scenes. There are sentences. That’s it. Just a random arrangement of words pretending to be a narrative, like a malfunctioning AI trying to pass a Turing test in storytelling but failing at every conceivable level.

Ever heard of the Library of Babel? The place where every possible combination of letters exists in some infinite, nightmarish archive? This webnovel is one of those cursed books. Not because it contains infinite knowledge, but because it is pure, unfiltered nonsense. Somewhere, an eldritch god is laughing, because you have accidentally written the Necronomicon of bad storytelling.

Let’s start with your synopsis. The first impression, the sales pitch, the thing that is supposed to make the reader interested. Except instead of intriguing your audience, you’ve bludgeoned them with grammatical errors and drowned them in the word "fate" so many times that the concept itself has lost all meaning. Fate. Destiny. Control. We get it. You think you’re deep, but repeating a word like a broken record does not make it profound, if anything, it proves that you have no idea what you're talking about. And the best part? Your synopsis has NOTHING to do with the actual story. It’s like you wrote a completely different novel, realized it was garbage, then scrapped it and started another equally terrible one but forgot to update the description.

There's a thing called Gricean maxims. The thing that makes the communication work as intended. Oh, you slaughtered those. If Paul Grice himself read this, he would die a second time just so he wouldn’t have to analyze the sheer communicative failure happening here. Quantity? You flood us with useless information while telling us nothing. Quality? Oh, that’s a joke—because you’ve written a fantasy novel with the realism of a Saturday morning cartoon made by someone who just learned what "plot" means. Relevance? I don’t even think you know what’s relevant. Manner? Your writing is about as clear as a fogged-up bathroom mirror after a boiling hot shower.

This is where your persuasion game fails. The reader doesn’t expect you to deliver a coherent story. They aren’t invested in your characters. They don’t care about your world. Because your own writing doesn’t care. It’s just words on a screen, empty and meaningless, a collection of sentences desperately pretending to tell a story but ultimately saying absolutely nothing. If we could understand a lion and hear its stories, I guarantee you that even a wild animal, completely unfamiliar with human language, would tell a more coherent, emotionally compelling tale than whatever you’ve vomited onto this page.

There is no saving this webnovel. It is beyond repair, beyond redemption, beyond the reach of even the most merciful of editors. The protagonist? A walking cringe compilation. The worldbuilding? A madman’s fever dream, thrown together with no logic or care. Context? What context? You write as if you are describing scenes from a movie that exists only in your head, without ever explaining what the hell is actually happening. This isn’t visual storytelling. This is an attempt at visual storytelling without visuals or storytelling.

And no, I don’t want to go into details. Because there are no details. There is no proper narrative structure to dissect. Your novel is like a glitching video game where the character keeps walking into walls and falling through the floor. It doesn’t function as a story because it was never designed to function as a story. It is chaos masquerading as literature.

This is what happens when written communication gets abused. When words are flung onto the page without respect, without discipline, without the faintest understanding of what makes a story work. Your novel is the literary equivalent of a house built entirely out of spaghetti noodles and delusion. It doesn’t stand. It doesn’t hold. It crumbles under the weight of its own incompetence.

It must be burned in Gehenna for ever daring to exist. Because this isn’t a webnovel. It isn’t even a failed attempt at a webnovel. It is a cautionary tale, a living nightmare of what happens when someone tries to write a story with zero grasp of storytelling.

You have not written a novel.
You have written an atrocity that made me procrastinate in my job writing this roast instead of actually working.

Thank you very much Tempokai-sama.

In simpler words, I wasn't able to tell what I was writing in this story.

You see words, you see action, you see scenes, you see what the MC is doing, but when adding all up, it's just a bunch of words forcibly glued together to make a story.

You've no idea what this story is all about: no purpose, no reason, no answer. It's like an abyss.

It's better to scrap this shit than saving it.

Am I understanding correctly?

 

[LuciferVermillion]

You have not written a novel.
You have written an atrocity that made me procrastinate in my job writing this roast instead of actually working.

Shameless of me to request, Tempokai-sama.

Would you care to give this edited prologue another go? Just one. I've tried.
https://www.scribblehub.com/read/21...leads-to-a-god-of-a-new-world/chapter/211238/

 

[Hsinat]

This webnovel will be your dark history. Period. No amount of revision, no desperate editing, no forced rewrites will erase the sheer literary abomination you have unleashed upon the world. Years from now, when you look back at this, you will not feel pride, nor nostalgia. You will feel shame. The kind of shame that makes people change their names and move to remote villages. The kind of shame that follows you like a curse whispered by the gods of prose. You have not written a novel. You have committed a crime against storytelling.

I read three chapters. Three. And I am now a fundamentally different person. Not because I was enlightened. Not because I was entertained. No, because I have stared into the abyss of literary incompetence, and it has stared back at me. This is not a webnovel. It is not a story. Hell, it’s not even a series of coherent scenes. There are sentences. That’s it. Just a random arrangement of words pretending to be a narrative, like a malfunctioning AI trying to pass a Turing test in storytelling but failing at every conceivable level.

Ever heard of the Library of Babel? The place where every possible combination of letters exists in some infinite, nightmarish archive? This webnovel is one of those cursed books. Not because it contains infinite knowledge, but because it is pure, unfiltered nonsense. Somewhere, an eldritch god is laughing, because you have accidentally written the Necronomicon of bad storytelling.

Let’s start with your synopsis. The first impression, the sales pitch, the thing that is supposed to make the reader interested. Except instead of intriguing your audience, you’ve bludgeoned them with grammatical errors and drowned them in the word "fate" so many times that the concept itself has lost all meaning. Fate. Destiny. Control. We get it. You think you’re deep, but repeating a word like a broken record does not make it profound, if anything, it proves that you have no idea what you're talking about. And the best part? Your synopsis has NOTHING to do with the actual story. It’s like you wrote a completely different novel, realized it was garbage, then scrapped it and started another equally terrible one but forgot to update the description.

There's a thing called Gricean maxims. The thing that makes the communication work as intended. Oh, you slaughtered those. If Paul Grice himself read this, he would die a second time just so he wouldn’t have to analyze the sheer communicative failure happening here. Quantity? You flood us with useless information while telling us nothing. Quality? Oh, that’s a joke—because you’ve written a fantasy novel with the realism of a Saturday morning cartoon made by someone who just learned what "plot" means. Relevance? I don’t even think you know what’s relevant. Manner? Your writing is about as clear as a fogged-up bathroom mirror after a boiling hot shower.

This is where your persuasion game fails. The reader doesn’t expect you to deliver a coherent story. They aren’t invested in your characters. They don’t care about your world. Because your own writing doesn’t care. It’s just words on a screen, empty and meaningless, a collection of sentences desperately pretending to tell a story but ultimately saying absolutely nothing. If we could understand a lion and hear its stories, I guarantee you that even a wild animal, completely unfamiliar with human language, would tell a more coherent, emotionally compelling tale than whatever you’ve vomited onto this page.

There is no saving this webnovel. It is beyond repair, beyond redemption, beyond the reach of even the most merciful of editors. The protagonist? A walking cringe compilation. The worldbuilding? A madman’s fever dream, thrown together with no logic or care. Context? What context? You write as if you are describing scenes from a movie that exists only in your head, without ever explaining what the hell is actually happening. This isn’t visual storytelling. This is an attempt at visual storytelling without visuals or storytelling.

And no, I don’t want to go into details. Because there are no details. There is no proper narrative structure to dissect. Your novel is like a glitching video game where the character keeps walking into walls and falling through the floor. It doesn’t function as a story because it was never designed to function as a story. It is chaos masquerading as literature.

This is what happens when written communication gets abused. When words are flung onto the page without respect, without discipline, without the faintest understanding of what makes a story work. Your novel is the literary equivalent of a house built entirely out of spaghetti noodles and delusion. It doesn’t stand. It doesn’t hold. It crumbles under the weight of its own incompetence.

It must be burned in Gehenna for ever daring to exist. Because this isn’t a webnovel. It isn’t even a failed attempt at a webnovel. It is a cautionary tale, a living nightmare of what happens when someone tries to write a story with zero grasp of storytelling.

You have not written a novel.
You have written an atrocity that made me procrastinate in my job writing this roast instead of actually working.

Even though this ain't my work, I feel so ashamed, even behind the screen.

 

[JayMark80]

This webnovel will be your dark history. Period. No amount of revision, no desperate editing, no forced rewrites will erase the sheer literary abomination you have unleashed upon the world. Years from now, when you look back at this, you will not feel pride, nor nostalgia. You will feel shame. The kind of shame that makes people change their names and move to remote villages. The kind of shame that follows you like a curse whispered by the gods of prose. You have not written a novel. You have committed a crime against storytelling.

I read three chapters. Three. And I am now a fundamentally different person. Not because I was enlightened. Not because I was entertained. No, because I have stared into the abyss of literary incompetence, and it has stared back at me. This is not a webnovel. It is not a story. Hell, it’s not even a series of coherent scenes. There are sentences. That’s it. Just a random arrangement of words pretending to be a narrative, like a malfunctioning AI trying to pass a Turing test in storytelling but failing at every conceivable level.

Ever heard of the Library of Babel? The place where every possible combination of letters exists in some infinite, nightmarish archive? This webnovel is one of those cursed books. Not because it contains infinite knowledge, but because it is pure, unfiltered nonsense. Somewhere, an eldritch god is laughing, because you have accidentally written the Necronomicon of bad storytelling.

Let’s start with your synopsis. The first impression, the sales pitch, the thing that is supposed to make the reader interested. Except instead of intriguing your audience, you’ve bludgeoned them with grammatical errors and drowned them in the word "fate" so many times that the concept itself has lost all meaning. Fate. Destiny. Control. We get it. You think you’re deep, but repeating a word like a broken record does not make it profound, if anything, it proves that you have no idea what you're talking about. And the best part? Your synopsis has NOTHING to do with the actual story. It’s like you wrote a completely different novel, realized it was garbage, then scrapped it and started another equally terrible one but forgot to update the description.

There's a thing called Gricean maxims. The thing that makes the communication work as intended. Oh, you slaughtered those. If Paul Grice himself read this, he would die a second time just so he wouldn’t have to analyze the sheer communicative failure happening here. Quantity? You flood us with useless information while telling us nothing. Quality? Oh, that’s a joke—because you’ve written a fantasy novel with the realism of a Saturday morning cartoon made by someone who just learned what "plot" means. Relevance? I don’t even think you know what’s relevant. Manner? Your writing is about as clear as a fogged-up bathroom mirror after a boiling hot shower.

This is where your persuasion game fails. The reader doesn’t expect you to deliver a coherent story. They aren’t invested in your characters. They don’t care about your world. Because your own writing doesn’t care. It’s just words on a screen, empty and meaningless, a collection of sentences desperately pretending to tell a story but ultimately saying absolutely nothing. If we could understand a lion and hear its stories, I guarantee you that even a wild animal, completely unfamiliar with human language, would tell a more coherent, emotionally compelling tale than whatever you’ve vomited onto this page.

There is no saving this webnovel. It is beyond repair, beyond redemption, beyond the reach of even the most merciful of editors. The protagonist? A walking cringe compilation. The worldbuilding? A madman’s fever dream, thrown together with no logic or care. Context? What context? You write as if you are describing scenes from a movie that exists only in your head, without ever explaining what the hell is actually happening. This isn’t visual storytelling. This is an attempt at visual storytelling without visuals or storytelling.

And no, I don’t want to go into details. Because there are no details. There is no proper narrative structure to dissect. Your novel is like a glitching video game where the character keeps walking into walls and falling through the floor. It doesn’t function as a story because it was never designed to function as a story. It is chaos masquerading as literature.

This is what happens when written communication gets abused. When words are flung onto the page without respect, without discipline, without the faintest understanding of what makes a story work. Your novel is the literary equivalent of a house built entirely out of spaghetti noodles and delusion. It doesn’t stand. It doesn’t hold. It crumbles under the weight of its own incompetence.

It must be burned in Gehenna for ever daring to exist. Because this isn’t a webnovel. It isn’t even a failed attempt at a webnovel. It is a cautionary tale, a living nightmare of what happens when someone tries to write a story with zero grasp of storytelling.

You have not written a novel.
You have written an atrocity that made me procrastinate in my job writing this roast instead of actually working.

 

[ThousandDaos]

I have 3 systems: Divine Beast, Divine Sect, Divine Search | Scribble Hub
Use your powerful Dao of review to evaluate my scripture. Help me refine it and make it sacred.

 

[tobascoasako]

Thank you!

 

[Shelbie]

Is litRPG and multiple-genre stories an automatic disqualification? I mean, the genre is superheroes, which kinda opens the door to pretty much any genre, but I have a story I am thinking of putting up called 'The Human Meatball' that is as much an absolute criticism of post-modernism, which you seem to adore, as it is an 'anything goes' grimdark super story. Interested in getting it roasted, but not if the genre is actually going to irritate you, especially since I use it to give the finger to post-modernist Euro-American imperialism blended with ideologically inspired vacant-mindedness at every turn. It's sort of a vent.

I'd rather a roaster actually enjoy something before they tear it apart and criticize its heritage, sexuality, name, earning potential, and mind-numbingly purple prose.

 

[Tempokai]

Is litRPG and multiple-genre stories an automatic disqualification? I mean, the genre is superheroes, which kinda opens the door to pretty much any genre, but I have a story I am thinking of putting up called 'The Human Meatball' that is as much an absolute criticism of post-modernism, which you seem to adore, as it is an 'anything goes' grimdark super story. Interested in getting it roasted, but not if the genre is actually going to irritate you, especially since I use it to give the finger to post-modernist Euro-American imperialism blended with ideologically inspired vacant-mindedness at every turn. It's sort of a vent.

I'd rather a roaster actually enjoy something before they tear it apart and criticize its heritage, sexuality, name, earning potential, and mind-numbingly purple prose.

I don't even need to lift a finger for you to be roasted. Congratulations, you've roasted yourself. If you've just posted your link and said "please do," I would've given the same treatment to other roasts. But, given you're trying to be both a victim (oh no, Roastmaster is bad for his opinion) and superior (heh, this Roastmaster doesn't know anything about anything and loves the thing I presume him that I hate), I've lost the minimal trust I had on you, that you could give something interesting to read.

First, who said that LitRPG and genre blending is straight up disqualification? You said that, imposing upon me like a tyrant of unbridled opinions. Who are you to impose a taste on me. I'm the connoisseur of everything, be it trashy, good, or even straight up unreadable. You just need me persuade to read it. This is the core tenet of the roasting thread. I ask myself, does this story persuade me to read further? If not, why? And then I write it down in a form of a roast. What mind thinks is the thread is isn't the reality of MY thread.

Sure, let that delusion aside, which certainly isn't a defensive maneuver that ego had put out to cope with whatever the Roastmaster would've put on that story, nope, not at all. Emphasis on "would've." If that ego wasn't completely self absorbed it WOULD'VE NOT written that reply what you've vomited in fit of hypothetical rage against the society. You think that I will be a villain, who will ruin your story once I read it and will not find it interesting. You, poor, sweet, ego, who needs to categorize people into two groups, "my people" and "those people."

Oh, Shelbie. Sweet, tragic Shelbie. You went and built the pyre yourself, doused it in gasoline, and then had the audacity to act as a victim. I would've ignored your feeble attempt at moral superiority if you didn't implied me to be whatever you have in your mind. Let’s talk about your desperate attempt to frame me as the villain in your personal ideological war.

You waltzed in here, waving the banner of “post-modernist Euro-American imperialism blended with ideologically inspired vacant-mindedness”, as if you’d uncovered some grand conspiracy. As if I—a roastmaster from the middle of Asia, where Euro-American imperialism holds about as much weight as a piece of paper—am some mouthpiece of Western cultural decay.

Who are you, Shelbie, to throw that label at me? Where did you even get the unearned confidence to assume that I—who revels in post-postmodernism, who roasts the stories with persuasive meaning in mind, who actively promotes critical thinking in writing stories—am some vacant-minded ideologue?

You don’t even know what I like, let alone what I stand for. And yet, there you were, arming yourself against a phantom, preemptively assuming that I’d be hostile, uninterested, or blinded by bias. You weren’t preparing for a critique—you were preparing for battle. But there is no battle. Just you, swinging at shadows of whatever politics you have in mind. Have you seen politics in this thread, specifically called "Webnovel Feedback Roasts For the Fearless?" I see none, until you've come with delusional self-own I've only thought the celebrities' had.

See your tragic self-own you wrote at the end.

I'd rather a roaster actually enjoy something before they tear it apart and criticize its heritage, sexuality, name, earning potential, and mind-numbingly purple prose.

Shelbie. My dear. I don’t care about your heritage. I don’t care about your sexuality, your name, your bank account, or the desperate shade of ultraviolet you chose for your prose. None of that matters here.

The only thing that matters? The writing. The storytelling. The ability to persuade me to keep reading. And guess what? You’ve already failed at the last one before I even turned to page one. You are the exact kind of person who drags politics into a space that was never meant for it. A webnovel feedback forum—a place designed for storytelling and escapism—and yet, you still managed to make it about some grand ideological struggle. This is not the battlefield you think it is.

You have violated the thread’s ethos. This thread is for the fearless. For those who seek actual feedback. You? You don’t want feedback. You want to win an argument that was never happening. Why?

So I'll ask the real question:

Why are you here?
Why did your ego write this reply when you had zero reason to interact with this thread?

What were you expecting? That I would bow to your intellectual posturing? That I would read your little ideological vendetta-disguised-as-fiction and go, “Ah, yes, you have shattered my worldview, Shelbie, you brilliant mind, you literary revolutionary”?

No.

You are not fearless. You are not here for growth. You are here to flail at ghosts.

And if you want to keep playing the self-defeating protagonist in a Lovecraftian horror story, then by all means—continue to spiral into madness, screaming at cosmic forces that were never looking at you in the first place. But if you actually have any shred of self-awareness left, do yourself a favor:

Delete your response, don't answer to this reply, and own the biggest L I've ever seen an author could've done to itself. Or don’t. I'll report you so Tony could delete it instead of your politically motivated ego.

Either way, you’re not getting a roast, because you have no reason, motivation, or simply unbiased curiosity to be roasted with insight. All I see is all-consuming American ego who doesn't think that the rest of the world exists.

And you did that to yourself.

 

[Shelbie]

*Yawn* that's a hell of a wall of text.
I guess 'Your joke wasn't funny' wasn't enough words for you.

 

[anonjohn20]

*Yawn* that's a hell of a wall of text.
I guess 'Your joke wasn't funny' wasn't enough words for you.

His wall of text has more laugh reactions than your joke. lol

 

[Hsinat]

His wall of text has more laugh reactions than your joke. lol

By SS, your statement is the truth.

 

[CharlesEBrown]

*Yawn* that's a hell of a wall of text.
I guess 'Your joke wasn't funny' wasn't enough words for you.

Not when the reply is: "You thought you made a joke, but actually you are the joke - and here's why"...